“Congratulations,” Ginyard shot back. “Are you satisfied now?”

“No. I’d prefer not to be here.”

“You can leave anytime you want,” Plant said.

“You asked for ten minutes.” Kyle glanced at his wristwatch.

Both agents leaned forward, all four elbows in a row, the booth suddenly smaller. “You remember a guy named Bennie Wright, chief investigator, sex crimes, Pittsburgh PD?” Ginyard was talking, both were staring, watching every nervous twitch of Kyle’s eyelids.

“No.”

“You didn’t meet him five years ago during the investigation?”

“I don’t remember meeting a Bennie Wright. Could have, but I don’t remember that name. It has been, after all, five years since the nonevent did not happen.”

They absorbed this, mulled it over slowly while maintaining eye contact. It appeared to Kyle as if both wanted to say, “You’re lying.”

Instead, Ginyard said, “Well, Detective Wright is here in town, and he’d like to meet with you in about an hour.”

“Another meeting?”

“If you don’t mind. It won’t take long, and there’s a good chance you can head off the indictment.”

“Indictment for what, exactly?”

“Rape.”

“There was no rape. The Pittsburgh police made that decision five years ago.”

“Well, it looks like the girl is back,” Ginyard said. “She’s put her life back together, gone through some extensive therapy, and, best of all, she’s got herself a lawyer now.”

Since Ginyard stopped without a question, there was no need for a response. Kyle couldn’t help but sink an inch or two. He glanced over at the counter, at the empty stools. He glanced over at the flat-screen television.

It was a college game, the stands full of screaming students, and he asked himself why he was sitting where he was sitting.

Keep talking, he said to himself, but don’t say anything.