“Do you know where Zoe Coyle is right now?” Pilgrim asked.

“No,” he said.

“Do you know where Ethan Coyle is right now?”

“No!”

Every one of his answers got a nod from Agent Pilgrim. It was starting to add up.

It’s not that polygraphs are foolproof. They’re a guide, and nothing more than that. But even so, we seemed to be heading toward an unwanted conclusion here. You could feel it in the room.

George O’Shea wasn’t our guy. He didn’t have anything to do with the kidnapping.

THEY WERE JUST finishing up with the polygraph when I got an unexpected phone call. There weren’t many people who could have pulled me out of that room just then, but here was one of them.

“Detective Cross, it’s Nina Friedman from the White House. Could you please hold for the First Lady?”

Just like that — a direct call from Regina Coyle. Sure. Happens every day. Of course I could hold for the First Lady.

I stepped out and into one of the empty interview rooms. Just as I was pulling the door closed behind me, Mrs. Coyle came on the line.

“What can I do for you, ma’am?” I asked.

“I’m wondering what you can tell me about this George O’Shea person,” she said.

The question caught me off guard. I wasn’t completely surprised that she’d already gotten word on O’Shea, but still, this put me in a tight spot.

“Excuse me for asking, Mrs. Coyle, but how much do you already know?” I said.

“I know who he is. I know that he’s been arrested. And I know the reason why. What I’d like to know is what you think of him.”

“I can tell you he just passed a polygraph test,” I told her. “But that’s not impossible to fake. I’ve seen it happen before.”

“Yes, but what do you think, Alex? You’re my eyes and ears on this. I’m not looking for absolutes,” she said. “Just … anything to give us hope.”

The more I knew Mrs. Coyle, the more I found myself relating to her, parent to parent. I probably said more than I should have.

“I don’t think he knows where Ethan and Zoe are. I’m sorry.”

“I see,” she said.

There was a long, silent moment on the phone. I could hear people out in the hall, leaving the observation room. Presumably O’Shea would be transferred to the U.S. marshals’ custody and taken to the arraignment courts from here. Then over to the central cell block after that. The pornography charge alone would put him in jail.

“Mrs. Coyle?” I said.

“I’m still here.”

“As long as I have you, I’d like to ask a question about the morning of the kidnapping. If it’s all right.”

“Of course,” she said. I think any distraction from the disappointing news was welcome at this point.

“Do you know if Zoe brought her phone to school that morning?” I asked.