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ago, maybe. What does that have to do with anything?”
    Gittamon concentrated on the picture, as if he was on the edge of a profound thought. He glanced at Lucy, then looked back at me.
    “I'm just trying to see how this fits. The implication is that he took Ms. Chenier's son as revenge for something that you did—not Ms. Chenier, but you. But Ben isn't your son or stepson, and hasn't lived with you except these past few days. I understand that correctly, don't I? You and Ms. Chenier maintain separate residences?”
    Lucy unfolded herself on the hearth. Gittamon was obviously considering other possibilities, and Lucy was interested.
    “Yes, that's right.”
    Gittamon nodded, and looked back at me.
    “Why would he take Ms. Chenier's son if it's you he hates so much? Why wouldn't he just burn down your house or shoot you or even just sue you? You see what I'm getting at?”
    I saw, and didn't much like it.
    “Look, that's not it. Ben wouldn't do that. He's only ten.”
    Lucy glanced from Gittamon to me, then back, not understanding.
    “What wouldn't Ben do?”
    “Lou, for Christ's sake.”
    Poitras nodded, agreeing with me.
    “Dave, Ben wouldn't do that. I know this kid.”
    Lucy said, “Are you saying that Ben staged his own abduction?”
    Gittamon placed the picture on the coffee table as if he had seen enough.
    “No, ma'am, it's too early to say, but I've seen children stage abductions for all manner of reasons, especially when they're feeling insecure. A friend's older brother could have made the call to Mr. Cole.”
    I was angry and irritated. I went to the doors. A frightened part of me hoped that Ben would be on the deck, watching us, but he wasn't.
    I said, “If you don't want to raise false hopes, then stop. I spent the past five days with him. Ben wasn't feeling insecure, and he wouldn't do that.”
    Lucy's voice snapped behind me.
    “Would you rather someone kidnapped him?”
    She wanted to believe it so badly that hope glowed in her eyes like hot sparks.
    Poitras pushed up from the Eames chair. “Dave? If you have enough to get started, let's roll out of here. I want to knock on a couple of doors. Maybe someone down the hill saw something.”
    Gittamon gestured to Starkey that she could close her notebook, then stood to join Poitras.
    “Ms. Chenier, please, I'm not saying Ben staged his own abduction—I'm really not, Mr. Cole—but it's something we have to consider. I'd like a list of Ben's friends and their phone numbers. It's still early enough to make a few calls.”
    Lucy stood with them, as intent and focused as I had ever seen her.
    “I'll have to get them from home. I can go do that right now.”
    I said, “Gittamon, you going to ignore the goddamned call?”
    “No, Mr. Cole, we're going to treat this as an abduction until we know otherwise. Can you put together a list of the people involved with whatever happened to you in the Army and any other information you have?”
    “They're dead.”
    “Well, their families. We might want to speak with their families. Carol, would you get together with Mr. Cole on that?”
    Starkey handed me her card as the four of us went to the door.
    Starkey said, “I'll come by tomorrow morning to see where you found the Game Freak. I can get the names then. What's a good time?”
    “Sunrise.”
    If Starkey heard the anger in my answer she didn't show it. She shrugged.
    “Better light around seven.”
    “Fine.”
    Gittamon said, “If he calls again, let us know. You can phone any time.”
    “I will.”
    That was it. Gittamon told Lucy that he would be expecting her call, and then they left. Lucy and I did not speak as we watched them drive away, but once they were gone Ben's absence was a physical force in the house, as real as a body hanging from my loft. Three of us present, not just two. Lucy picked up her briefcase. It was still where she dropped it.
    “I want to get those names for Sergeant Gittamon.”
    “I know. I'll get my names together, too.