"It's three-thirty – he's not going to show." The Rochester cop tossed his empty coffee cup into a trashcan. We'd been in a lot across the street from the convenience store, watching customers come and go for forty-five minutes with no sign of Paul Whitlock.

"I think you're right," Bobby said. "Thanks for your help, Sergeant Brower. We'll be in touch if we learn anything else."

"Same here," he replied. He shook hands with both of us, and held up the copy of the photo we'd given him. "If Mr. Whitlock turns up we'll let you know."

Bobby and I watched as Brower and his partner climbed into their unmarked police sedan and pulled out of the parking lot.

"I wonder what happened," I said, leaning on the hood of our car. "Adam was clearly expecting him. Do you think Whitlock made us?"

He shrugged. "It's possible. I doubt Adam had a chance to let him know we were coming – if they even have a way of communicating."

"Yeah, that part's a mystery," I said. "He swore there were no emails between them, and I believe him."

"So do I."

It had been clear Adam wanted us to like him – especially Bobby. At his request Adam had brought out the display of his Boy Scout awards and had proudly shown them to us. He'd even talked about his Eagle Scout plans, smiling up at us with his big brown eyes.

However, when Bobby asked him to open the backpack I thought Adam was going to bolt, or maybe throw up again. Bobby was very kind – he sat next to him, patting his back and reassuring him he wasn't in trouble. I began to wonder if he had a gun or drugs in there.

After all that build-up, the secret stash items were a pen, a ball cap and a tee-shirt, all with the logo of York Valley Academy, the private school where Paul wanted to enroll him.

Adam admitted the things were from his father, that the convenience store was their meeting point, and that he thought there would be a visit today. Paul had first surprised him during his walk home on the day after his birthday.

When all this came out, Mrs. Colson began crying again, which turned out to be a good thing, because Adam started sniffling, too. I was glad to see he had a soft heart; all that Boy Scout training in honesty and courtesy had sunk in. It wasn't hard to get him to promise not to have any more secret meetings, and to postpone discussion of the private school. In fact, he looked relieved with that arrangement.

The difficult part was explaining to Adam why his father wasn't free to see him whenever he wanted. Bobby picked a good angle to approach it: only one person could be in charge, and he had to follow one set of rules, or else he'd be pulled in different directions. Adam seemed to understand - he'd been living it for a month. All that deception taught him a hard lesson.

But beyond that, how do you tell a child his father's not to be trusted, or that his father hated his mother, and didn't lift a hand to help her out of depression or prevent her suicide attempt?

Now, standing across the street from the convenience store, my anger boiled up again. Paul's cheesy souvenir-shop gifts weren't worth a fraction of the trouble they were causing.

"So," I said, "from what Adam told us it looks like Paul's making a round trip one or two times a week. How can he manage that?"

Bobby shrugged. "Doesn't he have to be at work?" He started to pace back and forth, tapping his fingers against his mouth.

"Philadelphia to Rochester is four or five hours," I said. "I got the impression these secret rendezvous weren't very long. A whole day of traveling for ten minutes with Adam?"

He paused in front of me. "Ten minutes is all that Adam knows about."

"Hmm! You think Paul has a work-related reason to come this way?"

"That would be more than coincidental," he said, opening his binder on the car hood and making a note. "We need to check with his employer."

"And let's see about getting a subpoena to pull his phone logs and credit card reports – I think we can persuade the ADA. Oh, and his Motor Vehicle records."

Bobby froze with his pen on the paper. When he didn't move for nearly half a minute I nudged him. "What?"

"There's something else we need to check." He slapped the binder closed and started jogging across the street to the Quick-Stop. I had to smile: some things never change.

We'd talked to the convenience store manager earlier: he recognized Paul, but couldn't remember the last time he'd seen him. He'd given Sergeant Brower his security tapes, which extended back six days. Brower promised to send copies to us at Major Case.

When I caught up with him, Bobby was staring into the security camera mounted on the roof. He was stepping back and forth and squatting down beside the cars parked there to figure out the camera angle. Whoever was watching the screens inside was getting quite a show. Bobby finally finished his inspection and opened the store's front door for me.

I followed him to the back of the store where the manager had a closet-sized office with a one-way mirror for him to keep an eye on customers. He'd obviously seen us coming, because he stepped out just as we reached the door.

"Hi," Bobby said, "I have a couple more questions."

"No problem," he said, joining us in the aisle. "What can I do for you, sir?"

"Do you get much out-of-state business? Pennsylvania?"

"Oh yes, plenty," the manager said. "Other states, too – Ohio, Wisconsin, everywhere. Canadians, too."

"And the license plates show up on the security tapes?" Bobby asked.

"Yes, sir, they should."

Bobby nodded. "Um, do you generally notice which customers are from out of state?"

The manager thought about it for a moment. "Not unless they ask directions, or buy maps - something like that. There's been no one like that recently."

"Okay, thanks." Bobby was already turning as he spoke. I backed up quickly to keep us from colliding and probably bringing down the display of breath mints and gum.

I led the way back to our car, where I asked, "Wanna share?"

