HEAVY RAINS HAVE TURNED TORRENTIAL, THE VIOLENT storm unseasonable for fall, with high winds stripping trees of any leaves left and thunder cracking like a war going on. Water sprays the undercarriage of the SUV and splashes the glass, and Benton seems miles from me as I drive through the dark puddled streets of mid-Cambridge.

“It’s common sense that he can’t be involved,” he says from the passenger’s seat, where he’s alert to his surroundings and not looking at me.

“Whose common sense?” I try not to sound tense.

“Do you want him leaving his DNA inside her house?”

“Hopefully he wouldn’t, but of course not.” I try to sound reasonable.

Benton’s phone glows in the dark, and he types something on it.

“After he’s possibly already transferred his DNA to her personal effects, to her clothing?” He returns the phone to his lap. “Because I’m betting he handled all sorts of things.”

Wipers thud and the defrost blasts.

“I don’t care what protective shit he had on,” Benton then says. “These days you can get DNA from air.”

“Not quite,” I reply. “But he shouldn’t search her house.” I agree with that. “Although there’s no proof he knew her, ever met her, or had a clue someone stole her identity on Twitter. There’s no shred of evidence he’s done anything wrong.”

“It doesn’t look good.”

“It looks like what it is.” My anger glints. “Someone intended to implicate him.”

“We shouldn’t do anything to make it look worse.”

“So I lose my chief investigator because he got set up and made a fool of by whoever’s involved?” I’m frustrated, on the verge of furious, that the FBI suddenly assumes it has a say in how I run my office.

I’m angered by the suggestion that investigators I train leave their DNA everywhere.

“He was set up because he was an intended target,” I add.

“He needs to stay out of this case. He needs to stay away from the CFC for a while.”

“That’s what you think or what your colleagues think?” Lightning flashes and the sky looks bruised.

“It’s not for me to decide how Marino should be handled. It’s not appropriate for me to decide, in light of personal connections. In light of our history.” Benton doesn’t look at me, and I know when he’s wounded.

“It seems if anyone should decide, it’s the one who knows him best.”

“Yes, I know him,” he says.

“You certainly do. And your colleagues don’t.”

“Not the way I know him. You’re right about that. And maybe you should think about what I know.”

“I should think about what you know of Marino’s flaws.” It’s obvious what he’s alluding to, and I can’t stop this from where it’s going.

“Flaws. Christ,” he says.

“Don’t do this, Benton.”