“I’ll have to take that on faith,” said Milo. “Don’t expect to be invited to your office anytime soon. Unlike that other worthy soul, Craig Bosc. I’m disappointed in you, John. Choosing a lowlife like that to run your errands.”

Broussard worked his lips. “Craig has his talents. He went too far this time.”

“What was the idiot’s assignment? Spook me into focusing on the Ingalls case, the old reverse psychology? Just in case sending Delaware the murder book wasn’t enough to kick me in gear?”

“The idiot’s directive,” said Broussard, “was to aim you at the case and keep you focused. I thought you’d be interested, but for a while things seemed to be lagging. It has been twenty years.”

“So you steal my partner’s car, float HIV-retirement rumors, have Bosc hit on me and make sure I get aimed at a POB that directs me to the Larners. Then you trail Dr. Delaware and set Coury on his trail. He could’ve died last night, you manipulative sonofabitch.”

“He didn’t,” said Broussard. “And I don’t deal in theoreticals. As I said, Craig grew overzealous. End of story.”

Milo cursed, caught his breath, bent, and caressed the top of Janie’s grave. Broussard’s shoulders tensed, as if the gesture was insulting.

“You buy a gravestone and think you’re absolved, John. This poor little girl molders for two decades, and you’ve allowed yourself to grow righteous. Schwinn sent you the book, and you made me part of the chain letter via Dr. Delaware. Why? It sure wasn’t the search for justice.”

The chief’s face returned to wooden. Milo visualized him wiping the murder book clean of prints, contemplating the “contingencies,” finally deciding to forward the death shots to someone sure to pass them along. Using Alex to spook him, throw him off, wanting him to have to fight to regain his bearings, convince himself it was a noble quest.

And if Milo hadn’t bitten, Broussard would’ve found another way. There’d never been any real choice.

“You’ve got a reputation,” said Broussard. “As a contrarian. I thought it was wise to harness that.”

He shrugged, and the easy gesture turned Milo feverish. He locked his hands together, struggled not to hit Broussard, finally found his voice. “Why’d you want the case solved now?”

“Times change.”