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My eyebrows went up about the same time Hester’s did.

‘‘Telephoto?’’ asked Hester.

‘‘Five hundred millimeter Cas is what Phil called it,’’ answered Nancy. ‘‘Really gets you right in there, I’ll say that for it.’’

‘‘Cool,’’ I said. ‘‘Is it okay with you if we look ’em over with you?’’ You can’t be too careful with the press.

‘‘I’ll have to think about it,’’ said Nancy, ‘‘but I don’t see anything wrong with it . . . if I can get your promise that if we discover anything I get the exclusive right to it half a day before anybody else does.’’

Hester looked at me. ‘‘A gentleman would say yes,’’ she said.

‘‘So would a desperate cop,’’ I answered. I looked at Nancy. ‘‘Yes.’’

‘‘And an exclusive on the parts of the investigation I help you with?’’

‘‘And your time spent for extortion?’’ I asked.

‘‘Whatever works,’’ she said, and smiled. It was forced, but it was a smile.

We watched Nancy walk out the door. ‘‘Never gives up,’’ I said.

‘‘Well,’’ said Hester, ‘‘it could just be her way of coping.’’

‘‘Sure.’’

As soon as she left, I asked the secretaries if we’d had any word on Lamar. Undergoing surgery. I hoped they wouldn’t have to take off that lower leg, but it didn’t look good to me. They said they’d keep me posted.

We went to the jail kitchen for a late lunch. Hester had a bagel with thinly sliced turkey she’d brought that morning from Waterloo. I had brought my usual fat-free wieners, fat-free buns, no-fat cheese slices, and mustard. I put the wieners in the microwave, and set it on high for three minutes.

‘‘Isn’t that a long time for two hot dogs?’’ asked Hester as she carefully placed her paper napkin on the table between her paper plate and her silverware.

‘‘Oh, no,’’ I said. ‘‘Not at all. You gotta leave ’em in until you hear the steam squeaking as it escapes the skin.’’

‘‘You what?’’

‘‘Oh, sure,’’ I said. ‘‘Like little teapots.’’

‘‘I see . . .’’

‘‘That’s why I call ’em Screamin’ Weenies,’’ I said.

‘‘Jesus, you’re kidding?’’

I grinned. ‘‘No, I’m not kidding. That’s what I call ’em. Hell, Hester, if it enhances the price of lobsters, just think what it’ll do for hot dogs. You could go to the restaurant, pick the ones you wanted out of a tank . . .’’

‘‘Fat-free is affecting your mind,’’ she said, calmly pouring her mineral water into a small glass.

‘‘Now,’’ I said, listening for the little screams, ‘‘that’s probably true.’’

After lunch, I made a pot of coffee, and we talked about Nancy some more, and the situation in general.

‘‘You suppose,’’ said Hester, ‘‘that the people we missed, the ones who ran out the back door . . .’’

‘‘I know which ones, thank you very much.’’

‘‘. . . just might have been the ones who didn’t want Rumsford in the house?’’

I looked at her and sipped my coffee. ‘‘Go ahead.’’

‘‘Well, I was just thinking that maybe there was somebody in the house who really didn’t want to be seen.’’

That was pretty possible, actually. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed very damn possible. That Herman had agreed to Rumsford without consulting the right people. That they had shot Rumsford. Which meant, of course, that we would have a killer who got away, as opposed to just somebody who thought like Herman walking off after it was all over.

‘‘That could be tough,’’ I said.

‘‘You mean, that they got away?’’ asked Hester.

‘‘Yep.’’

‘‘Yeah, I thought about that.’’

‘‘You have any good ideas to go with this one?’’

She shook her head. ‘‘Nope.’’

‘‘Wanna keep this to ourselves for a while?’’

‘‘Sure do. I was there too.’’

‘‘Yeah.’’ But it had been my call. And we’d never seen them again. No, not so. We’d never seen them in the first place. But we knew somebody who had. Somebody who’d talk to us. Melissa.

Melissa hit the office about 1645 with her daughter and her mother in tow. The media had gone to ground, probably for a beer and some supper, leaving one lonely fellow sitting on our lawn. He tried to speak to Melissa, but she just barged ahead. Her mom stopped to talk, and Melissa had to go back for her. I just shook my head.