HAT DID HE SAY?” RYAN WAS STILL AT THE COMPUTER. SOMETHING punk was blasting from the speakers. Or was it heavy metal?

“He was unconvinced. Jesus. Can you turn that down?”

“What would you like to hear?”

“The music’s fine. Just lower the volume a few squillion decibels.”

“Seriously. Who do you like?”

“You’ll mock me.”

“I won’t. Well, unless you say Abba. Come on. Choose one of your CD’s. You do have CD’s?”

“Of course I have CD’s.” Two of Abba. I didn’t fess up.

“Choose one.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.”

Running a finger along my music shelf, I made a selection and handed it to Ryan.

“Yes! A Canadian.”

“I didn’t know that.”

Disapproving look. “Neil Young makes up for the national flaw of not having Dove bars.”

Ryan slipped the disc into the PC.

First acoustic guitar, then the familiar nasal tenor issued forth.

Synapse trip down memory lane. Pete in his marine dress whites. In jeans playing backyard croquet with Katy. In plaid flannel PJ bottoms watching TV.

This had been Pete’s favorite CD.

Somewhere on a desert highway…

I studied the album’s cover art. A scarecrow, backlit by an orange and red sunset.

Or was it a native dancer in a fringed coat?

A witch?

And there it was again. The subliminal sneeze that wouldn’t break.

Witch? Pete?

She rides a Harley-Davidson…

I flipped the case and looked at the title. Harvest Moon.

The sneeze geysered into my forebrain.

“Holy hell.”

Ryan’s head snapped up. “What?”

“Something’s been bugging me about Evans and I just got it.”

As before, I grabbed the phone and dialed.

As before, Slidell answered.

I gestured at the computer. Ryan lowered the volume.

“Klapec lives in Onslow County, right? In Half Moon?”

“So?”

“I just remembered. I can’t believe I missed it until now. I’ve been to Onslow County, know the town. I just didn’t remember I remembered it.”

I was so psyched I was babbling.

Ryan pantomimed inhalation.

I took a breath. Started over.

“When you questioned Evans at Rinaldi’s funeral, he referred to Jimmy Klapec as a half-moon hick. I though it was just a derogatory expression, but my subconscious pricked up at the reference.”

“Your what?”

“Evans meant it literally. Half Moon. It’s a town on Highway Two fifty-eight, north of Camp Lejeune and Jacksonville. The Klapecs live there. If Evans never met Jimmy Klapec, how could he know the kid’s hometown?”

“That lying piece of crap.”

For several seconds I listened to Slidell’s breathing. Then he made a clicking sound with his tongue.

“Still won’t get me a warrant.”

“How do you know?”

“Already tried. Got shut down. DA says it’s all circumstantial. Besides, Evans alibis out. Didn’t say so, but there’s also the fact that the guy works for a public figure. DA don’t want to poke that hornets’ nest without a smoking gun.”

Slidell was right. The crack about Half Moon. The resemblance to Rick Nielsen. Lingo’s number in Rinaldi’s notes. It was all speculative. So far we’d found nothing to show either motive or opportunity. And Evans had witnesses putting him elsewhere on both the September and October dates in question.

I thought a moment.

“Have you checked into Evans’s vehicle?”

“I’ve got a call in on that. By the way, Klapec’s been charged. Unit found the gun. Motel manager confirms Klapec’s story, and a security camera shows him checking in at twelve twenty-seven this morning. Plus the confession’s clean. Looks like the pathetic bastard’s telling the truth.”

Ryan was still surfing the Cheap Trick Web site, the volume turned low. Seeing my face, he reached out for one of my hands.

“Feeling jammed up?”

“I keep seeing Klapec in that interrogation room. First, he lost his son. Now he’s probably murdered an innocent man.”

“You really think Lingo’s aide is your boy?”

Raising frustrated palms, I summarized the circumstantial evidence Slidell and I had just discussed. “And Evans has an alibi.”

“Let’s crack it.”

“According to the man who found it, Klapec’s body was dumped the morning of October ninth. Evans was in Greensboro.”

“Let’s let that go for now. You said Klapec could have been killed earlier, then placed in a freezer.”

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“I don’t know.” I was saying that a lot lately. “But Klapec was last seen alive on September twenty-ninth.”

“By whom?”

“Vince Gunther.”

“A fellow chicken hawk.”

I nodded.

“Is Gunther credible?”

“Apparently Rinaldi thought so. His notes suggest he was willing to pay the kid five hundred dollars for information on Klapec’s killer.”

“What was Slidell’s take?”

“We never questioned Gunther directly.”

“That’s right. Gunther’s in the wind. Still no word on his whereabouts?”

I shook my head. “But we did interview April Pinder, Gunther’s former girlfriend. Her story confirmed what we suspected about Klapec and this Rick Nielsen/Nelson character arguing, then Klapec disappearing. It supported an LSA for Klapec on September twenty-ninth.”

