“Okay,” I said. “I’ll see you then.” And he mounted the steps, two at a time. I heard him go out the front door, but I couldn’t be sure he’d locked it, so I ran up, threw the deadbolt just as Andy’s mother’s car backed out of the drive and headed off.

Back in the darkroom, I dried half a dozen prints with Carpington’s face fully visible. In the study I found a regular letter envelope for the negatives, and a larger one for the eight-by-ten glossies. I dug out the phone book and opened up the Oakwood pages to the C’s, running my finger down the column until I encountered “Carpington R.”

I glanced at the clock. It was nearly ten. I dialed.

After the third ring, a woman answered. “Hello?”

“Hi,” I said. “Is this Mrs. Carpington?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Sorry for calling so late, but I wondered if I could speak to Councilman Carpington.” Make it sound like official business, I figured.

“I’m sorry, but he’s not in. He’s at a council meeting this evening, and they can run pretty late.”

“A council meeting? That’s going on now?”

“That’s right. It started around six-thirty.”

“At the municipal offices?”

“Yes. Of course. Would you like to leave a message? I’m sure Roger would be happy to get back to you, if not tonight, certainly by tomorrow.”

“No,” I said. “That’s okay. Maybe I’ll see if I can find him over at the meeting.”

“Suit yourself,” she said, and hung up.

I took the negatives and tucked them into the hull of my still-unassembled Seaview submarine model, then carefully glued the bottom in place, sealing them inside. And once again, I scooped everything back into Stefanie Knight’s purse and took it with me, as well as the brown oversized envelope with the prints of Roger Carpington’s rendezvous with Stefanie. From the front-hall table I grabbed my cell and slid it into my jacket pocket, double-checked that the front door was securely locked behind me, and went out to the car.

The municipal building, designed with as much style and imagination as the new developments in Oakwood, sat across from the mall where Angie had been picked up for passing counterfeit money. It was a redbrick-and-black-metal eyesore, sitting on the landscape like a big shoebox. There was a large parking lot around back, but it was mostly empty. Most of the town’s employees were home and presumably getting ready for bed at this hour, but there were a handful of cars, belonging no doubt to the mayor and members of the town council and a few town administrators, plus a few taxpayers with some particular axe to grind or request to make.