“He’s good,” I said. I thought back to when he was pounding his fist into his leg, how I’d wondered whether the kid needed some kind of help, but decided this was not the time to get into that. “How are things at your end? How’s Gloria?”

“Well, she’s Gloria. But she’s okay.”

“You’re still at Madeline’s, right?”

“That’s right.”

“What can I do for you, Bob?”

He hesitated a moment, then said, “I had the strangest call from Grant Finch.”

“Okay.”

“He said you called him speculating that maybe Jeremy wasn’t driving the car that night.”

“That’s right,” I said evenly.

“Like, tell me about that.”

I told him, briefly, about our experiences in my Honda earlier that day.

“Jesus,” Bob said. “I mean, I don’t know what the hell to make of that.”

“Grant was rather dismissive,” I said. “But he clearly thought it was important enough to call and tell you.”

“Well, yeah. And he was still a bit dismissive about it, but he thought we needed to know you’d raised the point. The thing is . . .” His voice trailed off.

“The thing is what?” I asked.

“I’m not as inclined to discount it the way Grant did.”

“Okay.”

“I mean, what do you make of it?”

“At the very least, I think it should have been mentioned at the trial. Would have raised some reasonable doubt.”

“Reasonable doubt of what?”

Now it was my turn to hesitate. “Reasonable doubt about whether Jeremy was in the car to begin with.”

“That’s what I thought,” Bob said. “But we were there, we saw him get out.”

“But I haven’t heard of anyone who saw him get in.”

“God, Weaver, what are you saying?” When I didn’t answer right away, he said, “Are you thinking someone could have put him in the car? That someone else took the car, hit that girl, and then put Jeremy behind the wheel?”

“It’s one theory,” I said evenly.

“Do you have another one?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“What do you know about Charlene Wilson?”

“Jeremy’s friend?”

“That’s right. She’s made a point, twice, of seeing Jeremy in the last two days. I’m guessing she’s kept in touch with him before that.”

“Sure, yeah. They’re pretty close friends.”

“How close?”

“Uh, what are you asking?”

“Does Jeremy love her?”

“Love her?” Bob asked. “I mean, who knows what kinds of thoughts are swirling around in a boy’s head? I know he likes her. They’ve known each other a long time.”

“Do you think he loves her enough to take the blame for something she did?”

“Christ, Weaver, what are you getting at?”

“Look, this is just a theory at the moment. Maybe Charlene wasn’t driving that Porsche, but I’m as sure as I can be that Jeremy wasn’t.”

“This is . . . this is making my head spin.”