“Why do I feel like I’m being set up here?” he said right into the camera.

Lindley put down his pen and closed the file in front of him as if we were just getting started.

“Mr. Glass, was there some sort of incident, between you and your ex-wife in March of 2007?” he asked.

Glass did an exaggerated double take, looking back and forth between Lindley and me. “I’m getting whiplash in here. What are you talking about? I’m lost.”

“She says you drugged her and held her hostage for three days, shortly after the death of your son.”

“What?” His face dropped. For the first time, he actually seemed surprised. “So this is how you want to play it? The dead-kid card? Are you joking?”

I stood up. I couldn’t sit still for this anymore. “Do we look like we’re joking?” I said.

Lindley went on in the same monotone. He stayed in his seat. “Would you be willing to show us where you took her?” he asked.

“I can’t!” Glass shouted at him. “I can’t — because it never happened! Did you even bother to check Molly’s medical records? She had a complete breakdown after Zach died. I’m talking clinical. So if she thinks I held her hostage, or whatever, that’s her problem, not mine.”

“You know, your compassion’s a little underwhelming,” I said.

“Yeah, so’s your police work,” he shot back. “Jesus. If Ethan and Zoe do wind up dead, at least we’ll all know whose fault it is.”

That was it. I snapped. The next thing I knew, I was halfway across the table with two handfuls of Glass’s shirt.

“Where are they?” I yelled.

“Alex!”

“Where are they?”

It was a moment of pure adrenaline. If I could have split open his head for the information, I might have done it.

“Get him out of here!” Lindley shouted behind me.

“This isn’t going to bring back your son!” I told him. “Give it up, Glass — for God’s sake! Don’t let those kids die!”

I was still yelling as they pulled me out into the hall. The last thing I saw before they closed the door was Rodney Glass, raising a hand my way to wave good-bye.

Jesus. What had I just done? He’d gotten exactly what he’d wanted, hadn’t he?

I’d risen to the bait.

I WAS CROUCHED down in the hall, trying to regroup, still angry but also embarrassed about what had happened with Glass, when I realized someone was standing over me.

“Take a walk?”

I looked up from a pair of black steel-toed boots to see Ned Mahoney, holding out a hand.

“How’d you know I was here?” I said.

“After that little scene? I think everyone knows you’re here,” Ned said. Several other people had stopped and were still staring. “Come on. Let’s go breathe some air.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” I told him.

“That’s true,” he said, and headed up the hall. So I stood and followed.