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Special Agent Eunice Rafferty could have been Clarice Starling’s older sister, I’d decided since the last time I’d seen her. No doubt having found her calling while watching Jodie Foster track down Buffalo Bill, Rafferty was dressed impeccably and was actually trying to either hide or affect a backwoods accent. In either case, she was not being entirely successful.

She was a tall, strong woman (which I’m told is not Ms. Foster’s build, but I don’t really know), constructed to be a cop, based on the impression she gave that if the Empire State Building needed to be moved two feet to the left, she could be counted on to do the lifting. It was a marvel she had taken time out from the gym to come solve this crime.

“This is a serial killer working in multiple states,” she was saying in the conference room at the Bergen County Prosecutor’s Office, the same one in which Duffy and I had met. Her voice was husky, not masculine but close enough. “It’s clearly the work of one man but in, so far, four states. I’ve watched you boys long enough. Multiple states makes it my jurisdiction.”

“No one is arguing that the bureau shouldn’t be involved in the investigation,” Ben Preston answered. Ben, in a T-shirt with a Yankees logo on it and a pair of khaki shorts, had obviously been doing something other than work when Rafferty called to inform him that she wanted in on the investigation of Sunny Maugham’s death. “We welcome the help on the case we’re working. What I’m saying is—”

“We’re not offering
help
,” Rafferty cut him off. “I’m telling you that from this moment forward, this investigation is under the bureau’s control. We may ask you to assist, but we are not ceding responsibility to you or any other law enforcement agency, including the New Jersey State Police.” I hoped there were no troopers nearby to hear her say that. They don’t take kindly to . . . anything.

“Fine,” Ben said with an edge. “We relinquish control to you. But I’d like to remind you that the killer has already threatened Ms. Goldman here in two separate e-mails and might very well be planning to make her his next project. We intend to take all the steps necessary to prevent that from happening.” That’s not really what you want to hear from a guy you’re thinking of dating, but these circumstances were far from the norm.

“Acknowledged and taken under advisement,” Rafferty said. No, really.

“Hold on,” I said. “Can I ask a question?”

“That is a question,” I heard Duffy mumble behind me.

Luckily, Rafferty hadn’t heard Duffy, or she might have shot him or something. “Go ahead.”

“Will Ben and Duffy continue with me?” I asked. “I’ve gotten to know these two gentlemen, and I know they’ve been very quietly keeping an eye on me. Should I expect that to continue?” I thought that was a pretty respectful way to ask about my own interest—staying alive—in the midst of this attempted power grab among law enforcement agencies. It wasn’t that I was completely attached to Duffy and Ben—maybe one more than the other—but I did want some assurance that
somebody
would be looking to see if a madman carrying a deadly thesaurus or an equally witty weapon was climbing in my bedroom window.

“We don’t believe that you will be a target, Ms. Goldman,” Rafferty said. “In fact, I’m not sure why you’re here.”

Wait. What? “So you’re not going to offer protection?” Ben asked, sounding aghast.

“We don’t see the need,” Rafferty said. “The killer has never struck in the same state twice, and certainly not consecutively.”

“But there have been those two e-mails,” Ben protested. “The guy practically announced that Rachel would be his next victim.”

“Boasting,” Rafferty said, dismissing the notion. “A terror tactic to make himself sound more potent than he really is. We’ve had a profiler working on this guy. His MO is to move somewhere else next. We’ll gather as much data as we can on the murder of Julia Bledsoe, and then we can better assess where this killer will most likely strike next.”

“I really feel like I need the protection,” I said. My voice sounded a lot smaller and weaker than I’d intended. It was
sort of in the Minnie Mouse area when I’d been trying for Wonder Woman.

“I’m sure Mr. Preston and Mr. Madison can recommend some local firms that will be able to provide you with security,” Rafferty said. “Now, at the risk of sounding impolite, Ms. Goldman, I’d prefer you leave the room so that we can discuss the strategy we’re going to implement to catch this criminal.”

I looked at her, and the anger boiled up. “At the risk of sounding impolite? That
is
impolite! How else could it sound?”

