"So you think Halpern killed Tammy Connor and the others?" Deborah said. "I didn't say that," he said. "But hey, he's the psycho. Not me." He made a step toward the door and raised an eyebrow at Deborah. "And now, if you don't mind, I really have to get going."

Deborah handed him a business card. "Thank you for your time, Professor," she said. "If you think of anything that might help, please give me a call." "I certainly will," he said, giving her the kind of smile that killed disco and placing a hand on her shoulder. She managed not to flinch. "I really hate to throw you back out into the rain, but…"

Deborah moved, very willingly I thought, out from under his hand and toward the door. I followed. Wilkins herded us out the door and through the gate, and then climbed into his car, backed out of the driveway, and drove away. Debs stood in the rain and watched him go, which I am sure she intended to make Wilkins nervous enough to leap from the car and confess, but considering the weather it struck me as excessive zeal. I got into the car and waited for her.

When the blue Lexus had vanished Deborah finally got in beside me. "Guy gives me the fucking creeps," she said. "Do you think he's the killer?" I asked. It was a strange feeling for me, not knowing, and wondering if somebody else had seen behind the predator's mask. She shook her head with irritation. Water flew off her hair and hit me. "I think he's a fucking creep," she said. "What do you think?" "I'm pretty sure you're right," I said. "He didn't mind admitting his affair with Tammy Connor," she said. "So why lie and say she was in his class last semester?" "Reflex?" I said. "Because he's up for tenure?" She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, and then leaned forward decisively and started the car. "I'm putting a tail on him," she said.

TWENTY-THREE

A COPY OF AN INCIDENT REPORT LAY ON MY DESK WHEN I finally got to work, and I realized that someone expected me to be a productive drone today, in spite of it all. So much had happened in the last few hours that it was hard to adjust to the idea that most of the workday was still looming over me with its long sharp teeth, so I went for a cup of coffee before submitting to servitude. I had half hoped that someone might have brought in some doughnuts or cookies, but of course it was a foolish thought. There was nothing but a cup and a half of burned, very dark coffee. I poured some into a cup-leaving the rest for someone truly desperate-and slogged back to my desk.