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business very long if we stole people's money."
    A Kit Kat bar on the first rack inside the door caught Bobby's attention, and as he reached for one of the orange packets, a picture of a smiling baby on a box distracted him. They sold Pampers here, too. Well, he could sure use some of them. And some of those wipe things, too, to clean babies' butts.
    He brought his booty to the checkout counter and nearly fell over when the kid said, "With gas, that'll be forty-four dollars and thirty-seven cents."
    "Holy cow," Bobby gasped.
    The kid smiled. "We ain't the cheapest, but we're the only place open for thirty miles."
    You had to give him credit for honesty. "Tell you what, then," Bobby said. "Put me down for fifteen dollars in gas, and then the rest here."
    Susan still had not moved by the time he wandered back to the truck, though she stirred as he opened the back door.
    "What's going on?" she asked.
    "I just stopped to get some gas and essentials."
    Susan saw the diapers and smiled. "That was sweet." She shifted around in the seat, drew one leg under her, and closed her eyes again.
    The Explorer drank every bit of the fifteen dollars' worth, with thirst to spare. Bobby returned the nozzle to its slot in the pump and was on his way back to the driver's seat when he saw the pay phone at the far edge of the parking lot.
    This was his chance, he told himself; his chance to do the right thing. But what would he say?
    Hi, there, my name's Robert Martin, and I just killed a police officer. . . .
    No, that wouldn't do at all, would it? Truth be told, he didn't have to say anything to anybody. He could just go on his merry way, and maybe nothing would ever come of any of this. Maybe no one would happen by the body in the woods for months - until long after the remains had been carted off by animals, or at least until the body had deteriorated far enough that it was no longer recognizable. How long would that take? he wondered. In this weather, as cold and dry as it had been, probably a long time.
    He found himself approaching the phone booth even before he knew what he was doing. Just let it go, his brain screamed. Just drive on and take your chances.
    But a man was dead, goddammit. When somebody did get around to finding the corpse - and one way or another, he knew they would - they'd call it a homicide, and the hunt for the killer would never end. Never. The statute of limitations on murder ran without end in every state in the Union. He knew that much from a lifetime of cop shows. Over time, he'd crumble under the weight of it all. He knew he would.
    Bobby's mind conjured up the image of a retirement party one day. He'd be surrounded by colleagues and family when the police came, knocking down the doors and hauling him off to prison. How would he feel then, starting a life prison term at a time when he'd probably be getting released if he'd only fessed up earlier?
    And none of this even touched on the issue of the boy. What the hell were they going to do with him? Bobby supposed there were still orphanages somewhere, but they couldn't just drop him off on the front step of some building.
    He placed his hand on the phone and paused. This was it. The point of no return. What the hell was he going to say?
    Nothing. You say nothing. You just go back to your car and let fate take care of this.
    And when they finally caught up to him, how would he explain forgetting about the guy he killed five, ten, thirty years ago?
    "Okay, Bobby, you can do this," he said aloud. After another pause for a deep sigh, he settled himself down and made his phone call.
    APRIL SIMPSON OFFERED up a little prayer of thanks that she'd been able to drive all the way home without falling asleep. She feared sometimes that this pace might kill her. Eight hours at McDonalds followed by another four cleaning offices downtown was only half of the available hours in a day, but as the baby in her belly continued to bloom, she needed more sleep than she could find.
    Some