“What the hell does that mean?” Clark asked.

Donna wiped her eyes. “They’re giving up. That’s how lawyers talk.”

Clark heard one of the reporters ask a question. “Is it true that a suspect in the crime attempted suicide following interrogation by Duluth police?”

A photo appeared in the upper right corner of the television screen, and Clark saw the face of the man in the photo array that Maggie had shown him. He saw the name. Finn Mathisen.

“I can’t comment on that,” Burns replied.

“. . . heard there might be a confession in the case,” another reporter said over the chorus of voices.

Burns shook her head. “We’ve conducted numerous interviews with witnesses, and we’re still evaluating them. At this point, the police do not have any statement in hand from anyone claiming responsibility for the murder.”

“Has Peter Stanhope been cleared of involvement in the murder?”

“I’m not going to discuss anyone’s guilt or innocence.”

“Do you think this case will ever be solved?”

“I very much hope so.”

Clark didn’t look at Pat Burns. He studied Maggie’s face behind her. What he saw there turned the hope in his heart to dust. When she looked at the camera, it was as if she were looking directly at him, admitting she had failed, apologizing.

Another voice. “. . . is reporting that the suspect is a Superior resident named Finn Mathisen, and that Mathisen is also a suspect in the recent string of peeping incidents involving teenage girls?”

Clark held his breath. Donna clung to his arm.

“We are gathering evidence with regard to the so-called peeping tom cases,” Burns said. “Mr. Mathisen is a person of interest in that investigation, but he has not been charged. That’s all I’ll say.”

“Is it true that one of the peeping incidents led to a girl’s death?”

“We are investigating whether the death by drowning of a mentally challenged girl in Fond du Lac is in any way related to a peeping incident involving the same girl. It’s too early to draw any conclusions.”

“Turn if off,” Clark told the bartender.

The bartender looked back at him with his arms crossed. “You sure, Clark?”

“Turn if off,” he repeated.

The man switched channels.

“Too early to draw any conclusions?” Clark asked.

Donna stroked his bare arm. “They have to say that. It doesn’t mean he won’t be charged. You can’t obsess about it, Clark. Let them do their jobs.”

“He’s going to get away with it.”

“You don’t know that.”

Clark closed his eyes. His drunken mind was like a dam, cracking and sprouting fissures under the relentless pressure of a swollen river. Each time one of the girls behind him squealed with laughter, he heard Mary’s laugh. It was as if she were still alive, holding out her hand and calling for him. When he tried to picture her face, however, he couldn’t see it. Another face intervened in his mind.

The sallow, leering face of Finn Mathisen.