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I talked with Kline for a few more seconds. After I hung up, I looked at George and Hester. We’d been on the speaker phone.

‘‘Wasn’t he the one Nancy Mitchell pointed out to us up at the farm?’’ asked George.

‘‘And he was at Kellerman’s funeral too,’’ I said.

‘‘Didn’t he have a laptop up at the farm?’’

‘‘Sure did,’’ I said. ‘‘I can almost see it.’’

‘‘So, with a cell phone and a modem . . .’’

‘‘That’s right, George. He could communicate directly over the computer, without us knowing there was anybody on the telephone.’’ I shook my head. ‘‘Technology triumphs again.’’

‘‘Only if Stritch has a dedicated line,’’ said Hester.

We put in the call that would tell us.

‘‘But why,’’ I asked, ‘‘would Herman do what Borcherding told him to do? Especially when it came to killing a man. And why would he say something stupid, like ‘he’s got a bomb,’ for Christ’s sake?’’

‘‘Well,’’ said George, with unusual enthusiasm. ‘‘Well. If he’s got a dedicated line to a modem, I say we just go up and pick up Borcherding’s ass and ask him!’’

‘‘It might be easier than that,’’ said Hester, staring out the window. ‘‘I think that’s him out there with the press right now.’’

Sure enough. He was at the far end of the parking lot, in a little cluster of, maybe, six reporters who were having coffee and doughnuts. Damn. It was Friday, and we were going to be moving Herman, Bill, and Nola to the courthouse for their preliminary hearings. Normally we wouldn’t have had to do that, but they had seen a magistrate on the day they were brought in, and he’d arranged for a District Court judge to review his bail amounts. The hearing was set for 1000.

‘‘Why aren’t they all waiting at the courthouse?’’ I asked.

‘‘Better photo ops as they come down the jail steps,’’ said Hester, taking a swallow of coffee and continuing to look out the window. ‘‘Our man has a camera around his neck. With,’’ she continued slowly, ‘‘a pretty long lens.’’

George, naturally, rethought his position.

‘‘Well,’’ he said hesitantly, ‘‘we might want to be a bit more circumspect here.’’

‘‘Maybe for more reasons than you’d think,’’ said Hester. ‘‘If we go out and just scarf him up right now, your bosses are gonna wonder just how on God’s green earth we knew it was him.’’

‘‘Good point,’’ said George. Quickly.

‘‘Well,’’ I said, gently mocking George, ‘‘we might just come up with a reason to suspect him of something without having to use the e-mail stuff.’’

‘‘Not likely,’’ said George.

‘‘I didn’t say it’d be quick,’’ I answered. ‘‘Anyway, I want to see whom he reports to.’’

‘‘He owns his own paper,’’ said George.

‘‘I said ‘to,’ not ‘for.’ He was relaying a message to Herman at one point. For my money that was a message from the ‘masked man’ Hester and I saw running away . . .’’

‘‘We could watch him forever,’’ said Hester, still not turning toward us, ‘‘and we’d never know that.’’

‘‘Not us,’’ I said. ‘‘Can you see if Nancy Mitchell’s out there?’’

‘‘She’s not,’’ said Hester. ‘‘She’d be at the courthouse anyway. She does words, not pictures.’’

‘‘Ah.’’

The phone call to the clerk’s office took only a few seconds. Then Nancy was on the line, and curious as to why we wanted to see her, to say the least. I told her to say it was in regards to Rumsford, in her capacity as a witness.

‘‘It’ll be later this afternoon, after the hearings and all that,’’ she said.

It was time for another favor. Which she knew, of course.

‘‘Look, make it in the next five minutes, and I’ll see to it that you get to talk with one of them as they go through the building.’’ She agreed, readily, but without noticeable surprise. She was getting used to the preferential treatment.

George, as usual, was a bit nervous. ‘‘I don’t know that we should be dealing with this woman . . .’’

‘‘Oh, George,’’ said Hester, sounding exasperated, ‘‘the FBI probably wouldn’t. Those of us without resources, however, have to punt once in a while.’’

‘‘Once in a while?’’

‘‘Frequently,’’ I said. ‘‘Very frequently.’’

As it turned out, George was sufficiently bothered