"Home," she said.

"Want a lift?"

"My house is a ways from here," she said, still wary.

"That's okay," I said. "It's a nice day for a drive."

A criminal, someone with experience of the cops, would have known it was too coincidental to be true, a detective driving by and innocently offering a ride. But Marlinchen was young, and when I looked over my shoulder, feigning worry about another car approaching, she felt guilty.

"Come on if you're coming," I urged.

Marlinchen picked up her backpack and ran out to me. She jumped into the pa.s.senger side and slammed the door. I accelerated and we were on our way. Gotcha, Gotcha, I thought. She wasn't going to be fleeing I thought. She wasn't going to be fleeing this this interview, not at 65 miles an hour. interview, not at 65 miles an hour.

It was a sad day that I had to take pleasure in cornering a teenage girl as though she were a hardened perp, but you take your victories where you can get them.

"Roll down the window if you want," I said. I was still alternating between too hot and too cold; it wouldn't make much difference to me. Marlinchen rolled her window halfway down.

"Were you coming from school?" I said. "I didn't think there were any out in this area."

"No, I get out of school at noon," she said. "I'm a senior, and all my graduation requirements were satisfied, so I took an abbreviated schedule."

"That must be nice," I said.

"I'm enjoying it." Her tone sounded a little more relaxed and confident.

"So what brought you out to this area?"

"I was at the hospital," Marlinchen said briefly.

"Really? Why?" I'm giving you a chance here. Tell me the truth. I'm giving you a chance here. Tell me the truth.

"I volunteer there, when I can," she said. She wasn't looking at me.

Too bad, Marlinchen. There goes your no-hitter. "That's nice of you," I said. "Convenient, too. Gives you a chance to visit your father." "That's nice of you," I said. "Convenient, too. Gives you a chance to visit your father."

For a moment, the only sound was the Nova's rumbling engine. Then I heard Marlinchen sniffling. She laid her head against the door frame of the Nova, and her shoulders shook.

Suddenly it didn't seem so funny to me that I'd been reduced to entrapping a teenage girl with her own evasions. I had pursued Hugh's whereabouts as though it were just an intellectual exercise, not thinking of the human feelings underneath.

I spoke as gently as possible. "Your father's had a stroke, your mother's dead, you're the oldest in the family, and your twin brother's whereabouts are unknown," I said. "That's a lot of trouble to deal with, and usually the last thing I'd do is pile on, but I can't help you if you keep lying to me."

Marlinchen didn't answer. She cried for a while as we got off the 394 and onto the secondary roads that threaded the wetlands around the big lake, where bait stores and diners ceded to houses set back from the road. I began to realize just how far Marlinchen had ridden on a bus to see me down at the detective division.

"I'm going to need specific directions pretty soon," I said, relieved to have something normal to say.

"Oh," Marlinchen said. Her voice was wet, but she seemed more composed as she straightened in her seat and began to direct me.

The Hennessys lived on a little peninsula that ran out into the lake, at the end of an unmarked dirt road. I'd expected a writer to live in something opulent, but the Hennessy house, while big, was unpretentious. It was two stories, with an exterior of weather-beaten wood. Tall lilac trees, still in bloom, crowded the front door, and dark purple irises irregularly cropped up around a crooked stone path. The gra.s.s in front clearly hadn't been mowed recently. A smaller building stood off to the side, perhaps a carriage house in the home's early-twentieth-century life. A willow fountained over its far side.

The dirt driveway ran alongside the house, and as I pulled up in the Nova, I realized the back of the house, facing the lake, was its true "front." Here was a broad, covered back porch, with French double doors. A high window on the second story looked out over the lake, with a trellis of ornamental grapevines crawling up alongside it. A wide, gra.s.sy slope led down to the lake, where an ap.r.o.n of rocks ran along the water's edge, holding off the erosion process. A single tree stood halfway to the water's edge, several creamy blossoms among its dark, glossy leaves.

