3rd Degree Part 2

Chapter 40.

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, we pulled up about two blocks from the Bank of America location in Santos and Morelli's unmarked car. About a hundred demonstrators were crowded around the entrance to the branch; most were holding crudely painted signs: A FREE MONEY SUPPLY IS THE SIGN OF A FREE PEOPLE, one read. Another, GIVE THE WTO AIDS.An organizer in a T-s.h.i.+rt and torn jeans was standing on the roof of a black SUV, shouting into a microphone, "Bank of America enslaves girls before p.u.b.erty into oppression. Bank of America sucks the people's blood!""What the h.e.l.l are these people protesting," Jacobi asked,"mortgages?""Who knows," replied Santos. "Child labor in Guatemala, the WTO, big business, the f.u.c.king ozone layer. Half of them are probably losers they pick off the welfare line and buy with a pack of smokes. It's the leaders I'm interested in."He took out a camera and started snapping shots of people in the crowd. A ring of about ten police stood between the bank and the protesters, riot clubs dangling at their sides.Things Cindy had said began to resonate. How in the comfort of your own life, you could just turn the page when you read about the uninsured or the poor, or underdeveloped countries drowning in debt. But how some people couldn't turn the page. A million miles away, right? Didn't seem like that now.Suddenly a new speaker climbed on top of the SUV. My eyes bulged. It was Lemouz. Imagine that.The professor took the microphone and began shouting. "What comprises the World Bank? It is a group of sixteen member inst.i.tutions from all parts of the world. One of them is the Bank of America. Who loaned the money to Morton Lightower? Who were the underwriters who handled his company's IPO? The good old B of A, my friends!"Suddenly the mood of the crowd changed. "These bas-tards should be blown up!" a woman shouted. A student tried to start a chant: "B of A. B of A. How many girls have you killed today?"I saw pockets of violence begin to break out. A kid hurled a bottle at the window of the bank. At first I thought it was a Molotov, but there was no explosion."See what we have to deal with over here," Santos said. "Problem is, they're not all wrong.""f.u.c.k they're not," contributed Jacobi.Two police officers invaded the ranks and tried to corral the bottle thrower, but the crowd banded together, impeding their way. I saw the kid take off down the street. Then there was screaming, people on the ground. I couldn't even tell where it all had started."Oh f.u.c.k." Santos put down his camera. "This could be getting out of hand."One of the cops swung his stick and a long-haired kid sank to his knees. More people began to throw things. Bottles, rocks. Two of the agitators started wrestling with the police, who dragged them down, pinning them with their sticks.Lemouz was still barking into the microphone. "See what the state must resort to - cracking heads of mothers and children."I had taken about as much as I could sit back and watch. "These guys need help," I said, and went to open the door.Martelli held me back. "We go in, we get made.""I'm already made," I said, unstrapping the gun from my leg. Then I ran across the street with Martelli a few strides behind.Cops were being shoved and pelted with debris. "Pigs! n.a.z.is!"I pushed my way into the throng. A woman held a cloth to her bleeding head. Another carried a baby, crying, out of harm's way. Thank G.o.d somebody had a little common sense.Professor Lemouz's gaze fixed on me. "Look how the police treat the innocent voice of protest! They come with drawn guns!"Ah, Madam Lieutenant," he said, grinning down from his makes.h.i.+ft podium, "still trying to get yourself educated, I see. Tell me, what did you learn today?""You planned this," I said, wanting to run him in for disorderly conduct. "It was a peaceful demonstration. You stirred them up.""A shame, isn't it? Peaceful demonstrations never seem to make the news. But look..." He pointed toward a news van pulling up down the street. A reporter jumped out, and a cameraman was filming as he ran."I'm watching you, Lemouz.""You flatter me, Lieutenant. I'm just a humble professor of an arcane subject not in vogue these days. Really, we should have a drink together. I'd like that. But if you'll excuse me, there's a case of police brutality waiting for me now."He bowed, produced a supercilious grin that made my skin crawl, then started to wave his arms over his head, stir-ring up the crowd, chanting, "B of A. B of A. How many girls have you enslaved today?"

Chapter 41.

CHARLES DANKO STEPPED INTO the depressingly drab lobby of the large munic.i.p.al building. There was a security station to his left, two desultory guards inspecting bags and packages. His fingers tightened around the handle of the leather case.Of course, Danko wasn't his name right now. It was Jeffrey Stanzer. Before that, it had been Michael O'Hara. And Daniel Browne. He had gone through so many names over the years, changing them, moving on whenever he felt people getting too close. Names were fungible, anyway - as easy to change as making a new driver's license. What had remained con-stant was a belief that burned deeply inside his soul. That he was doing something here that was very important. That he owed it to people close to his heart, people who had died for a cause.But the scary thing - none of that was true.Because Charles Danko believed in nothing but the hate burning inside of him.He made a check of the security officers going about their work, but it was nothing new. He had seen it many times before. He stepped up to the platform and started to empty his pockets. He'd done this so many times over the past few weeks that he might as well actually work in this build-ing. Case over there: he mouthed the words before they were spoken."Case over there," the security guard said, clearing a spot on the screening table. He flipped open the top."Raining yet?" he asked Danko as he pa.s.sed it through the X-ray scan.Danko shook his head, his heart barely skipping a beat. Mal had built a masterpiece this time, the contents molded right into the lining. Besides, these drones wouldn't know how to find the bomb even if they knew what to look for.Danko walked through the metal detector and a beeper went off. He patted his jacket up and down and seemed sur-prised when he took the bulging device out from one of his pockets."Cell phone," he said, smiling apologetically. "Don't even know it's on me until it rings.""Mine only rings when it's for the kids," the genial guard said with a grin.How easy it was. How asleep these people were. Even with all the warnings around them. Another guard pushed his case to the end of the platform. He was in. The so-called Hall of Justice.He was going to blow it to bits! He'd kill everyone in here. Without regrets or remorse.For a moment Danko just stood there, gazing at the oh-so-busy people rus.h.i.+ng back and forth, reminded of his years of staying low, the quiet, trivial life that he was leaving behind. His palms began to sweat. In a few minutes they would know he could strike anywhere. At the epicenter of their power, the very heart of the investigation.We will find you, no matter how large your house or power-ful your lawyers....What he was carrying was enough to blow out an entire floor.He stepped inside a crowded elevator and pushed the but-ton for the third floor. It filled with people coming back from lunch. Cops, investigators from the D.A.'s office, p.a.w.ns of the state. With their families and pets, watching the Giants on the tube, they probably felt they weren't responsible. But they were. Even the man who swept the floors. They were all responsible, and if they weren't, who cared?"Excuse me," Danko said on three, squeezing himself out with two or three other people. Two uniformed cops pa.s.sed him in the hallway. He didn't flinch. He even smiled at them. How easy it was. The home of the D.A., the chief of police, the investigation.They had let him walk right in! Morons!They wanted to show they had this whole G-8 thing under control. He would show them that they didn't have a clue.Danko took a breath and came to a stop in front of Room 350. HOMICIDE, it said.He stood there for a moment, looking as if he belonged.But then he turned and walked back to the elevator. Dry run, he thought as he took the next car down. Practice makes perfect. Then... Boom! Yours truly, August Spies.

