“We’re in the process of checking phone records. Any ideas?”

“No. I’m not here on weekends. I have an administrative job. But of course, someone was here. Check with them.”

I eyed him. “Where were you Sunday night?”

Buck broke into a savage smile. “Oh my!” He brought his hands to his chest. “Am I under suspicion?”

“Can you answer the question?”

“Let’s see.” He cleared his throat. “What time are we talking about?”

“Three in the morning. Monday morning.”

“At three A.M.? I was sleeping.”

“Do you have a roommate?”

“My dog.”

“What’d you do last Sunday?”

“Hmmm. I went out to brunch with a good friend … Café Romano. That was until … hmmm … three, three-thirty. Do you want her name?”

Her name. “Girlfriend?”

“On good days.” He sneered at me. “Jealous?”

“Green with envy. Go on.”

“Hmmm … I went home. I read. Watched TV. Played with my computer. … Oh, I went to a video store. I rented In the Bedroom … something light and breezy.” He rolled his eyes.

I smiled.

Buck pointed to the stairwell. “Your interviewee awaits.”

I looked in the direction of his pointed finger. Klinghoffner was coming down the steps.

“Anything else?” Buck asked me.

I stood up. “Not at the moment.”

“Does this mean you’re going to pester me again?”

“Maybe.”

“Oh goody!” He graced me with a sour smile. “I’m rather enjoying this bad-boy image.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I whispered as I passed his desk.

We went into a private office, away from Buck’s prying eyes and ears, and away from distractions. Klinghoffner was wearing a rumpled brown jacket, a wrinkled white shirt, and creased brown cords. He looked as if he hadn’t slept for days. His eyes were sunken and his skin had a sick pallor that usually accompanied bad news. He mirrored my own internal turmoil.

“They’re children,” he told me. “Little kids, Officer Decker. That’s all Belinda was … just a little kid.” He sank into a chair, motioning for me to sit as well. “I just can’t believe the bastard didn’t stop!”

“It was terrible.”

He regarded me with sympathetic eyes. “Did you get his license plate?”

“There’s an ongoing investigation. But actually that’s not why I’m here.”

“No?” He sounded surprised.

Before I started to explain myself, I said, “Have the police contacted you in regard to Belinda’s death?”

“No. Frankly, that’s what I thought this call was all about.”

I had no business asking about Belinda, no business investigating the hit-and-run. Not only would it have been unprofessional, it might mess something up in the future. And to that, I said to myself: So what? I said, “Her brother told me that someone had phoned her, offering to take her back to the center. Know anything about that?”

“No.” He thought a moment. “How odd. I have no idea who that could have possibly been. We’re on a skeleton staff over the weekend, just a couple of our teachers, sleep-in caretakers, and the janitor.”