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perfectly polite. “I’m sure you are. Thanks.”
    “Vince, Reed, let’s go outside,” he said. Reed followed him, but Vince lagged a little, moving closer to me while Rachel introduced the captain to Jack.
    “Thanks, Irene,” Vince said. He looked down at his shoes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Earlier — what I said — that was crap. I don’t know what got into me. I’m sorry….”
    He was upset, and this time I saw it for what it was. He was worried. Not about the possibility of Bredloe calling him on the carpet, or what I might tell the paper, but about Frank.
    “Damn,” I heard Cassidy mutter behind me. “I guess I’ll have to look for a new one before midnight, Vince.”
    Vince smiled a little and said, “If anyone can find one, Cassidy, you will.”
    Vince left, and the rest of us took seats in the living room. Jack and Rachel were apparently going to be included in any discussion. She stayed near the phone. Jack was sitting cross-legged on the floor, petting the dogs, keeping them calm. I moved to my great-grandfather’s armchair. It’s big and old-fashioned and doesn’t match any of the other furniture in the living room. Frank likes to sit in it. I held on to the armrests.
    Bredloe cleared his throat. “Irene, I brought Tom Cassidy and his partner, er….”
    “Freeman, sir. Henry Freeman.”
    “Yes, of course. Detective Freeman. I brought them here because they are specialists. Cassidy has worked extensively not only in kidnapping cases, but as a hostage negotiator.”
    “So you believe Frank is a hostage?” I asked.
    “It’s the most likely possibility, as far as I’m concerned. Other people in our department will work other angles.”
    Other angles. Most of which implied that my husband was irresponsible at best, criminal at worst.
    There was a snapping noise, and all eyes went to Henry or Hank or whatever he was called. He noticed our attention and looked sheepishly toward Cassidy.
    “Hank, you’re making more noise than a turkey eating corn out of a metal bowl,” Cassidy said. “You setting up?”
    “Yes, sir. I’ll try to be more quiet.”
    “Setting up what?” Rachel asked.
    “My computer.” His briefcase turned out to be the carrying case for a notebook computer.
    “What about this informant?” I asked. “The one who got shot out in Riverside. Could he have any connection to this?”
    “That homicide is not in our jurisdiction, of course,” Bredloe said. “Riverside has been very cooperative with us so far, and we’ve tried to share information with them. Normally, I wouldn’t be discussing an informant with anyone, but the man is dead — telling you about him certainly won’t bring him to any greater harm. Did you bring the file, Freeman?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Freeman typed something into the computer, then began reading from a screen. “The victim’s name is Dana Ross. Address — 234 Burnett Road, Riverside. No phone. Aged twenty-eight.” He paused, frowning.
    “Something wrong?” Cassidy asked.
    “Sorry, sir. He looks older than twenty-eight in the photograph. Dissipation from drug abuse, I suppose.”
    “I expect you’re right about that,” Cassidy said. “Go on, please.”
    Freeman rubbed his nose. “Do you want me to read his record?”
    “Please just summarize it.”
    “Several drug arrests, one burglary conviction. Served as an informant on two previous occasions. This would have been his third.”
    “Three certainly wasn’t a charm for the late Mr. Ross,” Cassidy said. “And this latest contact?”
    “I have my notes from my discussion with Lieutenant Carlson.” Freeman tapped a key or two, then read, “Mr. Ross called the Las Piernas Police Department’s Homicide Division from a public pay telephone in Riverside at twenty-three hundred hours—”
    “Hank,” Cassidy said in a low voice.
    Freeman colored slightly, then cleared his throat. “He called at eleven P.M . The call was taken by Detective Matsuda, who was on