I killed the Nova's engine. I could leave now, but it would undermine everything I'd done since calling Marlinchen over to get in my car. Her willingness to lie was well established. If I put off this conversation until tomorrow, she'd have time to ma.s.sage the facts to her liking, in readiness for our next meeting.

"So," I said. "Tell me."

"Where should I start?"

"With your father's stroke," I said. "That was three weeks ago, is that right?"

She nodded.

"Why cover it up?" I asked.

"Dad's a writer," she said. "He's famous. It would have gotten into the news."

"Is that a problem?" I said. "He's sick. It's not a scandal."

Marlinchen pressed her lips together, thinking. "I wanted to protect his privacy," she said.

"You told me he was up north finishing a novel, Marlinchen," I pointed out. "I'm not a member of the media, and you were asking for my help, and you still lied to me. That's a little more than protecting your dad's privacy."

She dropped her head. "I don't want my brothers to go to foster homes," she said softly. "In a few weeks I'll be 18, and then I can be their guardian. But if Family Services finds out about Dad before then, they'd split us up."

"That's a pretty drastic expectation," I told her. "Social workers don't go around looking for families to break up. They take the whole situation into account. It's very possible that if you're getting along okay with the younger kids, they'd probably just want you to have a temporary guardian until you turn 18."

"That's not necessary."

"It's not a big deal," I a.s.sured her. "You'll call on an adult relative to step in until your dad's better."

"There isn't anyone," she said. Reading the skepticism on my face, she went on. "My mother had a sister, but she's dead. All my grandparents are dead except for my grandmother on my mother's side. She's in an a.s.sisted-living facility in Berlin. She speaks mostly German."

"Okay, I'd rule her out," I agreed, pausing to think. "Listen, can I come in?"

Marlinchen led me up the back steps, onto the porch, and in through a pair of French doors. The Hennessy home was as graceful inside as out: good pine wood, a rough-beamed ceiling, and eclectic touches everywhere. We were in a family room, the modernity of a wide-screen TV offsetting the shabby-elegant furniture, a nubby throw blanket thrown over a velvety couch. Beyond, I could see the kitchen. There was plenty of s.p.a.ce to work; pots and pans overhung a center-island butcher block.

"Would you like something to drink?" Marlinchen led me toward the kitchen, moving with the a.s.surance people have in their longtime homes.

"Ice water is fine."

Marlinchen fixed me a tall gla.s.s, and iced tea for herself. I wandered into the kitchen behind her and looked around. My request to come inside hadn't been an idle one; as a social worker would have, I'd wanted to see evidence of how the kids were living, whether the house was clean, what they were eating. From my perspective, they were keeping better house than a lot of bachelor cops I knew. The kitchen was as clean as the family room we'd come through. A faint smell of cooking hung in the air, and there were vegetable peelings in the drain trap, suggesting a healthy diet. The houseplants I'd seen were green and healthy; they were being watered.

Marlinchen said, "Detective Pribek, can we talk about Aidan?"

"Sure," I said. "But Aidan's nearly 18, and on the road by choice. When he does turn 18, which you've said is a few weeks away, it'll be no one's business but his own where he is. If he doesn't want his family to know his whereabouts, well, you may not like it, but that's his choice."

Marlinchen slipped into one of the chairs against the kitchen counter. "He's my brother," she said. "I have to know that he's all right."

I remained standing; I didn't want to get mired in this situation. "I'm sorry," I said. "I understand that you're afraid for him. But with a runaway who's been gone as long as Aidan has, there's just not much the police can do. You're solidly in private-investigator territory here. I can recommend several to you, competent people who, for a fee, will make finding your brother their job."

"What kind of a fee?" she asked.

"Depends," I said. "Somebody good will charge you at least a hundred dollars an hour."

She winced.

"I know it sounds like a lot," I said. "But I wouldn't bargain-hunt in this case. If you don't get somebody good, it'll take longer to find Aidan. You'll end up paying one way or another. And," I added, "it's not unheard-of for unethical investigators to set their rates low to get people in the door, then drag their heels and pad their hours. You don't end up saving money at all."

