CHAPTER ELEVENOn Monday morning, I donned a black suit. Under steel gray skies heavy with rain, I fought traffic to get to a little Unitarian church in southern P.G. County for Linda’s memorial service.
The day before, I’d sat in a tiny room tucked within the bowels of the Prince George’s Police Department’s CID—or Criminal Investigations Division—and given my statement to a uniformed underling. Afterwards, I’d slipped the guy an envelope and asked him to give it directly to Derry. It contained the strange photo of the two men I’d found in my file, plus a note explaining how I thought I got it, with my apologies—for all the good they’d do me. I could probably count on getting a call from Derry, and not a happy one at that. I could have mailed the thing with an anonymous, cryptic note—some
