“We can talk about that later. Gibby, get in the car.”

“But Sara…”

“I said get in the car.”

“What happened to Tyra?” I made it a demand. No one cared.

“Not now,” my father said.

“Then when?”

“Son, get in the fucking car.”

His eyes blazed, but the profanity frightened me more than anything else. Burklow was gentler. “Go ahead, son. You can see your friend tomorrow. She’s not in any trouble.”

Keeping his eyes on Martinez, my father said, “Ken, if you would.”

Burklow took my arm, and pulled me down the steps.

Martinez said, “We still want to talk to your son.”

“I know you do, but it’s not happening tonight. Ken, please.”

The big cop dragged me all the way to the car, and stuffed me in the back seat, locking me inside. I looked for Sara, on the stoop.

Her face was in her hands.

She was crying.

13

At Lanesworth, X was frustrated and restless. He stretched out on the bed, got up, stretched out again. When Reece appeared, at last, a glance at his face told X it was done. “It went well, then?”

“So well I am disinclined to charge you. The young woman was … delightful.”

X mirrored the man’s thin smile. “It’s no crime for a man to enjoy his work. Expect the usual fee in the usual manner.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I assume you have something for me?”

Reece withdrew an envelope full of Polaroid photographs, and handed it over. “We did it like you said.”

X opened the envelope, removing the photographs. “Chronological order?”

“Beginning in the driveway outside of her condominium.”

X took his time with the pictures: the girl in the car, then chained, then dead. “How long?” he asked.

“Five hours, once we got her up.”

“She was conscious throughout?”

“I took the usual pains.”

X had no doubt. Reece was immaculate in the execution of his passions. Going through the stack a second time, X culled out a few photos and handed them to Reece. “You know what to do with those?”

“No fingerprints. Untraceable.”

“As soon as possible, please.”

“I have the address.”

X returned the remaining photos to the envelope, and passed them to Reece. “There’s an inmate on cellblock C, Francis Willamette. These are for him. Use appropriate discretion.”

Reece would, of course. He knew the guards, the protocols. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“You saw Jason, of course.”

“I did.”

“Good.” X sat, and offered Reece a second chair. “Tell me what you saw. Leave nothing out.”

14

Burklow took me home, and stayed late at the kitchen table, nursing a beer, and deflecting questions. “You’ll need to ask your father that.”

“Where is he?”

“Dealing with stuff.”

“When will he come home?”

“He’ll be here when he gets here.”

“Tell me about Tyra.”

“Forget it, kid. I mean it.”