“You were suspicious of me,” Sobel said. “You were feeling me out.”

“And you were feeling me out,” Terry said.

“Fair enough.” Sobel regarded Decker. “It appears we’re both in the dark.” He swallowed hard. “We heard that the Latham guy got chopped up.”

Decker said, “Who told you that?”

“Word gets around,” Terry said.

“I know people in Summer Village,” Sobel said.

“He wasn’t chopped up,” Decker said. “But he wasn’t pretty to look at, either.”

“Oh God!” Terry hit his forehead. “Why are you here? I hadn’t been with Angeline for over a year . . . longer.”

Decker nodded to McAdams who said, “I was in Rayfield Library this morning—the reference desk.”

Terry shrugged. “Good for you.”

“I was looking for a specific book called the History of Iconography.” When Terry didn’t respond, McAdams said, “Want to tell us about it, Lance?”

“Tell you what?” A pause. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t remember a book you checked out only two months ago?”

A pause. “Is this some kind of trap?”

“Let’s try it again. The History of Iconography by Nikolai Petroshkovich.” The boy looked blank. “Doesn’t ring any bells?”

“Not a one.”

“You need to sign your name on an index card to check out this particular book because it’s very valuable. It’s worth six figures.”

“Interesting but it has nothing to do with me.”

McAdams licked his lips. “Your name was on one of the index cards.”

“You must have misread the card.”

“No, I did not misread the card. Furthermore, the school ID number belongs to you. Try again.”

“What was the book again?”

“The History of Iconography by Nikolai Petroshkovich. Published in 1926. An old art book with original plates?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I never checked out a book on iconography. I have no interest in iconography. I’m not even sure what an icon is. If you suspect it has something to do with Angeline’s murder, then maybe she put my name . . .” He fell silent.

“What?” Decker asked.

“That little bitch!” Terry’s face turned dark. “That scheming little bitch!” He sat down so that he was eye level with McAdams. “Angeline asked me if I could check out a reference book for her—for her thesis. She told me she’d do it herself, but she already had too many reference books out and they wouldn’t let her check out any more. She caught me at a weak moment . . . on purpose . . . fucking whore!”

“Go on,” McAdams said. “She asked you to check out a book for her and . . .”