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opened, she watched Sheldon Woods shuffle in. His ankles and wrists were chained together and secured to another chain wrapped around his waist. Inmate and agent took their time sizing each other up, each studying the other’s face while initially avoiding direct eye contact. Portia had seen photos of the man, but somehow had missed any references that may have been made to his size. He was in his late forties, was around five foot five or so, and weighed about 120 pounds. His appearance was youthful as well. His hair, though thinning slightly, was still as blond as it was in the photos taken over twelve years ago, his skin smooth and relatively free of lines, his fingers long and thin, the nails trim and clean. His eyes, however, were those of an old man: a pale, watery blue, with thin lashes. Portia noted they were totally devoid of any sign of humanity.
    Woods calmly took the seat across the table from Portia, in no more hurry to speak than she was.
    “Ma’am,” the guard, whose badge identified him as CO DeLuca, broke the silence. “I’ll be right here on the other side of the door if you need me.” To his prisoner, the guard said, “You behave yourself, hear?”
    Sheldon Woods smiled. “I always behave for the ladies. And we’ll do fine, don’t you think, sweetheart?”
    “It’s Agent Cahill.” Portia could barely disguise her disgust. “Not a good way to start, Woods.”
    He raised a questioning eyebrow.
    “Playing games,” she said flatly. “I really don’t have time for that.”
    “Pity.” He leaned back against the chair. “I have all the time in the world.”
    “Then it looks like this will be a very short visit.” Portia rose. “I have better things to do.”
    “Whoa, whoa, hold up there.” He raised his manacled hands and held them in front of his chest. “You were the one who called this meeting. Surely you wouldn’t walk out without even telling me why?”
    “Unless you can keep the bullshit to a minimum, yes.” She nodded. “I would have no problem ending this interview.”
    “Interview, eh?” His rubbed his cheek close to the right side of his nose with a finger. “The FBI already interviewed me. Many times, as a matter of fact. Now, why at this late date would someone think they missed something?”
    She was halfway to the door and paused to think about how best to answer without giving away too much.
    “Ahhh, of course. Of course.” He grinned as the thought occurred to him. “You must want something from me. Now, what could that something be, Agent…forgive me, I didn’t catch your name.”
    “Cahill.”
    “Yes, of course. Agent Cahill. I’ll remember.” He nodded with more animation now. “Come sit back down and tell me what it is that you want from old Sheldon.”
    She continued to stand. “Nineteen ninety-seven. Palmer, Maryland. Eight-year-old Christopher Williams disappeared on his way home from soccer practice. He was never seen again.”
    “And…?” Woods smiled and gestured with his hands for her to continue.
    Bastard knows what’s coming,
she realized, as an urge to knock him off that chair, chains and all, threatened to overtake her. It was an effort to maintain a neutral demeanor.
    “I understand that following your sentencing hearing, the boy’s mother approached you and asked you to tell her where you left her son’s body.”
    “She assumed so much, didn’t she?” His eyes narrowed and he studied Portia’s face. “She assumed that I had something to do with his disappearance. Or at the very least, that I knew what happened to the boy.”
    “You’re doing it again,” she said stonily.
    “What’s that?”
    “Playing with me. I don’t care for it.”
    “And just who are you, Agent Cahill, to take that attitude with me?” He lowered his voice to a near whisper. “You came here to ask a favor of me. I don’t think I’ll grant it.”
    He prepared to stand.
    “Did you kill him?” She asked point-blank. “Was Christopher Williams