Sherlock said, “You want to hear something interesting? It turns out Stony and Tommy Cronin and Peter Biaggini have known each other all their lives. We know that Stony and Tommy were best friends.”

Lucy went nearly bug-eyed. “You’ve got to be kidding. I mean, he uploaded a photo of his murdered friend? But that would make him—what? The murderer? At least an accomplice?”

Coop shook his head. “I don’t see him murdering Tommy Cronin.”

“Why?” Savich asked him.

Coop was thoughtful for a moment. “He doesn’t have the fire in the belly for it—he’s a nice kid, Savich, that’s the long and short of it.”

Lucy said, “But he was willing to upload the photo of a dead friend, which means if he didn’t kill Tommy, he has to know who did. That’s pretty slimy.”

“We’re about to see,” Savich said. “Why don’t you guys come in and stand against the wall looking grim while Sherlock and I speak with Stony. From what you say, he responds to that.”

Coop grinned. “I like the Gestapo look—arms crossed over the chest, eyes mean and slitted.”

Lucy poked him in the ribs. “Good thing you took him to the bathroom, Coop.”

Savich and Sherlock walked down the hallway to the interview room, Coop and Lucy behind them. They paused to listen at the door, then Savich unlocked it and went in. Savich could practically see waves of despair rolling off Stony Hart. Coop was right, whatever else this young man was, he wasn’t a murderer. But then what was he? Given what he’d done, it was hard to believe he was really Tommy Cronin’s best friend.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Hart. Everyone calls you Stony, right?”

The young man’s eyes met theirs and froze like a deer in the headlights. He looked terrified down to his pocket protector, and painfully young, though Savich knew he’d turned twenty-three last week. His eyes slid to Coop and Lucy, standing with their backs against the door, ready to leap on him. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip and managed a hoarse whisper, “Yes, I’m Stony. I already told those agents I haven’t done anything wrong. I didn’t call a lawyer because I’m not a criminal, and I understand I haven’t been arrested. It’s very important if I’m going to keep my job that I not be arrested.”

Savich said, “You’re not a criminal? I’m glad to hear it, because that means you’ll tell us the truth.” Savich leaned in close. “I always know when someone is lying to me, Stony, always, so save us all time and don’t try it. I want you to tell us what you meant when you told these agents you didn’t do anything illegal. What is it you did, exactly?”

“Look. You took all my computers, though I don’t see how you have the right. Sure, I have some file-sharing stuff—music and videos, mostly—and that might not be strictly legal, but they can sue me, can’t they? Some of it’s a little embarrassing, maybe. But I don’t have a clue why you brought me here like this”—he swallowed—“in handcuffs.” His eyes darted to where Lucy had left the handcuffs on the edge of the table.

Savich asked, “So is that why you use anonymizers? So you won’t be embarrassed?”

“Sure, I have the software to do that. It’s the best, I vetted it myself, even made adjustments to make it better. It’s best to have the option of keeping out of sight on the Internet. Sometimes I cruise underground sites in China, Iran, and no one ever knows who I am. Why do you care about my anonymizer? What do you think I’ve done?”

Savich backed off, let him wait. “Tell me first, how’d you get the nickname Stony?”

Stony flexed and unflexed his fingers. “What? You want to know that? My mom and dad said I kept looking at stones when I was a kid; I had kind of a compulsion that way, had to see what was under every rock. Now I’m an adult I see it has a different meaning, but I’m still Stony. My folks thought it was funny. My friends picked it up from my folks. Look, I tried to get past some firewalls, but nothing dangerous—” His face drained of what color was left. “No, I mean, nothing illegal. Just fooling around.”

Sherlock said, “Then why don’t you tell us why you used your anonymizer to upload the photo of your best friend’s dead body on YouTube.”

Stony sputtered, put his face in his hands, and shook his head back and forth. “What are you talking about? This is about Tommy? That photo? You think I did that? No, never, it was horrible.”

Savich leaned forward. “The thing is, Stony, the commercial proxy you used is secure enough, highly sophisticated with your tweaks, but not for someone committing a cybercrime linked to what might be an act of terrorism.”