Miles made it home at the same time Charlie was pulling up at Hailey State Prison, and the first thing he did was head to his bedroom.  Not to sleep. Instead, from the closet where he’d hidden it, he retrieved the manila file.

There, he spent the next few hours flipping and turning the pages, studying the information. There was nothing new, nothing he’d overlooked in the past, but still, he found it impossible to put down.

Now, he knew what to look for.

Sometime later, he heard the phone ring; he didn’t answer it. It rang again twenty minutes later, with the same result. At his usual time, Jonah got off the bus, and seeing his father’s car, he went home instead of to Mrs. Knowlson’s. He scrambled into the bedroom excitedly because he hadn’t expected to see his father until later and thought they could do something together before he went out with Mark. But he saw the file and knew immediately what that meant. Though they talked for a few moments, Jonah sensed his father’s need to be alone and didn’t bother asking for anything. He wandered back to the living room and turned on the television.

The afternoon sun began to sink; at dusk, Christmas lights throughout the neighborhood began twinkling. Jonah checked on his father, even spoke from the doorway, but Miles never looked up.

Jonah had a bowl of cereal for dinner.

Still, Miles scoured the file. He jotted questions and notes in the margins, beginning with Sims and Earl and the need to get them to testify. Then he turned to the pages that dealt with the investigation of Otis Timson, wishing he’d been there in the first place. More questions, more notes.Did they check every car on the property for damage—even the junked ones? Could he have borrowed one, and from where? Would someone at an auto parts shop remember if Otis ever bought an emergency kit? Where would they have disposed of the car if it had been damaged?  Call other departments—see if any illegal chop shops had been closed down within the last couple of years. Interview, if possible. Cut a deal if they can recall something.

A little before eight o’clock, Jonah came back into the bedroom, dressed and ready to go to the movies with Mark. Miles had forgotten about the outing completely. Jonah kissed him good-bye and headed out; Miles went straight back to the file without asking when he’d be back.

He didn’t hear Sarah come in until she called his name from the living room.

“Hello? . . . Miles? Are you here?”

A moment later she appeared in the doorway, and Miles suddenly remembered that they were supposed to have a date.

“Didn’t you hear me knock?” she asked. “I was freezing out there, waiting for you to answer, and I finally just gave up. Did you forget that I was coming over?”

When he looked up, she saw the distracted, distant look in his eyes. His hair looked as if he’d been running his hand through it for hours.  “Are you okay?” she asked.

Miles started shuffling the papers back together. “Yeah . . . I’m fine. I’ve just been working . . . I’m sorry . . . I lost track of time.” She recognized the file and her brow arched up. “What’s going on?” she asked.  Seeing Sarah made him realize how exhausted he felt. His neck and back were stiff, and he felt as if he were coated in a thin layer of dust. He closed the file and set it aside, his mind still on the contents. He rubbed his face with both hands, then looked at her over his fingers.

“Otis Timson was arrested today,” he said.

“Otis? What for?”

Before she’d finished her question, she suddenly realized the answer, and she inhaled sharply.

“Oh . . . Miles,” she said, moving toward him instinctively. Miles, aching everywhere, stood up and she slipped her arms around him. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she whispered, holding him tight.

As he embraced her, everything he’d felt during the day came rushing back. The mixture of disbelief, anger, frustration, rage, fear, and exhaustion magnified the renewed feelings of loss, and for the first time that day, Miles gave in to them all. Standing in the room with Sarah’s arms around him, Miles broke down, the tears coming as though he’d never cried before.

? ? ?

Madge was waiting for Charlie when he got back to the station. Normally off at five, she stayed for an extra hour and a half waiting for him. She was standing in the parking lot, her arms crossed, hugging her long wool jacket against her.  Charlie stepped out of the car and brushed the crumbs from his pants. He’d grabbed a burger and fries on the way home, washing it all down with a cup of coffee.

“Madge? What are you still doing here?”

“Waiting for you,” she answered. “I saw you pull up and I wanted to talk to you out of earshot.”

Charlie reached into the car and grabbed his hat. In the chill, he needed one.

He didn’t have enough hair anymore to keep his head warm.

“So what’s up?”

Before she answered, a deputy pushed through the door and Madge looked over her shoulder. Buying time, she said simply, “Brenda called.” “Is she okay?” Charlie asked, playing along.

“Fine, as far as I can tell. She wants you to give her a call, though.” The deputy nodded at Charlie as he strode past. Once he was near his car, Madge moved a little closer.

“I think there’s a problem,” Madge said quietly.

“With what?”

She motioned over her shoulder. “Thurman Jones is waiting for you inside. So is Harvey Wellman.”

Charlie looked at her, knowing there was more.

“They both want to talk to you,” she said.

“And?”

Again she looked around, making sure they were alone. “They’re here together, Charlie. They want to talk to you together.”

Charlie simply stared at her, trying to anticipate what she was going to say, knowing he wouldn’t like it. Prosecutors and defense attorneys got together only under the most dire circumstances.

“It’s about Miles,” she said. “I think he might have done something out there.

Something that he shouldn’t have.”

? ? ?

Thurman Jones was fifty-three, of average height and weight, with wavy brown hair that always looked windblown. He wore navy suits, dark knit ties, and black running shoes while in court, which gave him a sort of country bumpkin appearance. When in court, he spoke slowly and clearly and never lost his cool, and that combination, along with his appearance, played extremely well to a jury. Why he represented the likes of Otis Timson and his family was beyond Charlie, but he did and he had for years.

Harvey Wellman, on the other hand, dressed in tailored suits and Cole-Haan shoes and always looked as if he were heading off to a wedding. At thirty, he had begun to go gray at the temples; now, at forty, his hair was nearly silver, giving him a distinguished appearance. In another life, he could have been a news anchor. Or maybe a funeral director.

Neither one of them looked happy as they waited outside Charlie’s office.

“You two wanted to see me?” Charlie asked.

They both stood.

“It’s important, Charlie,” Harvey answered.

Charlie led them into the office and closed the door. He motioned to a couple of seats, but neither of them accepted. Charlie moved behind his desk, putting a little space between him and the visitors.

“So what can I do for you?”

“We’ve got a problem, Charlie,” Harvey said simply. “It concerns the arrest this morning. I tried to talk to you earlier, but you were already out.” “Sorry about that. I had to take care of some business out of town. What’s this problem you’re referring to?”

Harvey Wellman met Charlie’s ............