Walker stumbled as he hurried through the front door, his cell phone pressed against his ear as he waited for Jane to pick up. He barely managed to close the door behind him before regaining his footing and leaping awkwardly down the steps to his car.

“Jane Sheffield.”

She sounded like a robot. Good. Better that than the fit she’d thrown when her boyfriend had gone missing.

“It’s me,” he said.

He climbed in behind the wheel and slammed the door. Then, after tossing his cell phone from one hand to the other, he started the car and revved the engine. He didn’t stop to wonder what he looked like — to realize that now he was the one having a fit. In his mind, he was still in control, a man of action. He put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb.

“What do you want?” Jane asked. She didn’t sound pleased that he’d called, but he was sure this was only because he reminded her of how pathetic and loathsome she was.

“The police were just here,” he informed her.

“What?” she yelped, her voice rising sharply. “Why?”

“Why do you think? Your boyfriend is in custody.”

“They told you that?”

“They didn’t have to.”

He was driving too fast and barely made the corner at the bottom of the hill. He tapped on the brake and steadied the vehicle. Getting thrown in jail for reckless driving would be ironic, like Al Capone going to prison for tax evasion.

“So then how do you know?” Jane asked.

“It was obvious. They asked about him. They asked about you. They know everything. They were just trying to find out what I know.”

“Shit!”

“Yes. Please. Yell ‘shit’ in your office. Don’t you think they have it bugged? Come to think of it, I probably shouldn’t even be talking to you on this phone.”

Which was hilarious, and Walker almost burst out laughing. Jane was not under surveillance. The police knew nothing about Matt Pullman. He’d been taken care of before he could tell them anything.

But it was a good point. If Walker really believed that Jane had been exposed, would he have called her on her office phone in the first place? He was good at being proactive, not reactive. He hated having to think on his feet.

“What should I do?” Jane asked.

“We need to go on a little vacation,” Walker told her. “Until things blow over.”

“What? I can’t just–”

“Leave work now, and pick up Ryan from school.”

“It’s the middle of the day.”

“I don’t care.”

“Okay,” Jane said, giving in. “And then what?”

“And then call me on your cell.”

Without saying goodbye, he disconnected.

The road curved to the left, and up ahead, still four blocks away, he could see the front of his store. He hadn’t decided yet what to do about Kyle. Why hadn’t he called to warn Walker that Tom Bishop had been at the store? The disloyal punk deserved killing. And he’d killed Matt, so why not Kyle too?

A wave of nausea swept through him. What was he becoming? A simple murderer, who took lives not for any higher purpose but just to satisfy some sinister urge?

It had all gone wrong with Matt, and again he blamed Jane. As a result of her selfish, thoughtless actions, he was now at risk of being exposed. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have thought she was trying to smoke him out on purpose.

Walker slammed on the brakes, still a block away from his store, and pulled the wheel to the right. The vehicle skidded crookedly into a gap between two parked cars, the right front tire bumping up against the curb. A horn blared as the car that had been behind him shot past, but Walker barely noticed. His mind was focused elsewhere.

Jane’s actions might’ve started it all, but she wasn’t the one trying to smoke him out.

Tom Bishop was.

Walker took a deep breath to calm himself. Now was not the time to fall apart. There were things to be done. Plus someone might’ve been watching. With this in mind, he let out a laugh, as if something amusing had just occurred to him. Then, with this burst of innocent laughter still informing his features, he opened the door and got out.

There was a bar around the corner, Murphy’s, and in the entryway they had a payphone. Walker moved around the front of the car to the sidewalk, his cell phone in his hand. He tapped the phone directory app and typed in her name.

Karen Wyler.

No listing.

Of course this meant nothing. Tom Bishop still might’ve been telling the truth. A lot of single women, especially students, had unlisted numbers. But how to find out for sure if Karen was one of them? Walker could think of only one way.

He entered a new name into the directory.

Ross and Isabel Wyler.

They were listed. Walker smiled.

