From the moment we arrived at Central Park that night, we ran nearly non-stop investigating the murders of the young parents. By Monday the body count was up to three, and although we had no lack of interviews, we had no solid leads.

The convenience store surveillance tapes arrived from Rochester, including the tape from the afternoon of our stake-out; they were stashed in Bobby's desk unseen. The name and phone number of Paul Whitlock's employer sat in a folder on my desk, along with the un-filled paperwork to subpoena his phone and credit logs. I managed to get Paul's EZ Pass records, and Bobby added a few pages of printouts from the Pennsylvania Motor Vehicle Department. I touched the folder every time we passed our desks - but we didn't have time to look at any of it.

On Tuesday evening when we got back to Major Case I snagged an empty conference room so Bobby and I could make a call to Mrs. Colson. Even though we had nothing new to tell her, we wanted to check in. Bobby put it on speakerphone and dialed.

When Mrs. Colson answered the phone she sounded fine, but as soon as we identified ourselves, her voice became tense – even angry.

"What did Paul tell you?" she asked. "I hope you didn't believe him!"

Bobby gaped at me with a stunned expression, and I knew I looked about the same. Whatever had happened, it couldn't be good.

Bobby said, "He, umm... Mrs. Colson, what did he tell you?"

"He said he has a lawyer, and they're going to overturn the custody decision." Her voice cracked. "He said I broke the terms of… of my guardianship by inviting you here. I don't think I can afford a lawyer. Can he do that - take me to court?"

My anger spiked in half a second. I wanted to choke Paul Whitlock for being such an arrogant bully. I signaled for Bobby to answer, then crossed my arms tightly.

He leaned closer to the phone. "Could you start at the beginning? I don't think we have the complete picture."

"Yes, all right, let me just sit down. I know he can't be right." She sounded a tiny bit calmer.

"So… when did you speak to Paul?" I asked.

"It was yesterday. At breakfast Adam told me he thought his father was coming," she said, "so I told him to go to Jeffrey's house after school, and I drove to the Quick-Stop."

Bobby's hand covered his mouth in shock. I quickly punched the mute button. "This is so bad," I said.

Mrs. Colson continued. "I waited there for Paul; when he came I confronted him about these secret meetings with Adam."

As she spoke, Bobby leaned way back, looking up at the ceiling. He ran his hands over his face and hair before sitting up straight again. He loosened his tie, then stood and paced behind my chair. I understood his agitation - it was like watching a train wreck from a distance, with no possibility of stopping it.

"He was furious, as you can imagine," she said. "But I was angry, too – I told him I knew what he'd been doing. Oh, I let him have it for confusing poor Adam and upsetting his schoolwork." She paused, and we heard her take a deep breath before continuing. "I know I shouldn't have lost my temper like that. Paul came right back at me in an awful rage. He said I had no right to bring you two into this. He was opening the case again in court, and he was going to bring charges against you."

I felt and heard Bobby stop moving – he went absolutely still for a few seconds. Then from behind me he abruptly dove for the mute button. His elbow landed on the table, and his other arm dropped across the back of my chair. "Mrs. Colson, did you tell him we'd been there?"

"Let me think," she replied. "No, I only told him to stop his dishonest meetings with Adam - as though he could buy his son's affection!"

It took me a second to catch the meaning of his question: how did Paul know we'd been in Rochester? If Mrs. Colson hadn't told him, who had?

Bobby was draped across the table, unaware that he was practically on top of me – good thing I liked his aftershave. I elbowed his chest as I asked, "Did you tell him you'd talked to the Rochester police?"

"No," she said, "I was so angry right then I didn't think of it. He didn't mention them – only you. And I was upset about having to go back to court…"

"Please don't worry about his threats," Bobby said. "You did nothing wrong by communicating with us."

I added, "All that talk of a lawsuit is empty – he's the one who broke the terms of custody."

"Thank you," she said. "I knew he couldn't be right, but it scared me just the same."

"Is Adam home now?" Bobby asked. He slid into the chair at my side and turned to look at me as he spoke. I nodded – Adam was my first guess, too, as the one who'd given Paul the heads-up.

"No," she said, "this is Boy Scout night. Jeffrey's mother will bring him home from their meeting in another half hour."

"How –um, how has he been since we were there?" Bobby asked. "Is he keeping the promises he made?"

"Well," she said, drawing out the word, "mostly. He did tell me about Paul coming..."

"But you think he may not be telling you everything," I said. "Did something happen?"

"I'm not sure," she replied. "I usually drive him to soccer practice, but on Saturday he insisted on walking by himself. He asked me to come at the end to pick him up. He promised he hadn't seen his father or Allison. I don't know - maybe I'm overreacting."

