"That's what they claimed. But I think somehow they got her back, and now they're on the run."

Brenda shook her head. "I don't think they have the baby."

"Why not?"

"If Eileen had that baby, she'd be happy. Even if it was illegal, even if it meant giving up her home and her job." Brenda stopped her fidgeting and looked Frank in the eye. "She wasn't happy when I saw her. She was terrified. Please find her, Chief Bennett. I'm worried sick."

Frank looked around the neat, cheerful kitchen that so resembled Eileen's, heard the sound of children giggling at cartoons in the next room, smelled a pot roast or something hearty cooking. And with a sickening certainty, it came to him why the Finns had disappeared.

35.

MEREDITH GOLDING FACED Frank and Meyerson across a table in an interview room. This was the first time they'd talked to her since the attack on Melanie. By now she had to know that they had a witness to Constance and Melanie's meeting, and that Barry Sutter's computer was being searched. But she also knew that all the evidence against them was circ.u.mstantial, and that no one yet had crumbled under questioning. She looked like a seasoned quarterback in a third and ten situation-too experienced to be c.o.c.ky, but too confident to be panicked.

"Can I get you a drink before we get started?" Meyerson offered.

"No, thank you, but I want to wait for my lawyer to get here."

"Sure." Meyerson shrugged. "We just thought you'd be interested to hear we're pretty certain we know who killed your husband."

Her air of studied nonchalance dropped. "That's why you called me here? That's wonderful!"

Meyerson made a waffling gesture with his hand. "We haven't actually caught him yet-we may need your help for that."

"Anything." She sat forward eagerly.

"We were just wondering," Frank took over, "if you might know where Brian and Eileen Finn might have taken off to with Mary Pat Sheehan's baby."

Instantly her face shut down. "What kind of trick are you trying to pull?"

"No trick," Frank a.s.sured her. "You see, I spent a few hours with Eileen Finn's sister yesterday, and she told me quite a bit about her brother-in-law. A few things you might not know. Like how he has a hair-trigger temper when someone threatens something he cares about. Apparently he once knocked a man unconscious at a neighborhood picnic for making too many cracks about the Republican Party. So you can imagine how angry he was when you took that baby away and broke his wife's heart."

Meredith watched him with spellbound dread.

"Of course you already knew he was a teacher, but maybe you didn't realize one of the subjects he taught was computer science. He was quite a pro. All those cryptic e-mails you sent him-he knew exactly where they came from.

"And one other detail about Brian Finn: He's a real newshound. Takes two newspapers every day, addicted to CNN. He knew all about Green Tomorrow. He knew that Barry Sutter, the man arranging his adoption, worked for Green Tomorrow. But he didn't care, as long as he got that baby.

"So that was your mistake, Mrs. Golding: not giving him that baby. When you told Sutter to up the ante and the Finns couldn't pay, you thought Brian Finn would just give up and go away. But that's not the kind of man he is. He's the kind of man who takes action. He's the kind of guy who knows if you want results, you have to go straight to the top. So he didn't bother arguing with Barry Sutter or Mrs. Stiler. He took his complaint to the boss-Nathan Golding."

Meredith was leaning forward with her elbows up on the table and her head in her hands. Frank couldn't see her eyes, but he knew she was listening.

"We went back over the phone records from your husband's room at the Mountain Vista Motel. This time we noticed there was a call placed to the Buchanan Open Academy, Brian Finn's school, the day before your husband died. The state police had overlooked the significance of that. They a.s.sumed a call to a school had something to do with Green Tomorrow's environmental education program. But really, it was Brian and Nathan, arranging a meeting. At that point I suspect Finn thought he could strike a deal to get the baby back.

"But that's where Finn was wrong, wasn't it, Mrs. Golding? Because your husband didn't know anything about Sheltering Arms, or the way you were selling babies to finance Green Tomorrow's operations. He was a very principled man-he would never have allowed that."

Frank paused, doodling in the margins of his notepad. The room was so silent; the scratch of the pen seemed to reverberate against the blank walls.

"When Nathan told Finn he didn't know what Finn was talking about, he really meant it. But Finn had just talked to me the day before. He knew that none of the money Sheltering Arms collected ever went toward Mary Pat's medical expenses. He was sure Nathan was just jerking him around. And that"-Frank lowered his voice-"made him mad."

Meredith was sobbing now.

"Oh, and I forgot one other thing about Mr. Finn. He's a gun enthusiast. He hunts, but he also collects firearms. And if you happen to take a small handgun from your collection to the meeting with the man you think is stealing your money and your baby and your wife's happiness, then things can get out of hand."

"Oh, G.o.d! Oh, no!" Meredith slumped back in her chair.

Silence hung in the air.