Walker had never forgotten Ross and Isabel Wyler. They were the reason he’d merely been dismissed and not thrown in jail. One of Karen’s problems — something she had discussed with Walker at great length — had been her parents’ inability to believe a single word that came out of her mouth. And so when Karen had made her accusations against Walker, Ross and Isabel had been more than willing to step forward and insist that their daughter had at best a flexible relationship with the truth.

Walker fed the payphone some change and dialed the Wylers’ number. After three rings, someone picked up.

“Hello?” A woman’s voice. Isabel.

Walker decided to take a chance. A big one.

“Hello, Mrs. Wyler,” he said. “This is Special Agent Tom Bishop from the F.B.I. We spoke earlier.”

“Did we?”

She sounded genuinely perplexed. Walker doubted she would’ve forgotten speaking to someone from the F.B.I.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m misreading my notes. It must’ve been Mr. Wyler. Is he at home?”

“No, he’s not. Can I have him call you?”

“Of course, thank you,” Walker said. “But while I’ve got you on the phone–”

“You say you’re from the F.B.I.?”

“Yes.”

“And you spoke to Ross?”

“Yes.”

“That sounds like something he’d have mentioned,” she said, then added cryptically. “Even Ross.”

Walker resisted the urge to offer possible explanations. Instead he said, “I suppose that’s something you can take up with him.”

“I suppose,” Isabel agreed, although she still sounded a bit unsure.

“Mrs. Wyler, I’m calling about your daughter.”

Silence.

“Mrs. Wyler?”

More silence.

“Mrs. Wyler, are you still there?”

“Yes,” she said finally. “I can’t believe–”

Her voice cut out, upended by an unmistakable gasp.

“Perhaps I should call back,” Walker gambled. He didn’t want to push. It would be better if she pulled.

“No!” Isabel exclaimed, almost in a panic. “You know something, you must know something. And now I understand.”

“Understand what?”

“Why Ross didn’t say anything. You’ve found out about Karen. And it’s bad news.”

She had satisfied her own suspicions, but the way forward still wasn’t clear.

“Again, Mrs. Wyler,” he said, “perhaps I should call back.”

“Please. Ross is always trying to protect me. I was so crushed about Karen. But if you’ve found out something, I need to know.”

Walker took a moment to consider the way forward. Tom Bishop had been bluffing, trying to provoke him. Karen Wyler was not a student at Seattle University, and Tom was not on his way to visit her. But Walker wanted to know more. He’d never stopped thinking about Karen and the moments — later misinterpreted — that they had shared. She was the first of the girls to love and then betray him. What had happened to her?

“We came across Karen indirectly,” Walker began. “A boy she’d known was a person of interest.”

“A boy in Spokane?” Isabel asked.

Spokane.

“No,” Walker said, not wanting to deal with anything known. “This was after she left Spokane.”

Walker might’ve hated thinking on his feet, but he was enjoying this, and he seemed to be doing it well.

“She left Spokane…” Isabel said, with something dreamy in her voice.

“You didn’t know she’d left,” Walker said.

“No. I’d hoped, because from what little I knew things weren’t going well for her there.”

Walker expected Isabel to ask where Karen had ended up, but then when she didn’t, he wasn’t surprised. She thought he had called with bad news, and she wasn’t in any hurry to hear it.

“So, you last heard from Karen when?” he asked.

“Five years ago,” Isabel said.

Five years ago.

Karen had been sixteen, maybe fifteen, so she hadn’t finished school. Instead she’d run off to Spokane for reasons her parents didn’t understand, and things had not gone well. Walker’s conscience was clear. He had tried to help, but he’d been denied.

So where was Karen now? The story was Walker’s to tell. He remembered his debt to the Wylers as well as the future he’d once dreamed of for their daughter. What he said next was what he hoped was true.

“Your daughter’s fine,” he said. “After Spokane, she made her way to Boulder, Colorado, where for a time she lived with a man of interest to the F.B.I. Thanks to her upbringing and perhaps some advice she received along the way — early on, when it mattered — she split up with this man and dedicated herself to a different kind of life. Eventually she met another man, a better man — a teacher, it turned out — who encouraged her to get her G.E.D. and enroll in college. It was tough, but she was strong, and finally the University of Colorado accepted her. She’s enrolled there now, clean and sober and pursuing a degree in English, with an eye toward a law degree later on. Environmental law, she mentioned, is of particular interest. She’s engaged to her mentor, the teacher, who showed her what she could achieve if only she believed in herself. She’s very, very happy.”