Part Three

Chapter 42.

IT WAS FOUR by the time I left Berkeley and made it back to the office. My secretary, Brenda, happened to catch me in the hallway. "You've got two messages from A.D.A. Bernhardt, but don't get comfortable. The boss is asking for you upstairs."As I knocked on Tracchio's door, a meeting of the Emer-gency Task Force was already under way. I wasn't surprised to see Tom Roach, from the local FBI. They'd been all over things since Cindy got the e-mail that morning. Plus Gabe Carr, the deputy mayor in charge of police affairs, and Steve Fiori, the press liaison.And someone with his back to me whom I didn't recog-nize: dark, with thick brown hair, solidly built. The guy had advance team for the G-8 meeting stamped all over him. Here we go, antacid lovers.I nodded to the guys I had worked with, a quick glance toward the suit I didn't know. "You want to bring everyone up to date, Lieutenant?" the Chief said."Sure," I said, nodding. My stomach churned. I hadn't exactly prepped for a presentation. I had the feeling I was being set up, Tracchio-style."A lot of things are pointing toward Berkeley," I explained. I ran off the key angles we were working. Wendy Raymore, the demonstration today, Lemouz."You think this guy's involved?" Tracchio asked. "He's a professor, right?""I ran his name and it came back with nothing deeper than a couple of unlawful demonstrations and resisting arrests," I said. "Both dropped. He's harmless. Or he's very, very smart.""Any trace on the taggants in the C-4?" Tracchio asked. It felt as if he was trying to make points with the Fed in the tan suit. Who the heck was he anyway?"It's with ATF," I said."And these people keep communicating on these public e-mail ports to threaten us," he said."What do you want us to do, stake out every public-access computer in the Bay Area?" I asked. "You know how many we're talking, Chief?""Two thousand one hundred and seventy-nine," the Fed in the suit suddenly chimed in. He flipped a sheet of paper. "Two thousand one hundred and seventy-nine public-access Internet access portals in the Bay Area, depending on how they're defined. Colleges, libraries, cafs, airports. That in-cludes two in army recruiting centers in San Jose, but I don't think they'll try there, if that narrows it down at all.""Yeah," I said as our eyes finally met, "that starts to nar-row it down.""Sorry." The man rubbed his temples and relaxed into a tired smile. "I just got off a plane from Madrid twenty min-utes ago, expecting to check through some security details for the G-8 next week. Now I'm wondering if I suddenly find myself in the middle of the Third World War.""Lindsay Boxer," I said."I know who you are," the Fed replied. "You worked that La Salle Heights church bombing last year. People in Justice took note. Any chance we can contain these people in the next week?""Contain?" The word had a Clancy-esque sound to it."Let's not play games, Lieutenant. We have a meeting of the heads of finance of the Free World coming here. Plus a threat to the public safety, and like the Chief said, we don't have much time."There was a directness about this guy I liked. Not the usual Was.h.i.+ngton type."So everything's still on?" Gabe Carr, the mayor's deputy, asked."On?" The Was.h.i.+ngton man looked around the room. "The locations are secure, right? We have adequate man-power, don't we, Chief?""Every uniformed man on the force at your disposal next week." Tracchio's eyes lit up.I cleared my throat. "What about the e-mail we received? What do we do with it?""What do you want to do with it, Inspector?" the Wash-ington guy asked.My throat was dry. "I want to answer it," I said. "I want to start a dialogue. Map out the contact points they respond from. See if they divulge something. The more we talk, the more they might reveal...."There was one of those sticky, protracted silences, and I was hoping I wasn't about to be shoved off this case."Right answer." The federal agent winked at me. "No need for all the melodrama, I just wanted to see who I was working with. Joe Molinari," he said, smiling, and pushed across his card.As I read it, as hard as I tried not to change my expression, my heart picked up a beat, maybe a couple of beats.DEPARTMENT OF HOMELAND SECURITY, the card read. JOSEPH P. MOLINARI. DEPUTY DIRECTOR.s.h.i.+t, this guy was all the way up!"Let's start a dialogue with these b.a.s.t.a.r.ds," said the deputy director.

Chapter 43.

MY HEAD WAS STILL BUZZING from my meeting with Molinari as I headed back to my office. On the way, I stopped at Jill's.A worker was vacuuming the corridor, but her lights were still on.An Eva Ca.s.sidy CD was playing lightly in the back-ground. I heard Jill dictating into a recording device."Hey." I knocked on the door. A look as apologetic as I could muster. "I know you left some messages. It probably won't help if I tell you about my day.""Well, I know how it began," Jill said. Icicles.Deserved."Look, I can't blame you for being mad." I stepped in, placing my hands on the top of a high-backed chair."You could say I was a little mad," Jill said, "earlier in the day.""And now?""Now...I guess you could call it very f.u.c.king mad, Lindsay."There wasn't a hint of humor in her face. When you needed someone to seriously bust some b.a.l.l.s - to use the wrong metaphor - Jill was your gal."You're torturing me," I said, and sat in the chair. "I real-ize what I did was way out of bounds."Jill laughed derisively. "I would say the part about send-ing a hit man after my husband seemed a bit wide of the lines - even for you, Lindsay.""It wasn't a hit man," I corrected her. "It was a knee-cracker. But who's being technical. What can I say? You're married to a total SOB." I pulled the chair up to the side of her desk. "Look, Jill, I know it was wrong. I didn't go there to threaten him. I went for you. But the guy was such a tight -a.s.sed creep.""Maybe what the guy didn't appreciate was our business being laid out like a laundry list in his face. What I told you was in confidence, Lindsay.""You're right." I swallowed. "I'm sorry."Gradually, the little lines of anger in her brow began to soften. She pushed back her chair from the desk and rolled it to face me, almost knee to knee."Look, Lindsay, I'm a big girl. Let me fight my own battles. You're my friend in this case, not the police.""So everybody's telling me.""Then hear it, honey, because I need you to be my friend. Not the 101st Airborne." She took my hands and squeezed them. "Usually a friend hears another out, invites her to lunch, maybe sets her up with a cute coworker.... Barging into her husband's office and threatening to have his knees capped... that sort of stuff... we call them enemies, Lindsay."I laughed. For the first time I saw a glimmer of a smile crack through Jill's ice. A glimmer."Okay, so as a friend, how are you and the SOB since he punched you?" I sniffed back a false smile.Jill laughed, shrugged. "I guess we're okay.... We talked about counseling.""The only counseling Steve needs is from a lawyer, during an arraignment.""Be my friend, Lindsay, remember.... Anyway, there are more important matters to discuss. What's going on in this city?"I told her about the message Cindy had received that morning, and how it ratcheted up the case. "You ever hear of an anti-terrorism guy named Joe Molinari?"Jill thought. "I remember a Joe Molinari who was a prose-cutor back in New York. Top-notch investigator. Worked on the World Trade Center bombing. Not hard to look at, either. I think he went down to Was.h.i.+ngton in some capacity."" 'Some capacity' means the Department of Homeland Security and my new point man on the case.""You could do worse," Jill said. "Did I mention he wasn't hard to look at?""Cut it out." I blushed.Jill c.o.c.ked her head. "Normally you don't go for the federal types."" 'Cause most of them are just career guys looking to score a promotion on our sources and leads. But this Molinari seems like the real deal. Maybe you could do some ground-work for me....""You mean like what kind of litigator he is?" Jill smiled, cat-eyed. "Or whether he's married? I think Lindsay's a little taken with the special agent.""Deputy director." I wrinkled my nose."Oh...the man's done well." Jill nodded approvingly. "I did say he was handsome, didn't I?" She grinned again. We both laughed.After a while, I took Jill's hand. "I'm sorry I did what I did, Jill. It would kill me if I added to what you're going through. I can't promise to stay out, at least not completely. You're our friend, Jill, and we're worried sick for you. But I'll give you my word...I won't put a hit out on him. Not without run-ning it by you first.""Deal." Jill nodded. She squeezed my hand. "I know you're worried for me, Lindsay. And, really, I love you for it. Just let me see it through my way. And leave the cuffs at home next time.""Deal." I smiled.

