The nice cop sighed, but nodded. “The Mustang belongs to your friend, right? We know it does. I’m sorry. That sounds like I’m trying to trick you somehow.” He shook his head as if frustrated by his own questions. “Was the car here when you arrived?” Becky nodded. “And your friend? Did you see him at all?”

“No.”

“What about Chance?”

Becky shook her head, increasingly suspicious of Martinez. He was too intent, the way he leaned forward and stared. “Why do you care about the car?” she asked.

“It’s a routine question.”

“It’s just his car,” Becky said. “He bought it last summer.”

“That’s fine. You’re doing great. Did you see anyone when you arrived? On the street? Anywhere nearby?”

“I wasn’t paying attention.”

“If someone had left the house through the back door, do you think you would have seen them? As you arrived, or as you entered the house, did you hear anything? A door closing? Footsteps?”

“No.”

“Any sense of movement inside the house?”

“You think he was still in the house? Whoever did this?”

“No, sweetheart. I doubt that very much.”

But Becky thought he might be lying.

Martinez said, “Ask her about the keys.”

The nice cop held up a hand, but did not respond to Martinez. “Look at me, sweetheart. Okay?” He lifted his eyebrows, an invitation for her to stop staring at Martinez, and focus. “A few more questions. Did you happen to notice if the keys were in your friend’s car?”

Becky shook her head.

“How about in the house? Did you see the keys inside?”

“What do Gibby’s keys have to do with someone killing that man?”

“It’s just a question, sweetheart.”

“Will you please stop calling me that?”

“Of course. I’m sorry. I have daughters. It’s a habit.”

Becky looked at Martinez. “And you, you’re scaring my friend.”

Martinez showed his palms, and moved back a step, an almost-apology. The nice cop smiled encouragingly. “The keys,” he said again.

“The keys were beside the body.” Dana looked up for the first time. “That’s why they’re asking. They think Gibby and Chance are involved.”

“Hang on now, no one here thinks that.” The nice cop tried to keep things calm.

“He does.” Dana pointed at Martinez.

“Just questions,” the nice cop said.

But he didn’t seem so nice anymore.

For Bill French, the day was an exercise in bureaucratic futility. He’d gone to the station early, and Captain Martin had been there, waiting.

I’m sending you to Raleigh for a conference. You don’t want to go, but I need you gone for the day.

French had argued back, but the captain was determined.

Gone for the day or suspended for a month. Your choice …