“Okay, so I guess this is it,” says Kierk, both of them standing outside the CNS in the bright lamplight. The rain has stopped. The night is full of sweet sounds and cars passing on Broadway.

“So sorry I have to do this,” Carmen says. “My participant is supposed to meet me here.”

“Hey listen, there’s something I wanted to tell you,” he says, suddenly serious.

“What?”

He informs her about the security guard seeing him and Carmen at an estimated 2:15 a.m., but that they had left shortly thereafter and Kierk hadn’t returned until after 4:00 a.m.

“So you’re telling me you weren’t home yet by the time of the murder?”

“. . . Yes. That’s what I’m saying.”

“But if you weren’t home . . . I had cleared everyone who was in the taxi. Leon, Alex, me, you. After the bar we all went in the opposite direction and I assumed the cab dropped us off at our apartments. Now . . . Anyone in that cab could have gone back in the meantime, texted him to meet or something. Then pushed Atif in. Oh my god.”

“So you’re suspicious of everyone?”

“Think about it, Kierk. There are just two tenure-track positions available for eight Crick Scholars. And it’s not like those just come around, not at a place like NYU. Those jobs are once-in-a-lifetime offerings. And Atif was stiff competition. He had a great publication record, got along with everyone, and wasn’t white.”

“So now you think it was a Crick Scholar?”

“Listen, cui bono? Who benefits? I’m just saying that in some sense, everyone had a motive. Even you and me. Even Alex.”

“You’re willing to put yourself up to the same level of scrutiny?”

“But I have direct access to myself. I know I didn’t do it.”

“Do you? What if you went for some reason, somehow, and Atif tried to grab you? Grope you. And you got mad or scared and pushed him and he stumbled backward and fell on the tracks.”

Carmen pauses, thinking. Then she says—“I have no text messages. How would I have found him?”

“Maybe he said where he was going before but we forgot?”

“Fine. I’m on the suspect list. But I’m low on the suspect list.”

“What about me?”

“Give me your phone.”

Kierk hands it over. “If there was anything, I’d have deleted it.” Carmen shoots a glance upward before he breaks into a smile—“But I didn’t!”

She hands him back his phone and they both stand chuckling for a moment. “Alright, you and I are both very low on the list then.”

“Good to hear.”

Carmen, looking at him quizzically—“So what the hell were we doing in the lobby?”

“This.” And Kierk pulls her to him.