“I’m afraid it can’t wait. It’s rather urgent.” I raised the brown envelope in front of me. There were other council members, within earshot, filing past us.

“I’m terribly sorry, but I have to insist. Another time.”

I leaned in close to him, whispered. “It’s about Stefanie Knight, Mr. Carpington.”

It was like you’d turned on a tap and drained the blood out of him in a couple of seconds. He swallowed, glanced over at his colleagues, then whispered back to me, “My office.”

He led me down a tiled hallway and into a small room that served as his municipal office. It contained a small desk stacked with papers, a computer tucked in the corner, and several town surveys tacked to the walls. He quickly closed the door behind us and directed me into a chair. A cheap “World’s Greatest Dad” statuette sat on his desk next to a family photo. He grinned at the camera, surrounded by his plain wife and generic-looking children—a girl and two boys, all under the age of ten.

“What’s this about?” he said, slipping behind his desk. “I’m afraid I don’t know anyone named, what was it? Stefanie White?”

“Knight,” I said. “Nice try. I guess that was why you dragged me in here and closed the door, because you’ve never heard of her.”

“I’m afraid I don’t even know who you are.”

“Zack Walker. I’m one of your constituents. I live in the Valley Forest Estates subdivision, on Greenway Lane.”

“I see. Oh yes, Stefanie Knight. I believe she works in the Valley Forest Estates office. I think I’ve run into her there.”

Fuck it, I thought. I opened the envelope, withdrew one of the prints, and flung it across the desk at him. It landed image down. He grabbed it by one corner, flipped it over.

I didn’t believe he could lose any more color. He was the whitest, pastiest-looking weasel I’d ever had the pleasure of sitting across a desk from, and this included all the newspaper editors I’d ever worked for.

The hand holding the print began to shake. Carpington ran his hand over his scalp, wiping away the droplets of sweat that were beginning to form.

“How much?” he asked. “How much do you want?”

Chapter 20

20

right off the bat, roger carpington did not strike me as a guy skilled in the art of negotiating. Caving is not one of the standard tactics. One look at the picture of himself with Stefanie Knight and he was ready to cut me a check.

“You think I’m here to blackmail you?” I asked.