Chapter 44.

FOR A SWISS, Gerd Propp had acquired a lot of American tastes and habits. One of them was going after salmon. In his room at the Governor Hotel in Portland, Gerd excitedly laid out on the double bed the new Ex Of?cio fis.h.i.+ng vest he had just acquired, along with some hi-tech lures and a gaff hook.His job, as an economist with the OECD out of Geneva, might be thought by some as stiff and tedious work, but it did bring him to the States several times a year and had intro-duced him to men who shared the same pa.s.sion for coho and chinook.And that was where Gerd was headed tomorrow, under the guise of finalizing his speech before the G-8 gathering in San Francisco next week.He put his arms through the brand-new fis.h.i.+ng vest and regarded himself in the mirror. I actually look like a professional! As he adjusted his hat and puffed out his chest in his fancy vest, Gerd felt as energized and manly as a lead-ing man in a Hollywood film.There was a knock on the door. The valet, he a.s.sumed, since he had left word at the front desk to bring up a press for his suit.When he opened the door, he was surprised to see a young man not in a hotel uniform at all but in a black fleece jacket and a cap hiding part of his face."Herr Propp?" the young man asked."Yes?" Gerd pushed his gla.s.ses up on his nose. "What is it?"Before he could utter another word, Gerd saw an arm shoot toward him. It caught him in the throat, knocking the air out of him. Then he was shoved back onto the floor, land-ing hard.Gerd tried to shake his head clear. His gla.s.ses were no longer on his face. He felt the ooze of blood running from his nose. "My G.o.d, what is going on?"The young man stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. All of a sudden there was a dark metal-lic object in his hand. Gerd froze. His eyes were not too good, but there was no mistake. The intruder was holding a gun."You're Gerhard Propp?" the young man asked. "Chief economist of the OECD in Geneva? Don't try to deny it.""Yes," Gerd muttered. "By what right do you barge in here and -""By the right of a hundred thousand children who die annually in Ethiopia," the man interrupted, "from diseases that could easily be prevented, if their debt repaymentsweren't six times their national health care coverage.""Wh-what?" Gerd stammered."By the right of AIDS patients in Tanzania," the man went on, "who the government lets rot because they're too busy repaying the debt you and your well-heeled b.a.s.t.a.r.ds have swamped them with.""I'm just an economist," Gerd said. What did this man think he did?"You are Gerhard Propp. Chief economist of the OECD, whose mission is to advance the rate by which the economi-cally advantaged nations of the world expropriate the resources of the economically weak in order to convert them into the garbage of the rich." He took a pillow off the bed. "You are the architect of the MAI.""You've got it completely wrong," Gerd said, panicked. "The agreements have brought these backward countries into the modern world. They have created jobs and an export market for nations that could have never hoped to compete.""No, you are wrong!" the young man shouted at the top of his voice. He walked over and switched on the TV. "All it has brought is greed and poverty and plundering. And this TV bulls.h.i.+t."CNN was on, the international business briefs, which seemed appropriate. Gerd's eyes bulged as he watched the intruder kneel down next to him, at the same time hearing the TV voice announce how the Brazilian real was under pressure again."What are you doing?" Gerd gasped. His eyes bugged out."I'm going to do what a thousand pregnant mothers with AIDS would like to do to you, Herr Doctor.""Please," Gerd begged. "Please... you are making some kind of serious mistake."The intruder smiled. He took a look at the supplies on the bed. "Ah, I see you like fis.h.i.+ng. I can work with that."

Chapter 45.

I GOT IN TO THE OFFICE at seven-thirty the following morning and was surprised to find Deputy Director Molinari on the phone behind my desk. Something had happened.He signaled for me to close the door. From what I could make out, he was talking with his office back East, getting briefed on a case. He had a stack of folders in his lap and he jotted down the occasional note. I could make out a couple: 9mm and Itinerary."What's goin' on?" I asked when he hung up.He motioned for me to sit down. "There's been a killing in Portland. A Swiss national was shot in his hotel room. An economist. He was preparing to leave for Vancouver this morning on a fis.h.i.+ng excursion."Not to sound blas, but we already had two national-security murder cases and the leaders of the Free World were eyeballing our every move. "I'm sorry," I said, "this relates to us, how?"Molinari flipped open one of the folders he was holding, which turned out to be a set of crime photos he'd already had faxed from the scene. They showed a corpse in what looked to be a fis.h.i.+ng vest with two bullet holes. His s.h.i.+rt was ripped open and his bare chest seemed to have had some letters scratched on it, MAI."The victim was an economist, Lieutenant," Molinari said, "for the OECD." He looked at me and smiled tightly. "That makes it clear."As I sat down, my stomach sank. Immediately clear. Mur-der number three. I studied the crime shots more closely. Shots to the chest and a coup de grce to the forehead. A large fisherman's hook in an evidence bag. The letters scratched into the victim's chest. MAI. "These letters mean anything to you?""Yeah," Molinari said, nodding. He got up. "I'll tell you about it on the plane."