“How about Pinder? She reliable?”

I waggled splayed fingers. Maybe yes, maybe no.

“Could she be covering for Gunther?”

“Doubtful. She’s pissed as hell. After she paid his bail, Gunther dumped her.”

I saw thought working in Ryan’s eyes.

“Exactly how did Pinder’s story corroborate Gunther’s?”

I relayed what Pinder had said about Gunther watching TV the night he got out of jail. About Gunther telling her he saw Klapec and Rick Nelson/Nielsen arguing that day.

“And Evans was out of town at that time, too?”

“On a campaign swing across the state.”

“He’s sure about his dates?”

“Very.”

“Is Pinder?”

“She seemed to be. But who knows? She’s not all that bright.”

“But, cupcake. We have a means at our disposal to check.”

“We do?” Ignoring the bakery reference.

Ryan worked a few keys, checked the screen. Worked some more.

“I’ll be damned.” He pointed at a line of white text in a black box. “You’re going to like this.”

The box listed all Cheap Trick appearances, live onstage, on television, and on radio, and provided links to recent and old interviews.

I read the line Ryan was indicating.

It took a moment for the significance to register.

When it did, I took in a breath.

“Cheap Trick appeared on HBO September twenty-seventh and twenty-eighth, in a two-part special featuring seventies and eighties rockers,” Ryan said.

“So Pinder had to be wrong about the date. Cheap Trick wasn’t on television on the twenty-ninth.” I was thinking out loud. “Gunther was in jail on the twenty-eighth. He couldn’t have been watching at her house that night. It had to have been the twenty-seventh, the day before Gunther went in, not the day he got out.”

“Does Evans have an alibi for the twenty-seventh?” Ryan asked.

“Holy mother of God.”

I was so excited I had to punch Slidell’s number twice. No matter. My call was rolled to voice mail.

“We’ve got him,” I said. “Klapec was last seen alive on September twenty-seventh, not the twenty-ninth. Check Evans’s whereabouts for that date. Call me.”

I clicked off.

“Good one,” I said, high-fiving Ryan.

He grinned a grin as wide as the Rio Grande.

Seconds dragged by. Hours. Eons.

I chewed at the cuticle on my thumb. Got up and paced. Sat down. Chewed some more.

Still the phone didn’t ring.

“Where the hell is he?”

Ryan shrugged. Ate a handful of popcorn. Continued surfing.

“Don’t drop kernels into my keyboard.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Or drip butter.”

I looked at the clock. It had been twenty minutes since I left my message.

“Maybe I should fax that page to Slidell. Can you print it?”

Pointless. But it was something to do.

Returning to the Cheap Trick Web site, Ryan made hard copy and handed it to me. The page made me think of Rinaldi’s notes. Something else to do.

I pulled the papers from my briefcase. Returned to the study.

“Look at this,” I said. “Now everything makes sense.”

Ryan dropped onto the couch beside me.

JK. 9/29. LSA with RN acc. to VG. RN-PIT. CTK. TV. 10/9-10/11? CFT. 10. 500.

“According to Vince Gunther, Jimmy Klapec was last seen alive with Rick Nielsen on September twenty-ninth. Rick Nielsen with pits. Gunther noted the resemblance when he saw Cheap Trick, CTK, on TV. October ninth to eleventh is the time Klapec was found. Rinaldi was meeting Gunther at CFT, Cabo Fish Taco, at ten with five hundred dollars.”

Silently, Ryan and I read Rinaldi’s last lines of code.

RN = BLA = GYE. Greensboro. 10/9. 555-7038. CTK-TV-9/27. VG, solicitation 9/28-9/29.

GYE 9/27?

“Rick Nielsen equals Boyce Lingo’s aide equals Glenn Yardley Evans. Rinaldi called Lingo’s office, and Evans told him that he and his boss were in Greensboro on October ninth, when Klapec’s body was found.”

“Rinaldi must have known something was wrong with the September dates. Cheap Trick appeared on TV September twenty-seventh and twenty-eighth. Vince Gunther was in jail for solicitation on the twenty-eighth, so Rinaldi knew he couldn’t have seen Nielsen, and by extension, Klapec, on that day.”

“So April Pinder got the date wrong. They had their pizza party the day before, not the day after she busted Gunther loose.”

“A day for which Evans may have no alibi.”

“Jesus, Ryan. Somehow, Rinaldi figured all this out. Evans discovered that he knew.”

My fingers were curled so tightly my nails were digging crescents in my palms.

“Evans killed him.”

The phone shrilled.

I leaped for it.

Slidell sounded as wired as I felt. “Evans was in Charlotte on the twenty-seventh.”

I started to speak. He cut me off.

“He drives a white Chevy Tahoe.”

“Holy shit.”

“Judge finally cut paper. We’re going in.”

“I want to be there.”

“How’d I know you’d say that?”

I waited.

“Just you.”

“When?”

“Now.”