“Then the witness who’s such a fan of mine wasn’t using an Obama Phone,” I summarize, and Benton just stares at me.

He knows that I’d rather the crank caller was using an Obama Phone, and that’s the bigger point. I’d prefer to take my chances with someone who truly might be a regular at the Square, perhaps some disenfranchised person who’s unpleasant and unstable but not harmful. What I don’t want is to be on the radar of an experienced criminal. Especially one sophisticated enough to create software that sends all of us down the wrong path.

If we can’t recognize evil, then we can’t say for sure it’s not in our midst. Whoever made the call, whoever Tailend Charlie is, even if they’re one and the same? The miscreant could be right in front of us. And there’s no thought much scarier than that. It would be devastating to learn that the person who lied about me to the police is someone I know. It would be worse if whoever is sending me death threats in Italian is someone I care about and trust.

“Who called you about the nine-one-one recording?” I ask Benton. “How did you get involved by the way?”

“Well I’m married to you. Start with that. But Bryce called me as I was finishing up a meeting and about to head out of the office. The lamb or the halibut? You decide. I’ll have what you’re having.”

“I’m going to try the halibut with brussels sprouts. How did you get a copy of the recording? I can’t imagine the Cambridge police gave that to Bryce.”

“They didn’t. I think we should go for a Burgundy. A Chablis premier cru.”

“The 2009 Montée de Tonnerre.” We’ve had it before, and the wine is refreshingly clean and pure with a chiseled finish.

“Very good,” Benton says, and he’s not going to tell me if he got the 911 audio clip from his friend the police superintendent, and I’m not going to ask further because I’m not sure I want to know.

THE WAITER IS BACK with our salads, and both of us order the pan-seared halibut with brussels sprouts for our main course.

I ask for sides of spaghettini vegetables and wild mushrooms, and we order the Chablis. Then we wait in silence until he walks away again and can’t overhear our conversation, and I’m beginning to get the sense that he’s lingering. But only a few people have started to trickle in, and he’s probably bored.

“By the way, in case you didn’t know, we issued a new terror bulletin a few hours ago,” Benton says to me, and he means the FBI has.