Chapter 46.

THE "PLANE" Molinari had arranged for us was a Gulf-stream G-3 with a red, white, and blue crest on the fuselage and the words GOVERNMENT OF THE UNITED STATES. The deputy director was definitely up there on the food chain.It was my first time climbing aboard a private jet in the private section of SFI. As the doors closed behind us and the engines started up as soon as we hit our seats, I couldn't deny a thrill shooting through me. "This is definitely the way to travel," I said to Molinari. He didn't disagree with me.The flight up to Portland was a little over an hour. Moli-nari was on the phone for the first few minutes. When he got off, I wanted to talk.I laid out the crime photos. "You were going to tell me what this meant. MAI?""The MAI was a secret trade agreement," he explained, "negotiated a few years back by the wealthy countries of the WTO. It extended to large corporations rights that some-times superseded those of governments. Some people think it created an open hunting season on smaller economies. It was defeated in 1998 by a worldwide gra.s.sroots campaign, but I'm told the OECD, which Propp worked for, was redraft-ing it and testing the waters again. Any ideas where?""The G-8 meeting next week?""Yeah... By the way" - he opened his briefcase - "I think you might get some use out of these." He handed me folders that turned out to be the intel jackets from Seattle I had requested. Each was stamped CONFIDENTIAL, PROPERTY OF THE FBI."Keep them close," the deputy director said with a wink. "Might prove a little embarra.s.sing to me if they got out."I skimmed through the records from Seattle. A few had prior records - everything from inciting a riot to resisting arrest and unlawful possession of a firearm. Others appeared to be students caught up in the cause. Robert Alan Rich had an Interpol file for inciting violence at the World Economic Forum meeting in Gstaad. Terri Ann Gates had been bagged for arson. A gaunt-faced Reed College dropout with tied-back hair named Stephen Hardaway had committed a bank robbery in Spokane."Remote-triggered bombs, ricin," I said, thinking aloud. "The technology is pretty advanced. Any of these connected enough to pull off the strikes?"Molinari shrugged. "Somebody could've teamed up with an established terror cell. The technology's for sale. Or we could be dealing with a white rabbit.""White rabbit? Like the Jefferson Airplane?""It's the name we give someone who's been hiding for a long time. Like the Weathermen from the sixties. Most of them have fit into society again. They have families, straight jobs. But there are a few still out there who haven't given up the cause."A cabin door opened and the copilot said that we were starting our descent. I stuffed the files in my briefcase, impressed with how quickly Molinari had followed up on my request."Any last questions?" he asked, tightening his seat belt. "There's usually a squadron of FBI officials who latch on to me when we land.""Just one." I smiled. "How do you like to be addressed? Deputy director sounds like someone who runs a hydro-electric factory in the Ukraine."He laughed. "In the field, generally 'sir' comes with the territory. But out of the field, what usually works for me is 'Joe.'"He tossed me a smile. "That make it any easier for you, Lieutenant?""We'll see, sir."

Chapter 47.

WE WERE WHISKED by police escort from the private air-field outside Portland to the Governor Hotel in the center of town. The Governor was an old restored Western, and this was the worst thing that had ever happened there.While Molinari conferred with the head of the regional FBI office, I got up to date with Hannah Wood, a local homi-cide inspector, and her partner, Rob Stone.Molinari gave me time to go over the crime scene, which was definitely grisly. Clearly Propp had let his a.s.sailant in. The economist had been shot three times - twice in the chest and a clean-through to the head, the bullet lodg-ing in the floor. But Propp had also been slashed several times, probably with a serrated knife that still lay on the floor."Crime team dug this out." Hannah showed me a bag containing a flattened 9mm bullet. A large gaff hook in aBaggie was also being held for us."Prints?" I asked."Partials off the inside doork.n.o.b. Probably Propp's. The Swiss consulate's contacted Propp's family back home," Hannah said. "He had dinner with a friend scheduled last night, then a seven A.M. flight to Vancouver. Other than that, no calls or visitors."I put on a pair of gloves, flipped open the briefcase on Propp's bed, and shuffled through his notes. A few books were scattered about, mostly academic stuff.I went into the bathroom. Propp's toilet case was laid out on the counter. Not much else to go on. Nothing seemed to have been disturbed."Be easier if you could tell us what we're looking for, Lieutenant," Stone said.I couldn't. The name August Spies hadn't been released yet. I focused on prints of the crime scene photos that were taped to the mirror. It was an ugly, horrible scene. Blood everywhere. Then the warning: MAI.The murderers were doing their homework, I was think-ing. They wanted a soapbox. They had it. So where the h.e.l.l was the speech?"Listen, Lieutenant," Hannah said uncomfortably, "it's not too hard to figure out what you and the deputy director are doing up here. That horrible stuff going on in San Francisco? This is connected, isn't it?"Before I could answer, Molinari came in with Special Agent Thompson. "Seen enough?" he asked me."If there are no objections, sir" - the FBI man pulled out his cell phone - "I'll advise the anti-terror desk in Quantico that the killer is on the move.""You okay with that, Lieutenant?" Molinari looked toward me.I shook my head. "No. I don't think so."The FBI man shot me a double take. "Run that by me again, Lieutenant?""I think you should wait." I gave weight to each word. "I don't think this murder is related to the others. I'm almost sure of it now."

Chapter 48.

THE ROOM ABOVE might have just crashed through our ceiling, the way the FBI man blinked. To his credit, Molinari didn't react one way or the other. He seemed ready to hear what I had to say."You are aware of what Gerhard Propp did for a living? And why he was in this country in the first place?" Special Agent Thompson asked."I'm aware," I answered."And where he was scheduled to present next week?""I was briefed," I said. "Just like you were."Thompson aimed a smug smile toward Molinari. "So thisis some other homicidal maniac who just happens to be tar-getting the G-8?" "Yeah," I said. "That's exactly what I think." Thompson laughed and flipped open his phone. Hestarted to punch in his speed dial.Molinari held his arm. "I'd like to hear what the lieu-tenant has to say.""Okay... The first thing is, this crime scene is com-pletely different from the others. One, this perp is probably male; that's clear from the force used to knock Propp to the ground. But that's not what I'm referring to. It's the physical condition of the body."The first two murders were detached." I pointed to the crime scene photo taped to the mirror. "This is emotional. Personal. Look at the cuts. The killer defaced the body. He used a handgun and a knife.""You're saying there's a difference between blowing some-one up, or pouring Dra_ no down their throat, and this?" Thompson said."Have you ever pulled a trigger on the job, Special Agent?"He shrugged, but his face went red. "No... So?"I took down the photo of Propp's body. "Could you do this?"The FBI man seemed to hesitate."Different killers, different temperaments," Molinari cut in. "This one could be a s.a.d.i.s.tic maniac.""All right, then there's the timing. The message yesterday indicated that there would be another victim every three days. That'd be Sunday. Too soon.""More likely, the guy was available," the FBI man said. "You can't be saying you're holding a terrorist killer to his word?""I'm saying precisely that," I said. "I've been around pat-tern killers enough to understand them. There's a bond they make with us. If we can't take them at their word, why would we believe any of their messages? How would we confirm it's the same group behind their actions? They have to have total credibility."Thompson looked to Molinari for help. Molinari's eyes were on me. "You've still got the floor, Lieutenant.""The most important thing," I said, "there's no signature. Both San Francisco killings were signed. He wants us to know it's him. You almost have to admire the ingenuity. A knapsack posing as a secondary bomb left outside the town house. Bengosian's own business form stuffed in his mouth."I shrugged at Molinari. "You can get every Ph.D. or foren-sic expert in the FBI or the National Security Council up here for all I care... but you brought me here. And I'm telling you, this ain't him."

