“Croak? Is that new?”

“Word up, dude,” Tolliver says, affecting a much younger voice. “Got it off a paramedic who looks to be about twelve years old. He says, and I quote, ‘Excuse me, sir, but when can we move the croak?’”

“Kids these days.”

“Yeah. So? Your interest?”

“The big guy.”

Tolliver sits up a little straighter. “No shit? Randall goddamn Shane. I should have known. You probably knew him since the Academy, eh?”

“Exactly that long. How’d you get onto him so quick?”

“Wait, hold on now, you wouldn’t be harboring a fugitive, would you? Doing a favor for an old friend?”

“No, I would not.”

“Swear on your little black book?”

“My little black book went away when I married Eileen, but yes, I swear.”

“Because I couldn’t help you there. Other than to suggest you counsel the suspect to surrender himself posthaste.”

“Posthaste?”

“I have an education. Nuns gave their lives, and their rulers.”

Jack purses his lips, thinking over his next move. “Okay, here it is. I’ll tell you everything I know about where Shane might be if you’ll share why you want him for this.”

The state police detective sits back, smoking luxuriantly and thinking it over, or pretending to. All part of the tease because they both knew they were going to share before entering the premises, or the meet would not have taken place, certainly not on Jack’s dime.

“It was all very convenient,” Tolliver begins. “The tip came down from on high.”

“How high?”

“Not God himself, but close. A heads-up to be on the lookout for this former federal agent who had been observed entering and exiting the home of the victim.”

“The professor was under surveillance? Why?”

“I believe the term ‘national security’ may have been uttered. No details, of course. Other than that if we do pick him up we’re supposed to turn him over to the feds immediately.”