“Commander,” Inspector Lee called. “We’d like to meet in here if that’s acceptable to you.”

I turned in disbelief. They actually called him Commander? And cared about his preferences? I’d thought he might be lying, but he really was working with the local cops. I was so screwed.

I surreptitiously clenched my fists as I continued the long walk down the hall. It wasn’t pleasant to recall how many ways I’d insulted the commander, but at least those thoughts distracted me from the highly disturbing fact that I’d blatantly lied to two San Francisco homicide inspectors tonight.

Okay, maybe I hadn’t exactly lied, but if omission was a sin, I was guilty as charged. Not once, but twice.

First of all, I’d never mentioned to Inspectors Jaglow and Lee the words Abraham said before he died. I tried to convince myself the reason I’d left out that little detail was that I couldn’t be sure exactly what Abraham had said.

But that was me, lying to myself. He’d said, “Remember the devil.” I’d never forget it. But what did he mean? Maybe he’d been referring to the book. Faust was the story of a man who sold his soul to the devil. Did I need to read the book? Maybe there was something in there that would give me the first clue to what he’d been talking about. Who was the devil? And why was I supposed to remember him?

My mind was spinning and I realized I was seriously exhausted. I would need a good night’s sleep before I could begin to figure out what the words meant.

I stopped, leaned against the wall of the overly bright hallway, closed my eyes and faced the truth. Omitting Abraham’s last words to the inspector had nothing to do with the real reason why I felt truly sick with guilt.

No, the real sin of omission occurred when I’d neglected to tell the police that I had seen and spoken to the one person who had the means and opportunity to actually murder Abraham Karastovsky.