Chapter 49.

"I'M READY to make that call." The FBI man nodded to Molinari, completely ignoring everything I'd just said. That really burned me."I just want to be clear, Lieutenant," Molinari said, focus-ing on me. "You think there's another killer, a copycat, at work here.""It could be a copycat. It could be some sort of splinter group, too. Believe me, I wish I could say it was murder num-ber three, because now we're left with a bigger problem.""I don't understand." The deputy director finally blinked."If it isn't the same killer," I said, "then the terror has started to spread. I think that's exactly what's happened."Molinari nodded slowly. "I'm going to advise the Bureau, Agent Thompson, to treat these cases as independent actions. At least for the time being."Agent Thompson sighed."In the meantime, we still have a murder to solve. The man's dead here," the deputy director snapped. He looked around the room, his gaze ending up on Thompson. "Any-one have a problem with that?""No, sir," Thompson said, flipping his phone back into his jacket pocket.I was stunned. Molinari had backed me up. Even Hannah Wood mooned her eyes in his direction.We spent the rest of the day at the FBI regional office in Portland. We interviewed the person Propp was meeting in Vancouver and his economist friend at Portland State. Moli-nari also brought me in on two calls back to senior inves-tigators at his home office in D.C., backing up my theory that this was a copycat crime and that the terror might be spreading.About five, it dawned on me that I couldn't stay up there much longer. There were a couple of fairly prominent cases that needed my attention back home. Brenda informed me there was a Southwest flight back to San Francisco at 6:30.I knocked on the gray, carpet-covered cubicle Molinari was using for an office. "If you don't need me up here any-more, I thought I'd head home. It was fun being 'Fed for a Day.'"Molinari smiled. "Look, I was hoping you might stay a couple of hours. Have dinner with me."Standing there, I did my best to pretend that it didn't mat-ter hearing those words, but my general rule about Feds notwithstanding, I was curious. Who wouldn't be?But a few reasons why I shouldn't be popped into my head as well. Like the murder cases on my board. And the fact that Molinari was the second most powerful law-enforcement figure in the country. And unless I was misreading the little tingle bubbling up my spine, knocking down the old Chinese wall in the middle of a high-profile murder investigation wasn't exactly the best protocol."There's an eleven o'clock back to San Francisco," Moli-nari said. "I promise I'll have you to the airport in plenty of time. C'mon, Lindsay."When I hesitated one more time, he stood up. "Hey, if you can't trust Homeland Security... who can you trust?""Two conditions," I said."Okay," the deputy director agreed. "If I can.""Seafood," I said.Molinari showed the outline of a smile. "I think I know just the place....""And no FBI agents."Molinari's head went back in a laugh. "That's the one thing I can definitely guarantee."

Chapter 50.

"JUST THE PLACE" turned out to be a caf called Catch, down on Vine Street, which was like Union Street back home, filled with trendy restaurants and cutesy boutiques. The matre d' led us to a quiet table way in the back.Molinari asked if he could handle the wine, ordering a pinot noir from Oregon. He called himself a "closet foodie" and said what he missed most about a normal life was just staying home and puttering around the kitchen."Am I supposed to believe that one?" I grinned.He laughed out loud. "Figured it was worth a try."When the wine came I held up my gla.s.s. "Thank you. Forbacking me up today." "Nothing to thank," Molinari said. "I felt you were right." We ordered, then talked about everything but work. Heliked sports - which was all right with me - but also music, history, old movies. I realized that I was laughing and listening, that time was going by pretty smoothly, and that for a few moments all of the horror seemed a million miles away.Finally, he mentioned an ex-wife and a daughter back in New York."I thought all the deputy-level personnel had to have a little woman back home," I said."We were married fifteen years, divorced for four. Isabel stayed in New York when I started work in Was.h.i.+ngton. At first, it was just an a.s.signment. Anyway" - he smiled wist-fully - "like many things, I would do it differently if I could. How about you, Lindsay?""I was married once," I said. Then I found myself telling Molinari "my story." How I was married right out of school, divorced three years later. His fault? My fault? What differ-ence did it make? "I was close again a couple of years ago.... But it didn't work out.""Things happen," he said, sighing, "maybe for the best."No," I said. "He died. On the job.""Oh," Molinari said. I knew he was feeling a little awk-ward. Then he did a lovely thing. He simply put his hand on top of my forearm - nothing forward, nothing inappropri-ate - and squeezed gently. He took his hand away again."Truth is, I haven't been out much lately," I said, and lifted my eyes. Then trying to salvage the mood, I chuckled. "This is the best invitation I've had in a while.""It is for me, too." Molinari smiled.Suddenly his cell phone beeped. He reached in his pocket. "Sorry..."Whoever it was seemed to be doing most of the talking. "Of course, of course, sir... ," Molinari kept repeating. Even the deputy director had a boss. Then he said, "I understand. I'll report back as soon as I have anything. Yes, sir. Thank you very much."He flipped the phone back into his pocket. "Was.h.i.+ng-ton... ," he apologized."Was.h.i.+ngton, as in the director of homeland security?" It gave me a bit of a kick to see Molinari as part of a pecking order."No." He shook his head and took another bite of his fish. "Was.h.i.+ngton, as in the White House. That was the vice pres-ident of the United States. He's coming out here for the G-8."

Chapter 51.

