Bushing removed two photographs from his briefcase. One was of Betsy Kern, the same photo I’d seen in the newspaper. The other was the young woman who’d confronted me near Goodrich Hall the previous night. The woman I’d thought was Karly.

“That security guard had good instincts,” Bushing said. “These two women do resemble each other. Now, that in and of itself wouldn’t really trip my trigger, but the security guy also sent along the description of the suspect. Figured it might help us. That got my attention. Short white guy, late twenties or early thirties, scruffy dark hair, heavy stubble. Sound like anybody you know, Mr. Moran?”

I didn’t answer.

“The grad student also said the man who followed her was wearing a dark-red button-down shirt. According to your wife, you were wearing a shirt like that when you went out last night. Was that you on the Northwestern campus, Mr. Moran?”

He had me cornered, and we both knew it. All it would take was a photograph for the woman at Northwestern to identify me, if she hadn’t done so already. I couldn’t pretend that I hadn’t been there.

“Yes,” I admitted. “That was me.”

“Why were you following that woman, Mr. Moran?”

“I wasn’t. I saw someone else following her, and I was concerned. I was trying to intervene to make sure she was okay.”

“She didn’t see anyone else behind her. She saw you. She also said she was pretty sure you had a knife.”

“I didn’t.”

“If we search your car, will we find a knife?”

“No.”

“Because you got rid of it?”

“Because I never had one.”

“Betsy Kern was killed with a knife.”

“Yes, that’s what you said.”

“Did you kill Betsy Kern, Mr. Moran?”

“No,” I hissed.

“Well, you say you don’t remember anything from the night you disappeared. So how can you be sure?”

“I think I’d remember killing someone.”

“Right. Or maybe this whole memory-loss story is nothing but a big pile of steaming dog shit on the bottom of your shoe.”

“I’m telling you the truth. I don’t remember that night. But I would never kill anyone.”

“Then what were you doing up at Northwestern?”

I sighed, because I had no explanation that made any rational sense. I couldn’t mention Karly. I had no connection with her, no reason to be looking for her. But even if I kept her name secret, it wouldn’t take Bushing long to track down the calls I’d made and the people I’d talked to about Karly. He’d find a photograph of her and see the resemblance to the other two women.

They’d ask Karly about me, and as soon as they did, I’d be cut off from her forever. She would never talk to me, never trust me.