If the killer had met me face to face since all this began, as Dolquist theorized, then it narrowed the field of suspects. Eric and Gerry were both considered suspects by the FBI. And Gerry was definitely physically strong.

But what possible motive could he have?

I’d known Gerry my entire life. Could he kill?

We’re all capable of murder, the voice in my head whispered. Every one of us.

“Mr. Kenzie.”

I turned, saw Agent Fields standing by the trunk of a dark Plymouth. He tossed recording equipment into the trunk. “Mr. Glynn’s in the clear.”

“How?”

“We had this place staked out last night. Glynn went up to his apartment at one, watched TV until three, and went to bed. We sat here all night, and he never left. He’s not our man, Mr. Kenzie. Sorry.”

I nodded, part of me relieved, part of me feeling guilty for suspecting Gerry in the first place.

Of course there was another part of me that was disappointed. Maybe I’d wanted it to be Glynn.

Just so it would finally be over.

“The bullet did a lot of damage,” Dr. Barnett told me. “It tore up her liver, knicked both kidneys, settled in her lower intestines. We almost lost her twice, Mr. Kenzie.”

“How is she now?”

“She’s not out of the woods,” he said. “Is she a strong person? Got a big heart?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Then she’s got a better chance than some. That’s really all I can tell you right now.”

They brought her into ICU at eight-thirty after ninety minutes in post-op.

She looked like she’d lost fifty pounds and her body seemed adrift in the bed.

Phil and I stood over her as a nurse hooked up her IVs and switched on a life-support monitor.

“What’s that for?” Phil said. “She’s okay now. Right?”

“She hemorrhaged twice, Mr. Dimassi. We’re monitoring to make sure she doesn’t do it again.”

Phil took Angie’s hand and it looked so small in his.

“Ange?” he said.

“She’ll be asleep for most of the day,” the nurse said. “There’s very little you can do for her now, Mr. Dimassi.”

“I’m not leaving her,” Phil said.

The nurse looked at me and I gave her back nothing but a flat stare.

At ten, I came out of ICU and found Bubba sitting in the waiting room.

“How is she?”

“They think,” I said, “she’s going to be okay.”

He nodded.

“We’ll know more when she wakes up, I guess.”

“When’s that?”

“Late this afternoon,” I said. “Maybe the evening.”

“Anything I can do?”

I leaned over the fountain, gulped water like a man come in from a desert.

“I need to speak to Fat Freddy,” I said.

“Sure. Why?”

“I need to find Jack Rouse and Kevin Hurlihy and ask them some questions.”

“I don’t think Freddy’ll have a problem with that.”

“If they don’t answer my questions,” I said, “I’ll need permission to shoot them until they do.”

Bubba leaned over the fountain, looked at me. “You’re serious?”