I CAN BE WOWED."If I wasn't a Homicide lieutenant," I said, "I might believe that line. The vice president just called you?""I might press *69 and show you," Molinari said. "Except that it's important we begin to establish more trust.""Is that what we're doing tonight?" I asked, smiling in spite of myself.Whatever was starting to happen, those little pinb.a.l.l.s pat-tering inside were now cras.h.i.+ng around my ribs like the drums in "Suns.h.i.+ne of Your Love." I was aware of the tiniest film of sweat at my hairline. My sweater was starting to feel p.r.i.c.kly. Molinari reminded me of Chris."I hope we're starting to trust each other," he finally said. "Let's leave it at that for now, Lindsay.""Aye-aye, sir," I said.He paid the check, then helped me on with my jacket. I brushed against his arm and, well, electricity flared. I glanced at my watch. 9:30. Forty minutes to the airport to catch that flight I needed to be on.Outside, we walked a block or two along Vine Street. I wasn't really paying attention to the shops. The night was cool but very pleasant. What was I doing here? What were the two of us doing?"Lindsay" - he finally stopped to face me - "I don't want to say the wrong thing...." I wasn't sure what I wanted him to say next. "My driver's down the block if you want.... But there's always the six A.M. flight.""Listen..." I wanted to touch his arm, but I didn't. I'm not even sure why not."Joe," he said."Joe." I smiled. "Was this what you meant by being out of the field?"He took my bag and said, "I was just thinking it'd be a shame to waste a perfectly good change of clothes."I do trust him, I was thinking. Everything about Joe Moli-nari inspired trust. And I definitely liked him. But I still wasn't sure if this was a good idea, and that told me all I needed to know for right now."I think I'm just gonna let you think I'm a bit harder to get than I really am" - I bit my lip - "and make that flight at eleven.""I understand...." He nodded. "It doesn't feel right to you.""It's not that it doesn't feel right." I touched his hand. "It's just that I didn't vote for your administration...." Molinari laughed out loud. "But just for the record, it wasn't the wrong thing to say."That made him smile, too. "It's getting late," he said. "I have some things to attend to up here. I'll be seeing you soon enough."Then Molinari waved down the block for his car. The black Lincoln drove up. The driver climbed out and opened the door for me. Still not completely sure that I was doing the right thing, I got in.Suddenly something hit me and I rolled down the win-dow. "Hey, I don't even know what flight I'm on.""Taken care of," Molinari said. He waved and slapped the side. The car started to pull away.As soon as we were on the highway, I shut my eyes and began to review the day, but mostly my dinner with Molinari. After a while the driver said, "We're here, ma'am."I looked outside and saw that we were at some remote part of the airfield. Yep, I can be wowed. Waiting for me on the tarmac was the Gulf stream G-3 jet I had flown up in that morning.

Chapter 52.

JILL HAD IT ALL planned out. And in her mind, it was going well.She had come home early and prepared one of Steve's favorite meals, coq au vin. In truth, other than half a dozen kinds of eggs, it was the only thing she knew how to cook - or at least that she was confident about.Maybe tonight they could talk about how to proceed. She had the name of a therapist that a friend had given her and Steve had promised he would actually go this time.She had vegetables simmering in the pan and was about to add wine when Steve came home. But when he walked up the stairs, he seemed to look right through her. "Look at us," he said. "You'd think we were an ad for domestic bliss.""Trying," Jill said. She was wearing pressed jeans and a pink V-necked T-s.h.i.+rt, and she had her hair down the way he liked it."Just one thing wrong." Steve tossed his newspaper down. "I'm going out."Jill felt her stomach sink. "Why? Look at me, Steve. I've gone to a lot of trouble.""Frank needs to bounce a proposal off me." Steve reached across to a fruit basket and took a peach. There was a part of him that seemed almost to be gloating, amused that he'd ruined the evening."Can't you see Frank at the office tomorrow? I told you, there was something I needed to talk about. You said okay. I've got all this food."He took a bite out of the peach and laughed. "You break one night before eight and get it in your head to play Alice on The Brady Bunch, and I'm the one blowing the script?""It's not a script, Steve.""You wanna talk" - he sucked out another bite of the peach - "go ahead. In case you've forgotten, it's still my check that pays for those Manolo Blahniks. The market the way it is these days, the only thing scarcer than the Ice Queen with an urge to have s.e.x is a promising deal. Given the odds, I'll throw in with the deal.""That was really cruel." Jill glared at him. She was deter-mined to hold herself together. "I was trying to do something nice.""It is nice." Steve shrugged, took another bite. "And if you hurry, you might still catch one of your girlfriends to share this special moment with you."She saw herself reflected in the window, suddenly feeling ridiculous. "You're an incredible b.a.s.t.a.r.d.""Aw..." Steve whined.Jill flung the spatula down, grease splattering over the counter."That's a five-thousand-dollar slab of limestone you're redecorating there," Steve said."G.o.dd.a.m.n you," Jill cried, her eyes starting to well up with tears. "Look what I'm trying to do for you." Everything had fallen apart. What was she trying to hold on to anyway?"You belittle me. You criticize. You make me feel like c.r.a.p. You want to walk out that door, go.... Get out of my life. Everyone thinks I'm crazy for wanting to keep this together anyway.""Everyone..." She saw the venom in his eyes, the switch suddenly tripped. He grabbed her by the arm and squeezed it hard, forcing Jill down to the floor. "You let those b.i.t.c.hes run your life. I run your life. Me, Jill..."Jill held back more tears. "You're gone, Steve. It's over!""It's over when I say it's over," he said, hovering close to her face. "When I make your life so miserable, you beg me to leave. And I will, Jill. Until then, this is the way it is. It's not over, honeybuns.... Things are just starting to warm up.""Get out," she said, and pulled away from him.He c.o.c.ked his fist, but she didn't even flinch. Not this time. Not even a blink. Steve moved fast, as though he was going to strike, and Jill just held her ground. "Get out, Steve," she seethed again.The blood seemed to drain from Steve's face. "My plea-sure," he said, backing away. He picked up another peach from the basket and rubbed it against his s.h.i.+rt. He tossed a last smirk toward the messy stove."Be sure and save the leftovers."As soon as she heard the door close downstairs, Jill broke into tears. That was it! She didn't know if she should call Claire or Lindsay. There was something she had to do first. She pulled the Yellow Pages out of a kitchen cabinet and paged through them, frantically dialing the first number she found.Her hand was trembling, but this time there was no turn-ing back. Answer, someone... please!"Thank G.o.d," she said when a voice finally did."Safe-More Locksmiths...""You do emergencies?" Jill asked, resolve mixed with her tears. "I need someone over here now."

Chapter 53.

