“I read about you in the papers. You’re the real thing.”

Why discourage him? If he wants to believe what he sees on the tube, that’s his problem.

“Whatever you can find out,” I say, “I’ll be in your debt.”

“No problem,” he says, his voice rushing on to another topic.

“Here’s something that might help. Did you notice this case was actually filed by the assistant prosecuting attorney, a kid by the name of Mike Cash? Our prosecutor is on vacation for three weeks in the wilds of Canada.

There’s a feeling that Mike should have waited until Binkie Cross got back in town to bring this kind of charge. There’s a rumor going around he has a sister who was raped and he’s got an itchy trigger finger when he comes to that kind of crime.”

This is welcome news. There is nothing to say that a charge can’t be dismissed. I thank him and hang up so he can get on the phone. While I’m waiting, I call Sarah to let her know I’ll be coming up tomorrow. She answers on the fifth ring and sounds sleepy. It is only seven-thirty.

She shouldn’t be tired this early on a Tuesday.

“What’s wrong, babe?” I ask.

“You sound exhausted.” I try to imagine her room. Unless she has improved her house keeping, there are more clothes on the floor than in her closet. At least she is living in a dorm. Apartments are nothing but trouble. The year I lived in one at Fayetteville my grades dropped a full letter.

“I’m fine. Daddy,” she says, yawning audibly.

“I had a math test yesterday and stayed up late. I was just taking a nap so I won’t be sleepy later on.”

Damn, what is going to happen that she has to take a nap for? I know I shouldn’t ask. If she doesn’t want me to know, I couldn’t dynamite it out of her.

“You have a party to go to in the middle of the week?” I yelp, knowing I sound stupid and old.

There is silence on the other end.

“It’s not a big deal,” she says finally.