“Here’s the thing, Mark,” he said. “We have Haley Fordham’s birth certificate with Darren Bordain listed as being her father.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Why would you say that?” Hicks asked. “If Darren is straight, why wouldn’t that be possible?”

“Because Haley was already born before Darren ever met Marissa.”

“He says,” Mendez stipulated. “The problem with Darren’s story is that he doesn’t really have an alibi for the night Marissa was killed, and he potentially has two very strong motives to want her dead. Now, he says he was home alone, which doesn’t help him out. I don’t believe him. I think there’s someone who could corroborate his alibi. I don’t believe he was home alone. I think he was with someone, and he’s trying to protect that person.”

“If you’re that person, Mark,” Hicks said, “you can clear this up right now and everyone moves on with their lives.”

“Why would you believe me?” Foster asked. “Darren is my friend. I could lie for him. You would have to corroborate my story, and you’ll do that by going around asking everyone I know if I’m gay and if Darren is gay. Since you’re going to do that anyway, I might as well go home now and leave you to your work.”

“You’re not going to back him up,” Mendez said.

“He hasn’t told you he was with me,” Foster countered. “There’s nothing for me to back up. And there’s nothing for either of us to gain by me saying I was there.”

Frustrated, Mendez sat back and tapped a pen against the tabletop. This was what he got for getting into a chess match with a smart guy. It was so much easier with the average stupid criminal.

“All right,” he said on a sigh. “Then this is going to get ugly, and there’s nothing I can do about that except apologize in advance.”

“You’ll understand if I don’t accept your apology, Detective,” Foster said, getting up, “if you’re going to drag my name through the mud and jeopardize my career by creating a scandal over something that doesn’t exist.”

“Yeah,” Mendez said. “I guess it’s easier for you to blame me for that than to accept responsibility for your own choice not to answer my questions or own up to who you are.”

Foster gave him a cold look through his steel-rimmed glasses. “You don’t have any idea who I am.”

“No,” Mendez agreed. “And you’ve been keeping that secret for so many years, I wonder if you know the answer yourself.”

“I live with who I am every day,” Foster said. He turned to Hicks. “If you don’t mind, Detective, I’d like to go home now.”

“Strike two,” Mendez said, walking into the break room.

“Go home,” Dixon said. “Tomorrow is another day.”

“Any word about Anne?”