"I see." Marlinchen was starting to look lost. "How many hours do you think it would take for them to find him?"

"I really wouldn't feel comfortable estimating," I said. "They could find him with three phone calls. Or it could take weeks."

"I see," she said again. Obviously, she wasn't feeling any better about the situation, and it wasn't hard to guess why.

"It's money, isn't it?" I said.

The Hennessys lived in a wealthy enclave on the lake; I'd a.s.sumed that not only was Marlinchen capably handling the household affairs but that, in doing so, she was drawing on a comfortable sum of her father's savings. At least, I had until just now.

"I know we look in good shape financially," Marlinchen said. "But I only have access to Dad's checking account; he gave me his ATM number. But for everything else, I need to be his conservator, and I can't do that until I turn 18. Even then, there might be some delays. He has aphasia; it's a speech and comprehension disorder. Dad needs to recover enough that an officer of the court can see that he understands what's being said to him, and that the mark he's making really represents his desire to make me a conservator."

She sounded surprisingly knowledgeable. "Does your father have a lawyer who's helping you with this?" I asked.

Marlinchen nodded. "I don't know that I'd call Mr. DeRose 'Dad's lawyer,' but he helped with some things when Mother died, and when I called him, he was willing to do the conservatorship work on contingency. I can pay him once I get access to the accounts."

I hoped DeRose was someone ethical; this slender, tentative 17-year-old with a wealthy father would look like a slot machine on two feet to a lawyer who wasn't.

But with Marlinchen's very next words, I had to reconsider the wealthy father wealthy father part. part.

"Even then," Marlinchen went on, "there's just Dad's pa.s.sbook savings to tap, and each of us has a college-savings trust. But that's not a lot of money. A lot of what Dad earned went to paying off this house. Which is fine, but we can't eat the house and the great view," she said, gesturing toward the lake. Then she amended her words. "Things aren't that that bad, yet, but there's certainly not money for a hundred-dollar-an-hour investigator for an open-ended period of time. That's why I was hoping that someone on the police here would find Aidan's case had enough merit to take it on." bad, yet, but there's certainly not money for a hundred-dollar-an-hour investigator for an open-ended period of time. That's why I was hoping that someone on the police here would find Aidan's case had enough merit to take it on."

I was starting to feel like those old-time aviators who took off from New York for the West Coast on a cloudy day, got turned around in a fog bank, and ended up committed to a trip to Europe. I'd wanted to help Marlinchen, but I'd also wanted it to be short and simple. And for a moment, it had seemed like it was going to be: I'd found Hugh Hennessy and determined that his daughter's reasons for covering up his absence, while misguided, weren't criminal. I'd thought, then, that I could simply rea.s.sure Marlinchen that Aidan was probably okay, recommend a competent private investigator, and forget the whole thing. I'd thought I could sum up the Hennessy affair in three words: Not My Problem. Not My Problem.

Instead I found that Marlinchen was alone with a houseful of younger siblings with no adult relatives to call on, and despite her father's literary successes, without a comfortable supply of money. Now I was summing up the Hennessys in four words: No End in Sight. No End in Sight.

And my G.o.dd.a.m.n ear was starting to hurt again. The aspirin was wearing off, and the pain was beginning to ramp up from its dull, medicated ache toward the sharp throb I'd woken up with the last two mornings. It was driving n.o.bler feelings from my mind.

"I wish it were just a matter of merit," I said. "But Hennepin County pays me to investigate cases where the law has been broken within its borders. That's not the situation here. Look, I'll talk to the PIs I know, see if one of them won't take you pro bono. Maybe-"

A rustling from beyond us, the front of the house, made Marlinchen look up. Three boys, loaded down with backpacks, trooped into the kitchen. Their idle conversation stopped short when they saw me with their sister.

None was blond like Marlinchen; they had Hugh's brown hair. The youngest boy's was quite s.h.a.ggy, but other than that, they looked well groomed and clean, and obviously healthy.

