“Just a moment, Detective Somerset.” When he paused, she added, “Outside, if you don’t mind.”

So they stepped out into the heat; even this early, the day was already baking, and the sick-sweet stink from the dumpsters hung in the still air. Park let the door swing shut, and then she tapped out a cigarette. She offered one to Somers, and he shook his head.

With a small smile, Park offered it again, flicking the end, drawing his attention so he’d examine it more closely.

Somers grinned this time and accepted. He put it between his lips and sucked; the hard sugar of the candy was pebbly against his tongue, and the taste was cloyingly sweet.

“My parents would only buy these at my Little League games,” Somers said around the cigarette. “And then they put me in Junior Wildcats, and I didn’t have time for baseball, so I don’t think I’ve had one of these since I was, oh, eight.”

Park was crunching her cigarette; it was gone in thirty seconds, and then she started another one. “I need the first one for that hit of sugar,” she said around the second. “That’s, what, peewee football?”

“Yeah.”

“Were you any good?”

Somers laughed. “It’s a small town.”

“That’s what I hear about you. You’re good at everything you put your hand to. You’ve solved some impossible cases. Everybody loves you.”

“Maybe you could remind Lansdown that’s the official policy.”

One of Park’s eyebrows went up.

“Keep going,” Somers said. “I want to enjoy this part before the hammer drops. I’m very humble, did they tell you that?”

“That was the first thing they said.”

Somers grinned and then sucked hard on the candy cigarette. “Nothing’s going to happen to Wesley, Agent Park. I promise.”

“I’m not worried about Wesley,” Park said, still staring at him.

A truck rumbled by on the street.

“Can I—” Somers began.

“You and your partner found the Keeper’s first victims, isn’t that right?”

“My fiancé. Well, he was my boyfriend at the time. Yes.”

“Mr. Hazard.”

“That’s right.”

“And you found them in a college basement. You managed to find them when no one else could, and you did it by reading a history book that had been accidentally left open on a bed.”

“Yes,” Somers said slowly. “Although that’s not the most accurate way of—”

“Impossible cases, Detective Somerset. I read those news articles about him, the ones that came out a few months ago. You and your fiancé have an amazing track record. You know what I thought at the time? I thought, nobody’s that good. Nobody.”

“What are you suggesting, Special Agent Park?”

“I’m tempted to say an unbelievable track record.”

Down the street, the same truck that had just passed was now backing up, a steady beep-beep-beep accompanying it.

“I think you’d better say what you’re trying to say,” Somers said.

The agent didn’t answer.

Somers bit through the candy cigarette, grinding it to powder and then sucking it down. When he finished, he said, “We’re on the same side, aren’t we?”