“Out of that cash in your purse?”

“Since when is it a crime to have money? America worships money.”

“No crime at all. But six thousand’s a lot of cash to be carrying around.”

Helga smirked.

Thomas said, “That was pure rich kid. This one’s never been told no.”

Helga said, “What is the amount of my fine?”

Milo said, “I’m not sure of the penal code on twigs yet. We’re still checking.”

“Well, do it quickly.”

“Soon as the district attorney lets me know, I’ll get the paperwork going. Meanwhile, let’s go over this act of cleansing.”

“Not again, no, I will not.”

“I just want to make sure I understand.”

“If you do not understand by this time, you are hopelessly defective.”

“Anything’s possible,” said Milo. He shuffled papers, knitted his brows, stuck out a tongue, hummed a low tune. “You’re sure you don’t want more water?”

“I still have.” Eyeing the cup he’d brought her five minutes in.

Boxmeister said, “Garsh, Gomer, when you gonna call for a hayseed and a spittoon?”

Milo said, “Okay, you can drink that.”

Helga Gemein picked up the cup, sipped it empty. Power of suggestion.

Turning point in the interview.

She put the cup down. Eyes still on his notes, he said, “So … you planned and burned the twigs all by yourself. Tell me how you did it.”

“The fine is insufficient penance?” said Helga, smirking again. “In America, money fixes everything.”

“Even so, ma’am. We like to have all the facts.”

“The facts are: As an architect with a strong background in structural engineering, I have a thorough understanding of structural vulnerability. I located the inherent structural defects of that garbage heap, set devices precisely, operated a remote timer, and watched as everything turned to dust.”

“So you were right there.”

“Close enough to bathe in heat and light.”

“A few houses down?”

“I didn’t count.”

“But you parked the motorcycle three blocks away.”

Blue eyes sparked. “How do you know I drive a motorcycle?”

“It was spotted and reported.”

“So you know the answer to your question. So do not waste my time.”

“Like I said, we need to verify,” said Milo. “For our report, so we can let you go and be done with all this.”

“Proper procedure,” said Helga. “Enabling you to pretend competence.”

“You know about procedure.”

Helga arched an eyebrow.

Milo said, “That old joke? Hell is the place where the Italians establish procedure and the Swiss are in charge of design?”

“Hell, Policeman, is the place Americans gorge themselves to unconsciousness and delude themselves to mindless optimism.”

“Never heard that version,” said Milo. “But you have to admit, the Swiss are darn good at design—who makes the best watches? Speaking of which, let’s talk about those timers. Where’d you get them?”

“From Des.”

The quick reply caught him off-guard. He covered with a prolonged nod. “Des Backer.”