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wall, started reading.
    Danny approached Jason and they looked at each other for a moment.
    “This is kind of neat, isn’t it?” Danny said, almost whispering. “I mean, being part of an investigation and everything.”
    Jason nodded, glad to be talking to somebody.
    “What do you think’s going to happen?” Jason asked.
    “I don’t know. Give statements. I hope we don’t have to write anything down, like an essay. I’m rotten at composition.”
    “Maybe they’ll record our answers,” Jason said. “And all we have to do is talk.”
    They fell silent. The jocks continued to confer at the window but glanced now and then at Danny and Jason. Jimmy turned a page of his book but Jason had a feeling that he wasn’t really reading.
    “Don’t you feel, like, kind of weird?” Danny asked.
    “Right,” Jason said. “Because I don’t know what I’m going to say. I mean, I didn’t see anything unusual that day.”
    Danny shook his head. “I mean, about Alicia Bartlett. That you were the last person to see her alive.”
    Jason frowned in surprise. He hadn’t realized that his visit with Alicia on Monday had become common knowledge. Is that why he’s talking to me? Jason wondered. Curious, looking for inside information?
    “
One
of the last to see her alive,” Jason amended.
    Danny lowered his eyes. When he blushed, his acne seemed to come alive, the rawness of the zits emphasized.
    “Sorry,” he said. “That’s what I meant.”
    At the same time, Jason became aware of the jocks looking his way, their eyes lingering on him. He grew uneasy. He didn’t like to have attention focused on him. That was why he never raised his hand in class. He could feel his own cheeks getting warm, glad that he had been spared acne, at least. Had
everyone
heard about him and Alicia Bartlett?
    Silence again. Jimmy Orlando closed his book and remained leaning against the wall. The jocks again turned their backs on the room and looked out the window. Danny seemed to be staring at something over Jason’s shoulder. The room suddenly became colder, as if the air-conditioning had been turned up.
    Finally, the door swung open and Lieutenant Braxton stepped in. Still thin and intense, as if he were made of wire instead of bones and muscle.
    “I’m Lieutenant Braxton and we’re ready to get started, guys,” he said in his brisk, businesslike way. “We really appreciate your cooperation and hope that we can come up with some vital information, information that you don’t even know you have.”
    He looked at each of them in turn and his eyes finally rested on Jason. He gave no sign of recognition.
    “Here’s how it works.” He took a notepad out of his jacket pocket and flipped it open. Eyes on the pad, he said: “Experts at interrogation will be questioning you. Two of you, John O’ Shea and Timothy Connors, will be questioned simultaneously because you were together most of that day. The others will be questioned individually.” Looking up, he said: “Time is of the essence, gentlemen, so let’s get started.” Consulting the pad again, he said: “First up is Jason Dorrant.”
    He directed his eyes to Jason, recognizing him for the first time. “Okay, Jason, I’ll take you along to your expert.” To the others, he said: “I’ll be right back.”
    Jason followed Lieutenant Braxton out of the office, wondering again if he had made a mistake coming here.

    W hen Trent stepped into the limousine, immersing himself in the sudden flood of air-conditioning, he was surprised to find a young woman seated inside.
    “My name is Sarah Downes and I’m with the district attorney’s office in Wickburg,” she announced. “Lieutenant Braxton asked me to ride down to Monument with you and provide you with background information.”
    “That was kind of Braxton,” Trent said, disguising his dismay and his irritation. He didn’t enjoy surprises, either in his private life or in his interrogations. He had anticipated a long quiet