MY MESSAGE LIGHT was flas.h.i.+ng.It was after one in the morning when I finally got back to my apartment.I threw my suit jacket over a chair and pulled off my sweater, hitting the PLAYBACK b.u.t.ton of the answering machine.5:28. Jamie, Martha's vet. She's ready to be picked up in the morning.7:05. Jacobi, just checking in.7:16. Jill. A quiver of nerves in her voice. "I need to talk to you, Lindsay. I tried your cell phone, but it didn't answer. Call me, whenever you get home."11:15. Jill again. "Lindsay? Call me as soon as you get home. I'm up."Something had happened. I punched in her number and she answered on the second ring. "It's me. I was in Portland. Is everything okay?""I don't know," she said. A pause. "I threw Steve out tonight."I almost dropped the phone on the floor. "You really did it?""This time's for keeps. We're done, Lindsay.""Oh, Jill..." I thought of her carrying this all night, wait-ing for me to come home. "What did he do?""I don't want to go into it right now," she said, "other than it won't be happening anymore. I threw him out, Lindsay. I changed the locks.""You locked him out? Wow! So where is he now?"Jill coughed out a laugh. "I don't have any idea. He went out about seven and when he came back, about eleven-thirty, I heard him pounding on the door outside. It would have been worth the past ten years of bulls.h.i.+t just to see the expression on his face when his key didn't fit. He'll swing by tomorrow to get his stuff.""Are you alone? Have you called anyone?""No," she answered. "I was waiting for you. My buddy.""I'm gonna come over," I said."No," she said, "I just took something. I want to go to sleep. I have to be in court tomorrow.""I'm proud of you, Jilly.""I'm proud of me, too. You're not going to mind if I need a little hand-holding over the next few weeks?""No hand I'd rather hold. I'm giving you a big hug, honey. Get some sleep. And here's some advice from a cop: Keep that door locked."I hung up the phone. It was going on two in the morning, but I didn't care. I wanted to call Claire or Cindy and tell them the news.Jill finally booted the a.s.shole out!

Chapter 54.

"HEY, LIEUTENANT," Cappy Thomas shouted as I walked in the following morning. "Leeza Gibbons on the line. Enter-tainment Tonight? Wants to know if you can do lunch."I had made the mistake of calling Jacobi from the plane last night, and maybe gave a few too many details about the day. Some snickers rippled around the squad room.I took some hot water back to my desk. A light was flas.h.i.+ng on my phone. I punched it in."Listen, LT" - Jacobi's voice - "me and the missus were thinking about heading over to the Big Island sometime in July. Any chance you can snag the G-3?"I punched off the line, spooning a pouch of Red Zinger into my mug."Hey, LT, phone!" Cappy yelled again.This time I picked it up and snapped, "Look, I didn't sleep with him, I didn't ask for the jet, and while you bozos were scratching your b.a.l.l.s back here, I actually moved the homicide case along." "I guess that'll have to do as an update." Cindy laughed. "Oh G.o.d..." I lowered my head, letting the blood drainfrom my face. "Believe it or not, I didn't call to bust your chops. I've got news.""I've got news, too," I said, thinking of Jill. "Yours first." Cindy's tone was urgent, so I didn't think she was talking about Jill."Your fax should be ringing any second."Just then Brenda knocked on my window, and handed meCindy's transmittal. Another e-mail. "This was on my computer when I got to work thismorn-ing," Cindy said. I was jolted back to reality. This time the sending addresswas The message was only one line: That wasn't us inPortland. It was signed, August Spies.

Chapter 55.

"I'VE GOT TO TAKE this upstairs," I said, shooting out of my chair, almost pulling the phone out of the wall. I was halfway up to Tracchio's office before I realized I forgot to tell Cindy about Jill. Things were going too fast now."He's behind closed doors," his secretary warned. "You'd better wait.""This can't wait," I said, and pushed the door open. Trac-chio was used to my barging in.He was facing me, seated at his conference table. He was flanked by two others with their backs to me. One was Tom Roach, the local FBI liaison.I almost fell when I saw that the other was Molinari.I felt as if I had hit a wall, bouncing off and vibrating like in the Roadrunner cartoons."Soon enough, Lieutenant," Molinari said, rising."Yeah, that was what you said. I thought you had pressing matters in Portland.""I did. They're taken care of now. And we have a killer to catch down here, don't we?"Tracchio said, "We were just about to call you, Lindsay. The deputy director informed me how well you handled the situation up there in Portland.""Which situation was he referring to?" A glance Molinari's way."The Propp homicide, of course." He motioned for me to sit down. "He said you were helpful in putting forth your theory of the crimes.""Okay" - I handed Tracchio Cindy's e-mail - "then you should love this."Tracchio scanned the page. He pa.s.sed it across to Molinari."This was sent to the same reporter at the Chronicle?" he asked."Seems like they got a regular chat room going on," Moli-nari replied as he read. "We could make that useful." He pursed his lips. "I was just asking the Chief if you could work directly with us. We need help here on the ground. I'll need a place to work. I want to be right in the thick of it, Lieutenant. In your squad room if possible. That's how I work best."Our eyes met. I knew we weren't playing games. It was a matter of national security."We'll find you an office, sir. In the thick of it."

Chapter 56.

MOLINARI WAS WAITING for me out in the hall, and as soon as Roach had ducked into the elevator, I looked at him reprovingly. "Soon enough, huh?"He followed me down the stairwell to my office. "Look, I had the local FBI office to placate up there. There's always a lot of politics. You know that.""Anyway, I'm glad you're here," I said, holding the stair-well door for him. I let it close. "I never had a chance to thank you for the ride. So, thanks."I put Molinari in our squad room, cleared out a small office for him to work in. He told me he had declined some-thing more fitting and private on the fifth floor next to the Chief.It proved to be not such a bad thing, having the Depart-ment of Homeland Security working hand in hand with us, though Jacobi and Cappy looked at me as though I'd gone over to the enemy. Within two hours he had traced back the origin of the latest e-mail: an Internet caf called the KGB Bar in Hayward that was popular with students across the bay.And also who Marion Delgado was - the latest Hotmail address.Molinari draped a fax from the FBI computers across my desk. An old newswire story, with a grainy photo of a grin-ning, gap-toothed kid in a peasant smock holding a brick in his hand. "Marion Delgado. He was some five-year-old who in 1967 derailed a freight train in Italy by tossing a brick in its path.""Is there a reason you're thinking this is important to the investigation?" I asked."Marion Delgado was a rallying cry for revolutionaries in the sixties," Molinari said. "A five-year-old who stood up and stopped a train. The name became a code name to thwart undercover surveillance. The FBI was bugging phones like crazy, trying to infiltrate the Weathermen. They logged hun-dreds of messages from Marion Delgado.""What are you saying - one of the old Weathermen is behind this current mess?""It wouldn't hurt to get the names of known members back then who haven't been brought in.""That's a good idea," I said as I opened my desk and took out my gun. "In the meantime, you want to tag along while I go check out the KGB Bar?"

Chapter 57.

