It took me a long time to relax into sleep. I felt vulnerable in this rented room, with its flimsy set of locks. I finally drifted into feverish dreams: The earth had swallowed me. Jake sat on the ground overhead, playing his bass for a twenty-year-old cellist whose golden hair flowed below her waist.

I was able to sleep only long enough to take the edge off my weariness. When I woke a little after seven, I hotfooted it downtown to a FedEx store, where I sent the original thumb drive to Cheviot. I used a store computer, not my own, to type the cover letter explaining what I wanted them to do. I even paid cash for the shipment, instead of billing it through to my credit-card account.

I felt foolish being so cautious, but I had no idea what direction violence was coming from and had no secure place to store either my own electronics or any evidence I came upon. If I lost my computer, I didn’t want anyone to be able to trace my actions. Colonel Baggetto came to mind: a guy like him, with his training and access to government resources, could break into a computer like mine one-handed.

When I finished, my T-shirt was damp with sweat, clinging clammily to my skin. I zipped up my windbreaker and ran Peppy down to the river, where the morning wind off the water cut through my jacket to freeze my damp shirt. I ducked behind a scruffy bush and undressed, pulling off the shirt and shoving it into a pocket. Still cold, but not so bitter.

We ran back into the town, to the Decadent Hippo: when you’re alone and forlorn, little routines become sources of comfort. The bartender/barista cocked an eye at her bean grinder. I nodded, and she made me a cortado. They sold long-sleeved T-shirts, which showed a pink hippo lounging in a hot tub drinking a cappuccino. Twenty-five dollars bought me a coffee and something warm for my cold back.

I took my coffee to a stool in the window, where Peppy and I could see each other through the glass, and started answering e-mails. Freeman Carter, my lawyer in Chicago, had found a good criminal-defense lawyer about twenty-five miles away, in a suburb of Kansas City. He’d written Luella Baumgart-Grams about me; she’d be happy to help if the need arose. I sent her a follow-up message with a few details about the job that had brought me to Kansas and added her to my speed dial, because you never know. When I’d caught up on queries from Chicago clients, I tried to plan my day.