Walker peered outside. Tom Bishop was standing propped up against a parking meter, waiting for him. He was wearing sunglasses and chewing gum. He looked confident, but Walker wasn’t worried, not anymore. He only worried when there was doubt and uncertainty. But now his situation was clear. This was all over, and he would have to leave.

“Why haven’t we heard from her?” Isabel asked. “She should call, you should tell her.”

“She will,” Walker assured her. “She will call. Just give her time.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome. You’ll let your husband know I called?”

“Of course.”

Walker said goodbye and hung up.

Out on the sidewalk, Walker looked at Tom Bishop and shook his head, as if in disbelief. They were alone on this side street, the busy hum of Vandeveld Avenue several yards away.

“Where is she?” Tom asked.

“Your daughter?” Walker said. “You think I know something. That’s why you’re harassing me.”

“Where is she?” Tom asked again. He was staring at the sky now, gnawing on his gum.

“I don’t know,” Walker said flatly, and then he turned away, showing Tom his back.

“You underestimate me,” Tom said. “Or maybe you overestimate yourself.”

Walker stopped, and in the moment before he turned, he realized that Tom Bishop was alone. This wasn’t the F.B.I. challenging him. This was just a man. A man who happened to be an F.B.I. agent, but still just a man.

“You’re by yourself,” Walker said.

“Yes,” Tom admitted. “But that’s enough.”

“For what?” Walker asked, although his mind was already elsewhere, on his next move.

“Tell me where she is,” Tom said.

Walker laughed. He could take his time now, leave the next day instead of immediately. It had been a mistake to call Jane, to start her panicking. He’d have to call her back right away, calm her down. Of course she and Ryan would have to come with him. Walker wasn’t going to give Tom Bishop the satisfaction of breaking up his family.

“I have no idea where your daughter is,” Walker insisted, and then he turned away and started walking back to his car.

“Tell me where she is,” Tom said, “or I’ll kill you.”

Without stopping, Walker glanced over his shoulder and saw that Tom was holding his gun at his side. Walker shook his head again. Tom was completely losing it.

“How on earth,” Walker asked, “would that solve your problem?”

“This won’t end well for you,” he heard Tom say, the threat in his voice unmistakable.

We’ll see.

***

Back behind the wheel of his car, he called Jane on her cell.

“Hello?”

“Where are you?” he asked.

“Don’t worry, I’m on my way,” she said, anticipating a scolding. “I just got hung up for a minute.”

“Where are you?” he asked again, with a little less patience.

“In the garage. I’m almost at my car.”

“Turn around and go back to work.”

“What?”

He had been able to hear her heels on the concrete floor. Now there was silence. He pictured her standing in the middle of the garage, phone to her ear, waiting for him to explain. He smiled, amused by her confusion. She deserved it after all the trouble she’d caused.

“We don’t need to panic,” he said. “We have some time. So finish your day, let Ryan finish his, and we’ll talk about this some more tonight.”

“Maybe leaving isn’t the right idea–”

“Jane, this is out of your hands now. We’re going to do it my way, and we’re going to stick together.”

“Where are we going to go?”

“I don’t know. Switzerland? They can’t extradite us from there, right?”

“Actually,” Jane said, “that’s a myth. Switzerland signed an extradition treaty with the U.S. twenty years ago–”

“Well maybe we’ll go there anyway,” Walker cut in. “It’s a nice country. Lots of mountains to lose ourselves in until this all blows over.”

But this would never blow over. When they finally found Michelle, she’d be dead — without water, it might only take another day or two – and then they’d dig up the others. Walker knew that they would never stop looking for him.

“Okay,” Jane said, “whatever you say.”

“I’ll see you at home tonight.”

“Walker?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize anymore,” he told her. “Let’s just do what we need to do to make things right again.”