Gingerbread Man

leaves skittered over the gravel and the wind was sharp and biting. It felt good on her face. Woke her up with a smack of autumn.
    The lake was dancing again with whitecaps and froth, dark water looking as secretive and sullen as Vince O'Mally's eyes. She tromped up the porch steps, and thumped the door of Vince's cabin without hesitating. If she stopped to think about this, she would change her mind and go back home.
    Vince opened the door. He was wearing the same jeans he'd been wearing the night before, but with a black T-shirt and an unsnapped faded denim shirt over it He hadn't shaved. As she looked up at him and her eyes slid over the dark stubble on his face, she got a little hitch in her breathing. He opened the screen door for her. "C'mon in."
    "You don't even seem surprised to see me," she said, walking inside. She held out his jacket. He took it with a nod of thanks. The place was totally transformed from the last time she'd seen it. He had a laptop computer on the coffee table, a fax machine on the kitchen counter, what looked like a scanner on a spare kitchen chair, a portable copy machine on the floor, and stacks of papers and file folders everywhere. So many wires and cables connected the mess together it looked like a snake pit.
    He closed the door behind her. "I'm glad to see you. Not surprised though. I had a feeling you had more moxy than you were letting on."
    "I don't see what that has to do with my coming out here."
    "It has everything to do with your coming out here. You're ready to face this thing. Up to now, it's been in charge; but you're taking over, as of today. It's a big scary step, Red, but I had a feeling you were up for it."
    She turned toward the fireplace on the pretense of warming her hands. But in reality she was uncomfortable that he read her so easily and so well. "Don't be so sure I won't turn and run back home if this gets to me, Vince."
    He spoke from close beside her, making her jump. "I know it's hard." He handed her a mug filled with freshly made coffee.
    "Hard? You're talking about resurrecting my worst nightmares. It's more than hard." She took the mug, noticed that her hand was shaking.
    "And you're up to the task."
    "Maybe I am. I have a condition first."
    "Name it."
    "You need to give me one reason why Hubert H. Welles would have confessed to killing my sister if he didn't do it. And it needs to be a good one."
    He sipped his coffee. "I finished reading the files last night, and I think I can do that."
    She blinked up at him. "You can?"
    "Yeah, I've been poring over that bastard's case history all night long trying to give myself that very same answer. A reasonable doubt. Anything."
    "And you found one?"
    "Maybe. Hubey Welles was originally arrested in connection with the abduction of a fourteen-year-old boy. When they found him, the boy's body was still in the trunk of Welles's car. They had him dead to rights. There was no doubt of a conviction, and the death penalty had just been reinstated in New York State."
    "So?"
    "So why is he languishing in a prison cell instead of a cemetery? A death sentence should have been a given in a case like that. So why wasn't it?"
    She shrugged.
    "I'll tell you what I think. I think he made a deal. He provided information on some other cases of missing children in exchange for his life."
    Holly's jaw dropped when she realized where Vince was going. "Are you saying you think he made it up? Just to avoid the death penalty?"
    "I'm saying his confession might have saved his life. To my way of thinking, that gives him a pretty damn good motive for lying."
    "He gave them details of the crime. He led the police into the mountains to search for my sister's body." Holly's knees suddenly felt like jelly.
    "Yeah. But they never found it."
    Holly teetered and sank down onto the nearest chair. "Oh, my God."
    "Look don't take this as gospel, not yet. It's a theory. That's all. It could be nothing. The first thing we've got to do is talk to the D. A., see what kind of deal he made with Welles, and then—"
    "I have to see him."
    "Who? The D.A.?"
    "Welles. I have to see Welles."
    "No." He said it quickly and firmly. "No. Welles is a snake. I don't want you within a hundred miles of him."
    She tipped her head to one side, and searched his face. "I thought you said I was strong, deep down. That I could deal with this. This is me, dealing. I need to see him."
    He hesitated, his jaw tight as he studied her. Then he shook his head, as if reaching a