He looked at me intently, a look that always sparks off my curiosity. He said, "We were only watching for a man in a car with Pennsylvania plates. What if Paul sent his wife?"

"Ooh, stepmother! That would mean Paul's got her under his thumb, if he can send her on ten-hour errands. But," I said, "Adam didn't mention her at all."

"I know," Bobby said. "Well, Mrs. Colson asked us to stop in before we head for home. Maybe Adam will open up a little more once we tell him his father didn't show."

"Hey, that reminds me," I said. "You were really good with him."

Bobby looked away and started to fidget. Talk about tells and body language! Bobby was the easiest person in the world to read. I ignored his embarrassment. "I mean it. I thought he was going to clam up on us, but you made him feel safe."

He mumbled something like, "Anybody could have done it," and I felt like smacking him. If he still didn't know how to accept my compliments, I wasn't going to give lessons.

"Let's go." I opened the driver's door, climbed in, and slammed the door shut.

I guess Bobby could read my body language, too. As soon as he got in he reached over to grab the steering wheel before I could put the car in gear. "Thank you," he said quietly. I waited until he let go, then I nodded just once. He was learning after all.

-*- -*- -*-

"So," Bobby said, glancing over at me, "do you want to?"

His words startled me out of my trance. When he'd offered to drive home I accepted, at least for the first leg of the trip. We'd been quiet for a long stretch since leaving Rochester, and my mind had been wandering. I shifted in my seat, rolled my shoulders, and tried to recall the last thing we'd talked about.

"Umm..." I said, "do I want to what? Stop for dinner? Dust off my bread maker when I get home? Eat one of those Winesap apples right now?"

His quiet chuckle gave me a smile. "Interesting how your mind went right to food, Eames."

I took a deep breath. "You have to admit: the smell of fresh-picked apples beats a car freshener any day." I stretched into the back for an apple, but I had to unclick my seat belt, twist sideways and lean way over to reach the bag on the floor. My side was pressed up against Bobby's arm, and I felt him nudge me lightly. "Don't even think of pushing me over," I said, "or you're never driving again."

He laughed. "I'm just trying to stay on the road here."

I came up with two apples, re-fastened the seat belt, and started polishing them on my pant legs. "What was it you asked me?"

He held out his hand for an apple. "Do you want to go to Rochester again?"

"Well, we've got a load of research to do on Paul and his new wife, so we might need to make a trip to Philadelphia first. But sure, I'm in for another visit with Mrs. Colson and Adam. I like them." I took a bite of my apple – it gave a satisfying, crisp snap.

"This is good," Bobby said, holding up his apple. Nearly a quarter of it was gone already. "Let's bring her Winesaps next time."

The idea of another visit was pleasant, but only if we didn't have to worry about more trouble from Paul – and now from his wife, Allison. Adam had admitted that she'd accompanied Paul once and had come once on her own. I said, "The way I see it, Paul's determined to get his son back, and he won't give up just because we found out what he's been doing. He'll change tactics."

"Did you... did you get the feeling Adam was holding back something?" Bobby asked. He took a huge bite of his apple.

"When we came back from the convenience store? Maybe, but I thought it was relief that his father hadn't been caught – disaster avoided, you know?"

Bobby shook his head slowly as he chewed and swallowed. "There's something else."

"What, another tee-shirt? A hoodie?"

"No, it was..." Bobby glanced over at me. "He was afraid we were going to ask one particular question, and was relieved when we didn't. Asking him about Paul's new wife didn't seem to bother him – it's something else."

I tried to recall Adam's words and behavior. "Yeah, he did seem cautious. So, he wasn't going to offer the information because it would get him and his father in more trouble?"

"I think so. He understands his father shouldn't have been going behind Mrs. Colson's back, but he still has that natural desire to be with him. He wants to have it both ways."

"In that case, I see more nosebleeds in Adam's future."

It was getting close to sunset, and we agreed to stop for dinner nearer to the city. In the meantime I finished my apple, then tilted my seat back and tried to catch a quick nap.

My cell phone woke me. I fumbled around getting the thing out of my pocket. It was fully dark, and the orange glow of street lights told me we'd reentered the urban zone – Bobby had let me sleep a long time. I cleared my throat as I looked at the caller ID display.

"It's Ross," I said. Couldn't be good news. I hit the Talk button. "Eames."

I had to scramble to find my note pad in my purse. Bobby turned on the dome light for me to write down the information Captain Ross was giving me.

"Okay, hang on a sec." I held the phone against my chest and asked Bobby, "How far out are we? We have to get to Central Park, Upper East Side."

"We're almost to Jersey City," he replied. "I'll swing up the Turnpike to the Lincoln Tunnel. Thirty minutes, maybe less with lights and sirens."

I repeated it to Ross and closed the phone with a deep sigh.

"We've got a murder. A man was walking in the park, pushing his kid in a stroller," I said. "He was shot and killed. The baby was unharmed. The guy was some big shot Wall Street analyst. That's all we have for now."

I felt the car surge forward as Bobby pressed down on the accelerator.

"So much for dinner," I said.