He hugged her, held her, comforted her. But he wasn’t going to tell her what she wanted to hear. When his arms tired of her quivering form, he walked her back to her car. His eyes drifted toward the house. She could see he was anxious to get inside to Claire. Didn’t want to anger the new and improved screw. No way did he want to wait another ten months to get laid. Kelly got in the car and slammed the door. But she was a wimp. She rolled down the window so he could say a final word. But they were empty words.

“I’ll bring Anna by, Friday evening at six,” he said.

She put her keys in the ignition. “Fine. Just don’t bring Claire.”

“You’re going to have to meet her sometime.”

“Fuck you.”

He was not impressed. “You brought this on yourself.”

“Yeah? Maybe I did. But you’re my husband. When I fall, you’re supposed to stop and pick me up. You’re not supposed to kick me when I’m down.”

Distracted, Tony did not react. “A friend of yours called today.”

“Who?”

“Agent Slate. He said he was calling from Quantico. You know him?”

“Yes. What did he say?”

Tony looked at her. “That you were a hero. That society owed you a debt of gratitude it was never going to be able to repay.”

She was stunned. “What do you think of that?”

He was thoughtful. “I don’t know what to think.”

Her apartment was no less empty for her conversation with her ex-husband. She had a bottle of wine in the cupboard. Taking it out and opening it, she wondered what it would do to her guts if she drank the whole thing. Since her liver was having trouble with dry toast, she supposed the alcohol could kill her outright—not an unattractive idea. In the end she poured the wine down the drain.

The phone rang. She skipped across the room. Maybe it was Tony. Maybe he had gotten in a fight with Claire. Maybe he wanted her back.

“Hello?” she said.

“Agent Fienman?” a small voice asked.

“Yes?”

“It’s Amy Techer. I don’t know why I’m calling.”

“Oh, Amy. No, I’m happy you called. How are you feeling?”

She sounded so sad. “Not good.”

Kelly sat down. “Tell me.”

Amy talked, wept, fell silent. What was there to say? Her world had come to a halt. There had been no word from the kidnapper. Kelly hoped they heard something in the next three days. Otherwise, they would probably hear nothing after that, and the child would almost certainly be dead. A fact she did not share with Amy.

Toward the end of the conversation, Amy asked a strange question.

“Do you believe in sin?”

Kelly had to think no further than vials of sulfuric acid. “I do.”