“I’m sorry you feel that way. Now, please.” She gestured toward the door. “Just one thing,” she added, and I stopped in my tracks. Was she reconsidering?

“Yes?”

“I believe I owe you an apology,” Rafferty said.

I thought she owed me about four, but one was a start. “For what?” I asked.

“For not knowing your name. I read your book,
Olly Olly Oxen Free
. You’re really good.”

Maybe she wasn’t so bad after all. “Well, thank you,” I said. “Can I stay now?”

“No. But your character. I mean, you called him Duffy Madison.”

“Yeah, about that—”

“Did you base it on him?” Again, a nod toward whatever Duffy was.

“No. He based himself on what I wrote.”

Rafferty walked over to me, her clipboard in hand, briskly and surely. She thrust the clipboard toward me. “May I have an autograph?”

I probably even signed it; I don’t actually remember.

Exiled to Ben’s office, I felt more like I had during Take Your Daughter to Work Day when Dad used to shepherd me around his office collecting smiles and then park me in a safe place so he could actually get something done. He’d provide me with crayons and coloring books, and that was about it. I’m not sure it’s what Gloria Steinem had in mind.

This time, I had a few more things at my disposal. The first thing I did was check voice mail, and there was a message from Adam Resnick. An author’s agent always jumps to the head of the priority list, but when there’s a possible movie deal in the works, he gets above the head of the priority list.

“It sounds like it’s happening,” he said, delight practically oozing through the cell tower and through the earpiece of my phone. “Glenn Waterman wants to meet with you. He’s flying in from LA tomorrow for meetings in the city Monday and he asked about your availability.”

Assuming I wasn’t busy being abducted, I would have a decent amount of time on my hands. “I have revisions, and I’m a little behind,” I said, “but I’ll make time whenever I have to. What do you think is going to happen?”

“I think I’m going to call him back and tell him we’re available,” Adam gushed. “Any times to definitely avoid?”

I considered. Given the impending danger of kidnapping and murder, it seemed best to stay home when the sun was
down. “Just not at night,” I said. “I’ll be in the rest of the time. Call me and let me know when I have to be in the city.”

We commiserated about our ridiculous excitement level for a while, I told Adam I’d be sending him a revised manuscript soon, and we hung up. I felt it best to leave out the part where I was letting the character in my novel read and offer tips before I’d send the book out. The first rule of negotiating a movie contract: never let your agent think you need to be sent to somewhere you can’t do harm to yourself or others.

I was about to call Dad when Duffy walked into the office. I looked for Ben behind him, but Duffy was alone. “I can drive you home now,” he said. “If you’d like to leave.”

Feeling like Daddy had once again come to take me away from this boring day, I gathered up my stuff (basically my phone and my bag) and followed Duffy out of the room.

“Where’s Ben?” I asked. “Doesn’t he want his office back?”

“He’s still being briefed by the FBI agent,” Duffy said with a tiny hint of contempt in his voice. “I have been deemed unnecessary.”

We had reached the elevator before I understood what that meant. “You mean they’re not including you in the investigation?” I asked.

Duffy seemed very interested in the floor. “That’s correct. I am no longer consulting on this case.”

*   *   *

He seemed so downtrodden about his demotion, or expulsion, or whatever that I tried to think of ways to distract him as he
drove me home. “You started to say something you thought I needed to change.”

Duffy’s eyes stayed fixed on the road, and for a moment, he didn’t seem to hear me. “Change?”

“In the manuscript. You said there was one thing that didn’t work. It would be a great help to me if you could remember what that was so I can fix it.” Okay, so I was buttering him up a little. The next time someone you created feels down and you try to raise his spirits, let’s see what
you
do.

“Ah. Yes. It was the ending.”

I waited. Nothing. “The ending?”

“Yes. Where I, that is,
he
finds the young woman being buried alive based on the pattern of the mower in the field.”

“Yes, I’ve read the ending; I know what happens. What’s wrong with it?” Hey, there are all sorts of ways to make a person feel better. I was experimenting with one that preserved my integrity as a writer, and maybe a little bit of my ego.

