“My bank card?”

“Yes, sir. I can take down the number, take it to the bank, track where you’ve been getting your money, and that will help us narrow down which branch these fifties might have come from.”

“Oh, sure.” I reached around into my back pocket and took out my wallet. “This is the one I use,” I said, sliding it out and handing it over to the officer. She wrote down the number in her notepad and handed it back.

“Is my daughter going to be charged?” I asked.

“No, sir. It looks to me like just one of those things, but we will be keeping the counterfeit bills.”

“You see?” Angie said. “You owe me that money. And I don’t want it in fifties this time.”

“Sir, do you have any more fifties? From the same ATM?” the officer asked.

You might want to check the washing machine, I thought. You might find $19,850 worth.

“I don’t think so,” I said.

“You mind my checking your wallet, Mr. Walker?” Officer Greslow asked. It wasn’t really a request. She already had her hand out, waiting for me to hand it over. I did so. She looked where I keep my cash, and there was nothing there but a couple of small bills, and then she handed the wallet back to me.

For a moment, she didn’t have any more questions. She was jotting down a few further notes. This was my last chance, I realized, to tell her everything. About the purse. About finding Stefanie Knight. About her probable killer coming to see me. About his body in the study.

“Okay then, Mr. Walker, we’ll check this out, and in the meantime, you might want to give any fifties you come into possession of in the future a close look. Check for the lettering, it should feel a tiny bit raised. A lot of counterfeiters, what they’re doing now is, they’re using really top-notch photocopying machines. They’re not actually forging and doing their own printing anymore, which is why this is becoming such a problem.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And let me give you my card, it has my name and badge number and where I can be reached in case you think of anything else, you can give me a call.”

“Thank you.”

“Nice to see you again,” she said, touched her fingers to the brim of her hat, and withdrew. As she left, my last chance of coming clean went with her.

Angie and I stood in silence for a moment. It wasn’t every day the police brought your daughter home in a marked car for passing bogus bills. That you’d given her.

“Where’s Mom? I need to talk to Mom.”

“She’s at work, honey. Remember?”

“I’m going to call her.”