She finally began to speak, her eyes focused on something only she could see. "It all started as a favor. One of the volunteers, a college girl, was pregnant. She didn't want an abortion. I had friends who were eager to adopt. They met and liked each other. Barry took care of the legalities-everyone was happy. My friends made a big donation to Green Tomorrow. In grat.i.tude, you see."

"So you just took the next logical step. Created Sheltering Arms as a moneymaker to support Green Tomorrow," Frank said.

Meredith began to weep again.

"How did Constance Stiler get involved?" Frank asked.

Meredith looked up, her face drained of its usual confidence. "She was the mother of that first girl we helped. She was grateful that we found a good home for her grandchild. We all stayed in touch. Then George Stiler got sick."

"And you realized she was a woman who could be useful to your cause. Or should I say, your business. Constance delivered Mary Pat's baby. She took the baby down to Albany to show her to the Finns, wearing a wig."

Meredith nodded. After interrogating Constance Stiler with such a spectacular lack of success, Frank hadn't been at all confident of breaking down Meredith Golding. Maybe the difference was that Meredith realized she'd killed the only man she ever loved, while Constance still had everything to lose.

"You're under arrest, Mrs. Golding." Calmly Frank recited the Miranda warning. "Now, who has Mary Pat Sheehan's baby?"

Meredith met his eyes for the first time. "Their names are Sam and Theresa Buckner. They live outside Rochester."

Frank was sitting with Lew Meyerson when the call came in from the Rochester police. He watched Meyerson's right eyebrow go up-high emotion for Lew. This wasn't looking good.

"You searched the house?" Lew asked. Then he sighed and hung up.

"The Buckners received an e-mail from Sheltering Arms one day after they got the baby. The e-mail said the birth mother had changed her mind and wanted the baby back. Sheltering Arms a.s.sured them they'd have another baby ready for them in a few days, so they let her go without too much fuss."

Frank sprang to his feet. "G.o.dammit, that b.i.t.c.h is still lying to us! What's she trying to pull now?"

Lew waved him back into his seat. "It's not the Golding woman. The person who came to take back the baby was a big, burly fellow with blond, curly hair."

Light dawned. "Brian Finn."

Brian and Eileen Finn's photos appeared on the evening news, and immediately the phones started ringing. There were the usual crackpots, and calls from well-intentioned people reporting blameless couples who bore a pa.s.sing resemblance to Brian and Eileen.

But one call showed promise. A woman in Malone reported renting a small furnished house six days ago to a couple with a baby; they'd paid the first and last month's rent and the security deposit in cash. She hadn't asked for references. Brenda Fitzhugh remembered that Brian's father had come from somewhere near there. Maybe this was an area Brian felt familiar with.

Frank and Meyerson drove toward Malone together.

"How did Finn find the baby at the Buckners'?" Meyerson asked.

"He must have tailed Meredith and Sutter, waiting for them to move the baby. By that time he'd already quit his job, so he devoted himself to finding the child."

"But why not just take her away from Mrs. Golding? Why wait until the Buckners had her?"

Frank shrugged. "He would have had to take her by force from Meredith. He figured no one suspected him in Nathan's death, and didn't want to do anything to give himself away. He took a gamble that he could trick the Buckners. If that didn't work, I guess he could've tried s.n.a.t.c.hing the baby from them."

They crossed the city limits into Malone. The streets they drove down became progessively shabbier, until they pulled up in front of 162 Hauser Avenue, a Depression-era bungalow with peeling paint and a concave roof. A far cry from the trim house the Finns had abandoned on Hawthorne Lane.

Frank glanced inside the rusty Toyota Corolla parked in front of the house-a brand-new infant car seat was strapped into the back. Brian Finn was a murderer and kidnapper, but a safety-conscious one.

Frank and Meyerson walked up the crumbling concrete path and climbed three steps onto a broad, saggy front porch. A dormer on the second floor jutted out over the porch, making its roof. Meyerson hammered on the wooden front door. "Open up, Mr. and Mrs. Finn. Police."

Immediately they heard scurrying foot steps above them. "Sarah!" a woman's voice shrieked.

That was the name Eileen had chosen for Mary Pat's baby-absolutely no doubt now that they were in the right place.

"This is Frank Bennett, Mr. Finn. Open the door, please, so we can talk."

"Talk! There's nothing to talk about." Finn sounded as if he was right on the other side of the door.

"Open the door, Finn, or we'll break it down," Meyerson barked.

"You'll be sorry if you do," Brian Finn answered.

"It's over now, Mr. Finn," Frank said gently. "Get your wife and the baby and come out."

"Oh, it's over all right. But we're not coming out. There's nothing to come out for."

"Don't talk crazy, Mr. Finn. We can work this out," Frank said.