“It doesn’t make sense, but that’s not the problem.” He was speeding a little, and that was uncharacteristic for this version of Duffy; he was on edge.

“Yes, it’s a problem. What do you mean, it doesn’t make sense?”

“The kidnapper buried his victim in an open field, where a groundskeeper mows regularly? And the only mark two days after digging a grave is that the grass is mowed differently? Otherwise it’s perfect? None of that is consistent with landscaping practice.”

Dammit! He was right. So I naturally invited another blow to my now-fragile writer’s sensibility. “What was the character thing? What did the character do that you wouldn’t do?”

“He got involved in digging the woman out himself. I would know that there was a possibility I could do more harm than good, that I might cause pressure on the wooden box in which she was being held and actually crush her under my weight and that of the uniformed officers.”

“So how would you have gotten her out?” Now he had me talking like he was real.

“Well, I wouldn’t have let it get to that moment to begin with. You have Duffy overlook the fact that the kidnapper is the young woman’s professor at college because he is a friend of the detective ‘Duffy’ works with. I wouldn’t let emotion get in the way.”

I looked at him; he was without expression but gripping the wheel tighter than I’d seen him before. “You’ve told me what you wouldn’t do. What
would
you do in that situation?”

There was a pause while he thought. “Assuming there was a way that the disturbance in the turf could be made relatively invisible, which is unlikely, I would try to determine where I would bury a coffin if I didn’t want it to be found. I would consider the area where I could dig without being seen and the area with the lowest number of rocks and roots, so away from trees if possible. And once I determined where the most likely spot would be, I would dig opposite that site.”

“Opposite?” Now I was the straight man.

“A criminal that clever would never use the most likely spot,” Duffy said, as if it were obvious.

“So the way to catch the guy is to think of what he should do and then do the opposite of that?” How could that be right? The man was blowing my entire third act out of the water and appeared to be speaking in some alternate version of English in order to do it.

Duffy’s smile was sad, like he’d realized that the pupil he was teaching wasn’t all that bright. “Not exactly,” he said. “But you’re the creative one, aren’t you? You’ll figure it out.”

Thanks a heap, Duffy.

Best to get off the subject and see about keeping myself alive. That really was the priority, I decided. “Duffy, what can I do to best protect myself?”

His eyelids fluttered a tiny bit; I was watching. It’s something I’ve given him to indicate anxiety without being obvious about it. That didn’t make me feel better, either. “If Special Agent Rafferty is correct, you are in no special danger,” he said in as unconvincing a voice as I’d heard him use. “You should simply make sure your doors are locked at all times and be wary of any strangers who approach you.”

“Like you approached me?” I asked.

No trace of irony, again. “Under the present circumstances, yes, if we were meeting for the first time, you would be well advised to be careful about me. Stay in public areas with anyone you meet and never follow another person into a dark area like an alley or a hallway without anyone else present.”

“You don’t think Agent Rafferty is right, do you?” I asked.

“
Special
Agent Rafferty,” he corrected.

This time
my
eyelids fluttered, because that was an irritating response. You give characters some of your own traits
because in the heat of a moment you’re creating, you have no one else upon whom to model a reaction. “Fine.
Special
Agent Rafferty. You think she’s going in the wrong direction, and I really am next on the killer’s list. You think that, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Duffy Madison said. “I do.”

That took me a moment to digest. Not that I hadn’t been operating under the assumption that I was in a lot of trouble for a few days now. Indeed, I hadn’t bought the load of sanctimonious crap Rafferty had been selling in the meeting, either. And I hadn’t gained a whole lot of confidence in her when she’d fired Duffy from the case. But hearing Duffy say it was a punch to the gut. I took in some air and let it out slowly.

“What . . .” My voice was raspy; I cleared my throat. I made a mental note to use that for a character struck with bad news. “What should I do?” I asked.

“Perhaps you should ask the special agent.” He’d been stung by his dismissal.

“I don’t trust the special agent,” I said. “I trust you.”

A tiny smile, so small as to be almost imperceptible, flickered across Duffy’s lips. “You should do all the things I just said you should do, and you should probably hire some private security.”