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with a crudely tattooed green-black peace sign.  "Vietnam," he said, answering the question that must have been showing on my face.  He didn’t give me any time for a follow-up.  "Let me be clear about Billy," he said.  "My wife and I feel we have done everything possible to salvage a very damaged young man.  After Officer Anderson informed me of the autopsy results, I had to face reality.  Billy can never live with us again.  I have to keep my family safe.  I have another infant to think about."
    "I understand," I said.
    Anderson leaned forward in his seat.  "The D.A. will see the admission to Payne Whitney as a strategy to avoid your son’s arrest."
    "The state can order Billy back to Massachusetts to stand trial, if it wishes to do so," Bishop responded.
    "Unless I’m misreading something," Anderson said, "that’s exactly what will happen.  A court order for his extradition can be issued within hours."
    Bishop nodded.  "I can’t control that," he said.  "It would be a waste of resources, however.  The D.A. will never prove Billy is responsible for his sister’s death.  There were five people at home the night my daughter was murdered.  Any one of us could be the killer."  He paused.  "And none of us will be testifying."
    So much for Darwin Bishop’s open-door policy.  I glanced at Anderson.
    "I hope you’ll cooperate with my officers searching the house later today," Anderson said.  "We’ll need to look for anything that could be relevant to your daughter’s death."
    "Any time you like," Bishop answered.  "I assure you, you’ll find nothing."
    "The tube of plastic sealant, for instance," Anderson pushed.
    "My guess on that," Bishop responded, "is that your crime lab will find that everyone in the house has touched it at one time or another."
    "By chance, or design?" Anderson said.
    Bishop didn’t answer.
    I didn’t want the meeting to degenerate into confrontation.  "What would you like to see happen to Billy?" I asked Bishop.
    "It isn’t about what I’d like to see .  As his father, I’ll see to it that he remains at Payne Whitney — or an equivalent facility — until at least his eighteenth birthday.  Thereafter, I can create a very structured and safe environment for him in the community."
    I thought back to the ‘watch house’ on the road leading to the Bishop estate.  "House arrest?" I asked, taking the edge off the words with a half-smile.
    "If that’s what it takes," Bishop said.  "But not this house."
    It suddenly registered with me that I was sitting with a man who had lost his infant daughter to murder.  I wasn’t seeing much in the way of rage — or grief.  "You still want to be supportive of Billy," I led.
    "Certainly."
    "Even after hearing the autopsy results," I said.
    Bishop didn’t hesitate.  "Billy isn’t evil," he said.  "He’s ill.  And he has good reason to be ill.  He’s a victim himself."
    That vision fit well with everything I believe about violent people.  Yet Bishop’s evenhandedness, in the wake of his daughter’s death, bothered me.  He seemed detached rather than empathetic.  "Do you mind if I ask a few questions about Billy?" I asked.
    "Not at all," Bishop said.
    "You mentioned Billy was damaged when you adopted him.  In what way?"
    "I don’t know how much Captain Anderson has shared with you," Bishop said.
    "I like to hear things myself," I said.
    "Very well.  We adopted Billy from an orphanage in Moscow at age six.  That was ten years ago.  He had a history of sever psychological trauma."
    "What had happened to him?" I asked.
    "His parents were murdered," Bishop said flatly.
    "How?" North asked.
    "Each of them was shot once in the head, execution style.  Billy was found with their corpses, in the family’s apartment."
    "Was the case solved?" North asked.
    "I’m not sure it was ever investigated," Bishop answered.  "We’re talking about a time of tremendous upheaval over there — government corruption, organized crime