Of course, it was still possible that our lab work would show that it was chicken blood, and Halpern had simply been indulging in an innocent pastime, perhaps as an amateur poultry butcher. Somehow, I doubted it. It seemed overwhelmingly clear that Halpern had done something truly unkind to someone.

And yet, the small nagging thought tugged at me that it was, just as overwhelmingly so, too easy. Something was not quite right here. But since I had no Passenger to point me in the right direction, I kept it to myself. It would have been cruel, in any case, to burst Deborah's happy balloon. She was very nearly glowing with satisfaction as the results came in and Halpern looked more and more like our demented catch of the day.

Deborah was actually humming when she dragged me along to interview Halpern, which took my unease to a new level. I watched her as we went into the room where Halpern was waiting. I could not remember the last time she had seemed so happy. She even forgot to wear her expression of perpetual disapproval. It was very unsettling, a complete violation of natural law, as if everyone on I-95 suddenly decided to drive slowly and carefully.

"Well, Jerry," she said cheerfully as we settled into chairs facing Halpern. "Would you like to talk about those two girls?" "There's nothing to talk about," he said. He was very pale, almost greenish, but he looked a lot more determined than he had when we brought him in. "You've made a mistake," he said. "I didn't do anything." Deborah looked at me with a smile and shook her head. "He didn't do anything," she said happily. "It's possible," I said. "Somebody else might have put the bloody clothes in his apartment while he was watching Letterman."

"Is that what happened, Jerry?" she said. "Did somebody else put those bloody clothes in your place?" If possible, he looked even greener. "What-bloody-what are you talking about?"

She smiled at him. "Jerry. We found a pair of your pants with blood on 'em. It matches the victims' blood. We found a shoe and a sock, same story. And we found a bloody fingerprint in your car. Your fingerprint, their blood." Deborah leaned back in her chair and folded her arms. "Does that jog your memory at all, Jerry?"

Halpern had started shaking his head while Deborah was talking, and he continued to do so, as if it was some kind of weird reflex and he didn't know he was doing it. "No," he said. "No. That isn't even-No." "No, Jerry?" Deborah said. "What does that mean, no?"

He was still shaking his head. A drop of sweat flew off and plopped on the table and I could hear him trying very hard to breathe. "Please," he said. "This is crazy. I didn't do anything. Why are you-This is pure Kafka, I didn't do anything."