We talked to her for another few minutes, and ended with a promise to visit again as soon as possible. She agreed to call Sergeant Brower to tell him about her confrontation with Paul – the local cops needed to be on the alert.

After we hung up the phone, neither of us moved. I felt a sense of frustration. Our current case was nowhere near solved, and the problems with Paul Whitlock were mounting. We weren't making progress anywhere.

Bobby said. "Paul must have heard about our trip to Rochester from Adam – but how? Is that why he never showed at the Quick-Stop?"

"Adam swore they weren't emailing," I said. "So how are they communicating? Snail mail?"

Bobby tapped on the table. "Whatever it is, it's what Adam's been holding back – this is what he didn't want us to find out last week."

"If it's letters," I said, "Mrs. Colson would know. She brings in the mail every day."

"Unless-" Bobby stood up suddenly, scraping his chair backwards. He took a few steps around the table, his hand ruffling through his hair. "...unless Paul sends the mail somewhere else – like a post office box."

His words hit me with a jolt. I sat up straight and turned to look at him. "There's a mailbox store on the same block as the Dunkin' Donuts."

"Adam can stop in and check for letters on his way home from school."

We were staring at each other, eyes wide. I said, "He hides it in his backpack and reads it in his room, or during school."

"It's a slow way to communicate," Bobby said, "but hard to detect. Paul can set up the times for their meetings. And this gives him more opportunity to persuade Adam than just their Quick-Stop meetings. If Adam sent a letter the same day we were there, Paul would have gotten it in time for his Rochester trip yesterday."

"So," I said, "it looks like you're not the only pen pal Adam has."

Bobby sat down next to me again. "Do you need to go home early tonight?" he asked.

I punched his arm. "We missed early a few hours ago, Bobby. But to answer the question you should have asked: yes, let's do some research on Paul now." We'd arranged to visit the director of the Carnegie Hill preschool first thing in the morning, but unless a call came in there wasn't anything to do on that case until then. "I'd better make a fresh pot of coffee."

We shut ourselves into the conference room with the Whitlock folder. I checked the Motor Vehicle records, while Bobby started combing through EZ Pass information.

"Got him," Bobby said, and thrust a sheet of paper across the table to me. "His EZ Pass was billed five times for the New York State Thruway to and from Rochester. Look…" He leaned over to stab a finger at the page. "The first trip was the day after Adam's birthday."

"That matches up exactly with Adam's account." I studied it for a few moments. "He didn't stay long. This shows he re-entered the Thruway less than an hour after he got there." I ran my finger down the list to check. "Yep, every time – and here's a Sunday – so we're not looking at business trips. Not too smart, to leave us a trail like this."

"He might have taken off the transponder unit and paid cash," Bobby said, reaching for the paper, "but some of the new sensors at toll booths are able to detect it anywhere in the car – even the glove compartment. If he hasn't checked his bill, he may not realize it."

"This should be enough for the DA to get us access to his phone and credit card records. And if we get a hit there..."

He stood and studied the map we'd pinned up, tracing a route with his finger through Pennsylvania and New York. "He comes north from Philly to Syracuse, and then takes the Thruway west to Rochester. It's possible he arranged business appointments elsewhere in New York as a cover..." Bobby circled the area in the western part of the state. "...and extended the trips to see Adam."

"We need to contact his employer to check that. But even if it is tagged onto a business trip, it still breaks the terms of custody," I replied. "You know, it doesn't make sense. He's already got two weekends each month to see his son. Judging from Adam's response, Paul didn't need to be so cloak-and-dagger about it – the kid wants to spend time with his father. Why not use the legal option?"

"It fits the profile," Bobby replied. He leaned back against the map, crossing his arms on his chest. "He wants to be the one setting the terms; he wants to give the orders. It grates to be told when he can see his son and under what conditions. That's where all this anger toward Mrs. Colson and us comes from."

"Well, guess what? The conditions will only be worse for him when the judge who decided his case finds out what's been going on."

"What about Adam? He loses again."

"That never occurs to Paul."

"Let's watch the videos," Bobby said, reaching for the door handle. "We only need to check after school each day for Paul's car or his wife's."

I quickly scanned the Motor Vehicle records. "That would be... a powder blue 2006 Camry or a black 2007 Ford Escape."

"Do you think there's anyone at the ADA's offices now?" Bobby asked. "We need that subpoena for his records."

I gathered all the papers and stacked them back into the folder. I smiled at Bobby as he stood in the open doorway. "I have a better idea, since neither of us is exactly a favorite over there. Is Captain Ross still in?"

Bobby leaned out into the squad room to look. "He's there."

"How about we fill him in and let him make the call? They may need some persuading at this time of night, and he's just the one to persuade them."

Bobby held the door for me and swept his hand toward the captain's office. "Eames, have I told you lately you're a genius?"