"We've been asked a number of times, by the press and everyone else if we're an adjunct to the tipster person. We've denied, honestly, we have no information or knowledge whatsoever and frankly, we weren't sure such a person existed. Even the government questioned us."
"Consider your answer unchanged," I said. "I hope you're successful in finding this guy. I understand you have good people on your payroll. I'll be in touch but please don't trace my calls."
I felt terrible that I'd let the pussy out of the sack on our location, even if to someone ostensibly on our side. Neither Daniel Brennan nor Merrill Cooms possessed that information. I prayed our Delabama killer didn't stalk Agnes Delanco before she or her detectives tracked him down, quickly I hoped.
To whom should I confess my blunder? I'd put all of us at a heightened risk with my call. Should I inform Merrill Cooms I'd been in contact with After, the investigative baby he himself had started? He and I agreed it would operate totally on its own, unaware of our operation. Now I've practically brought them into the fold.
I compromised by telling Betsy over lunch. She was shocked and frightened as well.
"He's going to find us, Ben! I just know it!" She began to cry; something my wife almost never does. I put my arms around her but I didn't know what to say. We stayed that way for several minutes until she pulled back.
"I'm sorry," Betsy said, brushing away her tears. "I knew when we started this business it was like I was in the backseat of Thelma and Louise's car hurtling toward a cliff edge. We just had to do the most good possible while we had the chance."
"Betsy, it's not over by a long shot. We have to get this guy; that's all there is to it. He's the only one who is a direct threat and that's due to our coming so close to getting him in the past. Now we have a real chance at nailing him with the information I gave After. I feel terrible I slipped up and they traced the phone call but it's not the end of the world." Betsy didn't answer but she seemed at least partially placated by what was, at best, a half-truth.
Howie called in from California on a daily basis. His mother wasn't doing well and from what we could gather from his vague conversations, she wasn't expected to recover. While he yearned to return to New Hampshire I sensed he possessed a strong guilt, locking him to his mother's bedside. He obviously missed Julia as well.