FIVE O’CLOCK and I haven’t moved from the low stone wall. Too late to travel to Saddle River to confront Livingstone with the fresh evidence. Instead, I ring his office to set an interview for first thing the next morning. Sounding belligerent, he wants to know why. Using standard-issue jargon—the kind to make a perp nervous—I say, “Just routine, sir, a few points of clarification, is all. Be out of your hair before the cocktail hour.”
He agrees, though reluctantly.