Milo returned with a small cup of water. Helga didn’t acknowledge him, but her eyes opened when he said, “Here you go,” and placed it in front of her.

He put on reading glasses, reviewed his notes. She eyed him, finally sipped.

“Okay, tell me about the trip to Port Angeles.”

She touched a fringe of wig. “I engaged in tourism. The great lifeblood of American pseudo-culture.”

“A pleasure trip.”

“I have been to Disneyland, as well.”

“Guess I don’t need to ask if you liked it.”

“Actually,” she said, “it was quite pleasing in its own repugnant way. Consistent.”

“With vulgar American culture?”

“With a world devoid of reason.”

He harrumphed. Slid a couple of sheets toward her. “This is your registration form from the Myrtlewood Inn in Port Angeles. And this is your car rental receipt.”

“I stayed at a nice hotel,” she said. “So?”

“You and Des Backer both stayed there. You took separate rooms, the staff remembers you paying for both. They also recall seeing you and Des at breakfast together.”

Guesses. Good ones. Helga Gemein frowned. “So what? I already told you I got my equipment from him.”

“It was a purchasing trip.”

“Sightseeing, then some purchasing.”

“Why’d you give Des your car and rent another vehicle for yourself?”

“Because we were not together.”

“As…”

“As being together.”

“Did you drive up together?”

“I drove, he flew.”

“So no one at the office would suspect anything.”

“I wanted to drive,” said Helga. “He wanted to fly. He wanted to visit his family.”

“What did you do when he was visiting?”

“I shopped.”

“For timers and fuses?”

“Among other things,” said Helga.

“What things?”

“Clothing.”

“Find some bargains?”

“Jeans,” she said, stroking one shapely thigh. “Black jeans on sale.”

“You drove because you couldn’t risk an airport security check with fifty thousand dollars in two suitcases.”

Helga took several seconds to respond. “If you know so much, why are you wasting my time?”

“That darn old procedure thing. I need to hear it from you.”

“All because of twigs?”

“Afraid so. They were big twigs. Owned by an important person.”

“No one is important.”

“Obviously someone was to you, Helga.” He moved in closer, like I’d seen him do so many times. Spreading his shoulders and hardening his voice.

She flinched reflexively. Forced a smile.

He asserted his big face inches from hers. “Helga, someone was important enough for you to pay fifty thousand dollars to burn down twigs. Important enough for you to set up a shell company. Important enough for you to plan precisely.”

Helga Gemein’s chest heaved. She looked away. Beginning of the end.

“Helga, you’d like me to think you believe in nothing, but the way I see it, everything you did was an act of pure faith. Because that’s what vengeance is, right? Pure faith in the power of correction. That wrong can be made right.”