Marlinchen slid from the stool. "Guys, this is Detective Sarah Pribek," she said. "I spoke to her the other day, about Aidan. You remember I said I was going into the city to do that."

One of the boys, a muscular kid in a sleeveless T-shirt, spoke. "I thought that-"

"We can talk about it later," Marlinchen said. She carried on with introductions. "Sarah, this is Liam, he's 16," the tallest boy, thin, with longish, slightly darker hair and wire-rim gla.s.ses, "and Colm, he's 14," the well-built boy who'd spoken, "and the little guy is Donal, 11." Donal was the s.h.a.ggy-haired one; underneath the mop his face was unformed, like children's often are.

"It's nice to meet you all," I said, "but I really should get going. I've got to be at work." To Marlinchen I said, "I'll make those phone calls I mentioned, tonight or tomorrow, and get back to you with a referral."

It wasn't going to be an easy sell, I thought, but maybe I could catch one of the PIs I knew in a generous mood.

Marlinchen nodded. "Let me walk you out," she said.

Outside on the deck, she turned earnest again. "Detective Pribek, you're not going to report us, right?" she asked. "To Family Services?"

"I'm legally required to, Marlinchen," I said.

Her shoulders dropped infinitesimally, and she looked away from me, toward the lake.

I didn't know why she felt the way she did, as if she and her brothers were being sentenced to an orphanage of times past, with high Gothic gates and meals of thin gruel. But suddenly I saw myself through her eyes and didn't like what I saw. I'd come in here and seen evidence of her careful housekeeping and her cooking and the obvious love she had for her younger brothers, and sorry, it wasn't good enough and I'm reporting you to the county and by the way, I don't care where your brother is. You want to find him, pay up.

"Look," I said, relenting, "maybe I could help you out a little with Aidan."

"Really?" she said.

"You said you've only got school until noon, right? Why don't I come out tomorrow around one, and we can talk about this some more."

To say that Marlinchen Hennessy smiled didn't quite do it justice. Throughout our short acquaintance, she'd never made more than a small smile of greeting. I wasn't prepared for the sight of her natural happiness; it was brilliant as the first fire-blossom of a lit match. The thought of getting more involved with the Hennessys wasn't entirely appealing, but it was touching to see how much an offer of help meant to Marlinchen.

I gave her my card. "Both cell and pager are on there," I said. "In case you have a schedule conflict, or something."

"I won't," she said.

As soon as I was back in the car, I groped in my shoulder bag for the aspirin bottle. It wasn't there. was back in the car, I groped in my shoulder bag for the aspirin bottle. It wasn't there.

It's in the trash can in your bathroom, genius, where you threw it this morning after taking the last of the aspirin. You were going to pick up some more, remember?

The readout on my cell phone said it was 3:45. Even without a stop at a convenience store, I'd be late for work.

I backed the Nova around in a three-quarter circle and accelerated down the Hennessys' long driveway. Someone at work would have a couple of painkillers I could score.

"Lieutenant Prewitt is looking for you," Tyesha said, as soon as I came in. Tyesha said, as soon as I came in.

"I'm only five minutes- oh, h.e.l.l. h.e.l.l." I'd forgotten all about Prewitt's request that I come in early. "Is he in his office?"

He was, but we didn't stay there. When I entered, Prewitt rose from behind his desk. "Detective Pribek," he said. "Come on down to the conference room."

"Sure," I said.

He didn't mention that I was thirty-five minutes late for whatever this appointment was, but obviously he knew it. It was too late for me to ask for another five minutes to score some aspirin off a co-worker.

"I'm really just making introductions here," Prewitt said, and opened the door to our conference room. As we entered, the man sitting at the long table inside got to his feet.

My surprise distracted me from the pain in my ear. It was the stranger who I'd seen twice now: first watching me on my vice detail, then with Kilander on the street corner. Up close, he had a lean, tired face, yet a fairly young one too, despite the threads of gray at his temples. I didn't revise my estimate of his age: about 35.