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minute,” the man said, picking up a wall phone in the hallway. “Johnson?” he said. “Bring Herbie Mitteldorfer down to reception one; he’s got visitors.” He hung up the phone and led them on down the hallway to another locked door.
    “Is Mitteldorfer a trusty?” Dino asked the man.

    “Yeah.”
    “Was he, by any chance, out on the town last night?”
    The captain stopped before a door. “He gets to shop for office supplies in the town; he’s always back inside by fiveP.M. ”
    “Yesterday, too?”
    “Yesterday, too.”
    He unlocked the door, let them walk into the room, and slammed it behind them.
    Dino sat down in a steel chair and rested his elbows on the table. “What’s with that guy?” he asked. “Some reception for the NYPD, huh?”
    “You didn’t see his name tag?” Stone asked.
    “No.”
    “His name is Warkowski,” Stone said.
    “War…?” Dino stopped in mid-name.
    “We’ll be lucky to get out of here without serving time,” Stone said.
    Ten minutes of dead time passed before another door opened and a guard escorted a small man into the room.
    “There you go, Herbie,” the guard said. “Let yourself out and lock the door behind you when you’re through.” He handed the prisoner a key.
    Herbert Mitteldorfer was five-six, 130; he had gone bald on top and gray on the sides; his hair was cut short, not the longer, frizzier hair of Stone’s memory. He stared at Dino and Stone. “Well,” he said, “to what do I owethis great pleasure?”
    “Sit down,” Dino said. “We want to ask you some questions.”
    “I think I read in the papers that you, ah, retired,Mr. Barrington,” Mitteldorfer said, taking a seat. “Do you spend your time visiting prisoners now?”
    “Only on special occasions,” Stone said. “I understand you’re a trusty here.”
    “Since my second year inside,” Mitteldorfer replied. “I’m a trustworthy sort of fellow.”
    Dino spoke up. “Where were you last night, Herbert?”
    Mitteldorfer burst out laughing, and Stone had to restrain himself from joining him. “I think you could say I have an iron-clad alibi,” he replied.
    “Yeah? Alibi for what?”
    “You tell me; I’ve no idea why you’re here.”
    “Tell me about your day yesterday.”
    “Easy question. I rose at six, showered and breakfasted, then went to work. I broke forty-five minutes for lunch, then returned to work. I finished work at four-thirty, then wrote some letters and watched TV until dinner at six. After dinner I went to the library and read for two hours, then I returned to my cell and read myself to sleep.”
    “Did you run any errands outside the prison yesterday?” Dino asked.
    “Asked and answered,” Mitteldorfer replied.
    “You’ve been here how long?”
    “Just finished my twelfth year.”
    “So you’ll have a parole hearing coming up soon?”
    “Yes.”
    “Well, unless you’d like me to show up at your hearing and tell the board what a dangerous little shit you still are, you’d better start answering my questions with a little more feeling.”

    “I apologize,” Mitteldorfer replied, chastened. “I’ll be happy to answer anything you’d like to ask.”
    “How often do you leave the prison?”
    “Once or twice a week, depending on what errands have to be run.”
    “What sort of errands do you run?”
    “I buy stationery and office supplies; I go to the computer store; sometimes I’m allowed to do some personal shopping.”
    “What sort of personal shopping?”
    “I buy underwear and socks, batteries for my portable radio, a new toothbrush. Sometimes I’ll have an ice-cream cone; they don’t serve Häagen-Dazs in here.”
    “Do you have a son?”
    “No.”
    “Any male relatives who are younger than you?”
    “No, not in this country.”
    “Where else?”
    “In Germany; I have a nephew, my sister’s son.”
    “What’s his age?”
    “Oh, mid-thirties, I suppose. I only met him once, when he was a teenager, when I visited