"I'm calling for backup," Lew mouthed. He crouched down, slipped past the front window, and jumped down off the side of the porch.

"All Eileen ever wanted was a family. We can never have that now. There's no point in going on."

"We don't want anyone to get hurt, Mr. Finn. The baby's okay, so we can straighten this out." Let Finn think they didn't suspect him of Golding's murder.

He heard footsteps walking away from the door, then silence.

"Mr. Finn? Brian?"

More silence. He was just turning toward Lew when a shot rang out, so close that he reflexively dived for the ground. Lew had taken cover behind the patrol car and had his weapon drawn.

"Are you all right?" Lew shouted.

"Yeah. The shot was inside, right in the hall, or this front room," Frank answered. "Mr. Finn?" he called, but didn't expect an answer.

Lew was on the bullhorn. "Mrs. Finn, please come to a window with the baby and let us see that you're all right." They waited, but there was no sound or movement from inside the house. Three local police cars pulled up.

"I'm going in around the back," Frank called.

"No! You don't know that Finn is down. It could be a trap!" Lew shouted. "I'm calling in the SWAT team."

Great. When he had wanted Lew's help with this case, he'd shown no interest. Now he had to horn in and complicate things. Once those SWAT yahoos arrived with all their gadgetry and armor, poor Eileen Finn would be so terrified, she'd never come out. He'd met the woman. He knew if he went in now, he could talk her out.

"Just watch my back, Lew."

Frank walked through the narrow s.p.a.ce between the house and its neighbor and came out in an overgrown backyard. Cautiously he looked through an uncurtained window. The kitchen appeared to be empty. He tried the back door, but it was locked. He used his penknife to slice through the window screen, pulled a rusty wheelbarrow under the window to raise himself, and silently slid up the old double-hung window. He climbed through onto the kitchen table, then stood and looked around.

The place had fifties-style metal cabinets and faded Formica counters. Clean baby bottles were lined up next to the stained porcelain sink. Two doors led out of the kitchen. He looked through the nearest one into the dining room, empty except for a card table with a laptop computer set up on it. Through an archway he could see part of the living room: a grungy plaid sofa and a scarred coffee table.

He turned toward the other door out of the kitchen. A narrow hallway led to the front door and the staircase upstairs. Just past the newel post, a large man's foot and part of a blue-jeaned leg were visible. Flattening himself against the wall, Frank edged closer. A trickle of blood made its way down the hall to meet him.

Brian Finn lay sprawled across the lower part of the staircase, the barrel of a Glock semiautomatic in his mouth. The top of his head was now part of the dingy wallpaper pattern in the hall.

It was what Frank had expected, but still shocking. He closed his eyes for a moment, then went to look into the living room from the hall doorway. The room was empty; Eileen and the baby must be upstairs.

Gingerly he stepped around the body on the steps. The creaking stair treads announced his approach. "Mrs. Finn, it's Frank Bennett, from Trout Run." He talked slowly and calmly. "We're going to get an ambulance for your husband. Everything will be all right now." He hoped she hadn't come out in the hall.

He reached the upstairs landing. There were just two bedrooms and a bath. He pushed the closest door open-a lumpy double bed, neatly made, consumed the whole room. The bathroom was unoccupied. In the other bedroom Frank saw a corner of bright yellow and pink fabric moving.

He peeked through the door. Eileen Finn sat in a rocking chair, holding a sleeping baby. She kept her eyes focused resolutely on a picture of Pooh and Tigger on the opposite wall, as her feet pumped the chair back and forth. The baby was nestled in the crook of Eileen's left arm, her little mouth slightly agape.

"Mrs. Finn?" He extended his hand. "Come on, now. It's time to go."

Eileen Finn raised her head and looked at him for a long moment. Then she lifted her right hand from where it rested on the chair cushion. In it she held a tiny silver handgun, the kind of small-caliber weapon that had ended Nathan Golding's life.

She leveled it at Frank's heart.

36.

IT TOOK FRANK'S BRAIN a full second to process what his eyes saw.

A woman with a baby in her lap was holding a gun on him. He knew she wasn't thinking clearly; he could practically see the disjointed thoughts ricocheting behind her glittering eyes. But the hand that held the gun was steady-disturbingly steady.

What had he been thinking, charging in here by himself? He criticized Earl for going off half-c.o.c.ked, but who was the cowboy now?

Frank shifted his stance slightly; Eileen tracked him with the gun.

There had been a time when he wanted to die, when he would have welcomed this predicament. But he realized that time was past. He didn't want his life to end in this crummy house, shot by this pathetic woman.

"Mrs. Finn, put the gun down. If you put it down now, no one will ever know you drew a gun on a police officer. We'll pretend it never happened."