“At the outset, you ought to be aware of my legal status,” Tyndale said. “I’m not, strictly speaking, a native of your country. Born in Dorking, south of London. Studied maths at Oxford. Got into electronics, of all things. Washed up on your shores in the nineties to work in the chip business—semiconductor, not potato. In any case, I was naturalized in 2003, so for better or for worse, I’m subject to the laws and regulations of this municipality and nation.”

Coyle struggled with Tyndale’s accent. He took a deep breath to wake himself. “I understand, Mr. Tyndale, you have some information regarding the murder of Elise Durand?”

“That’s correct. I would like, Inspector Coyle, to make a clean breast of it. Full disclosure.”

“We’re not called inspectors in this country—wait a minute. What did you say? Full disclosure? This information involves yourself?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“In what way?”

Tyndale raised one hand. “I’m not entirely familiar with your protocol. But I’ve seen the Law & Order once or twice, so I know you and I are meant to start with a kind of informal to-and-fro, a sort of rough bargaining.”

“We don’t actually—”

Tyndale raised his hand again. “However, before you book me, I’d like to make one request—that I be allowed to serve my sentence in a facility as close to Santa Rosa as possible. My wife doesn’t drive, you see, and it would be a hardship on her if she were to have to travel great distances to visit me.”

“That’s not really a matter—”

“And I have something to trade.” Tyndale tapped the envelope on the table in front of him.

“How about if we start with the…clean breast?”

Tyndale nodded gravely. “I’m a photographer. Hobbyist, not professional. Although, mind you, I have sold a number of snaps here and there.” He winked at Coyle.

“My passion is birds. I’ve been a birder since I was a lad. Here, I like Angel Island and Goat Rock. Terns and finches. Taken over my life in some ways. My wife complains I spend more time at it than anything else.”

“What exactly did you—”

“Yes, quite right,” Tyndale said. “Terrible habit of waffling. Long and short of it is, I’ve been entering your Spring Lake Park before the official hours of admittance. Well before, truth be told. I climb over a fence on Channel Drive, at three or four most mornings. I have a seasonal pass, of course, so it’s not a matter of avoiding the fee. The issue is really the timing, if that’s not to put too fine a point on the matter.”