IN THE LONG TRADITION of counterculture dives, where a cop walking in was about as welcome as an ACLU recruiter at a skinhead convention, the KGB set the bar at a new low. There were narrow rows of chipped pine tables with societal dropouts slouched in front of computer screens. Plus a mixed collection of riffraff sucking cigarette b.u.t.ts at the bar. Not much else caught my eye at first."You sure you're up for this?" I muttered to Molinari. "It'll be hard to explain if I got your face bashed in here.""I was a prosecutor back in New York," Molinari said, and stepped forward. "I love this s.h.i.+t."I went up to the bartender, a skinny mouse-faced guy in a muscle s.h.i.+rt with tattoos up and down both arms and a very long ponytail. After about fifteen seconds of being ignored, I leaned over and caught his eye. "We were just pa.s.sing by and were wondering if anyone would like to support our fellow-s.h.i.+p mission in Chad?"I couldn't get a half-smile out of him. He poured a beer for a black guy in an African skullcap seated two stools down."Okay, we're cops" - I dropped my s.h.i.+eld - "you saw right through me.""Sorry, we're a private club," the bartender said. "Need to see a members.h.i.+p card.""Hey, just like Costco," I said, glancing at Molinari."Yeah, like Costco." The bartender grinned.Molinari leaned forward, wrapping his hand over Pony-tail's as he went to draw a beer. He put a silver s.h.i.+eld with the words DEPARTMENT OF HOMELAND SECURITY in the guy's face. "I want you to follow this closely. I take my phone, and in about ten seconds a team of federal agents will barge in here and rip this place down to the two-by-fours. Now as I look around, there's probably about fifteen, twenty thousand dollars in computers in here, and you know how clumsy these police goons can be when they're lugging heavy evi-dence. So we need to ask you a few questions."Ponytail glared at him."What do you say, Six-pack," the black man in the African skullcap spoke up, "under the circ.u.mstances I think we can waive the members.h.i.+p requirement this once."He turned and faced us, a cheerful grin beneath the skull-cap, saying in a deep British accent, "Amir Kamor. Six-pack was just expressing his desire to keep the clientele here on its usual high level. No need to make harsh threats. Please, can I invite you into my office?""Six-pack?" I glanced at the bartender and rolled my eyes. "That's creative."In the rear there was a cramped private cubicle, barely larger than a desk. The walls were papered with posters and event notices - activist stuff, rallies for the poor, Free East Timor, AIDS in Africa.I pa.s.sed Amir Kamor my Homicide card and he nodded, as if impressed. "You said you have a few questions.""Were you here last night, Mr. Kamor?" I started in. "Around ten P.M.?""I'm here every night, Lieutenant. You know the food and liquor business. It's all about whose hands are in the register.""An e-mail was sent from here last night, at ten-oh-three P.M.""Messages are sent from here every night. People use us as a source to air ideas. That's what we do here. Air ideas.""You have a way of determining who was here? Anybody out of the ordinary?""Anyone who comes in this place is out of the ordinary." Kamor grinned. No one smiled at his joke. "Ten o'clock, you say...The place was filled. It may help if you could tell me just whom you're looking for or what they've done?"I took out the photo of Wendy Raymore and the sketches of the woman who had accompanied George Bengosian. Kamor studied them, ridges digging into his wide brow. He sighed deeply. "I may have seen them over the years or I may have not. Our customers tend to come and go.""Okay, then what about these?" I switched gears, taking out the FBI photos from Seattle. One by one, he leafed through them, merely shaking his head.Then I noticed that he stared twice and blinked."You recognize someone....""Merely a thought," he said, shaking his head. "I don't think so. Honestly.""No, you recognized a face. Who was it?"I re-laid the photos in a pattern on his desk."Remind me, Madam Lieutenant," Kamor said, looking up, "why do I want to a.s.sist the police on this? Your state is one that is built on corruption and greed. As the enforcers of its will, you are part of its foundation.""I guess there's always this," Molinari said. He put his face close to the startled Kamor's. "I don't really give a d.a.m.n about what you jerk yourselves off about in here, but you should also know what security bill these crimes will be adjudicated under. We're not talking withholding evidence, Mr. Kamor. We're talking treason and conspiracy to commit terror. Take a look at the photos one more time. Please.""Trust me, Mr. Kamor," I said, meeting his eyes, "you don't want to be anywhere near the heat on this one."The veins on the bar owner's neck began to swell. He low-ered his eyes and leafed through the photos again. "Maybe... I don't know... ," he muttered.After some hesitation, he nudged one out. "He's different now. His hair is shorter, not so much like a hippie. He has a beard. He's been in here."Stephen Hardaway. Alias Morgan Bloom. Alias Mal Cald-well."Is he a regular? How do we find him? This is important.""I don't know." Kamor shook his head. "That is the truth. I remember him, once or twice some time ago. I think he came from somewhere up north."One more thing..." Kamor swallowed. "You will remem-ber this the next time you barge in and threaten to deprive me of my rights."He flicked another photo forward. Another face he knew."This one, I saw in here last night."We were staring at Wendy Raymore, the au pair.

Chapter 58.

WE WEREN'T BACK in the car for five seconds before I was pressing my palms against Molinari's in an exhilarated, drawn-out high five. Deputy director or not, he had handled himself pretty well."That was good, Molinari." I could hardly contain my smile. "And you know how clumsy these police goons can be when they're lugging heavy evidence...."Our eyes locked, and suddenly I was feeling that nervous-ness and attraction again. I put the car in gear. "I don't know what's supposed to happen with your contacts," I said, "but I think we'd better start by calling this in."Molinari speed-dialed his office with Hardaway's name and aliases. We got a quick response. His Seattle file detailed a criminal past. Weapons possession, arms theft, bank rob-bery. By tomorrow morning we would know everything about him.Suddenly I realized I hadn't heard from Jill. "I gotta make a call," I said to Molinari, punching in her cell phone number.Jill's voice mail came on. "Hi, it's District Attorney Jill Bernhardt...."d.a.m.n, Jill usually had her cell phone on. But I remem-bered about how she said she had a long day ahead in court. "It's me, Lindsay. It's two o' clock. Where you been?" I thought about saying more, but I wasn't in private. "Call me. I want to know how you are.""Something wrong?" Molinari said when I hung up.I shook my head. "A friend... She threw her husband out last night. We were supposed to talk. It's just that the guy's turned into a real creep.""She's lucky, then," Molinari said, "to have a cop for a friend."The thought amused me. Jill lucky to have a cop for a friend. I thought of calling her at the office, but she'd get back to me as soon as she turned on her phone. "Trust me, she can handle herself."We turned on the ramp to the Bay Bridge. I didn't even have to use the top hat, as there was almost no traffic into the city. "Smooth sailing," I said. "We caught a break. Finally.""Listen, Lindsay..." Molinari turned to me, his tone changed. "What do you think about having dinner with me tonight?""Dinner?" I thought for a second. I turned to him. "I think we know that might not be the best idea."Molinari nodded in a resigned way, as if the thought got the better of him. "Still, we both gotta eat...." He curled a smile.Holding the wheel, I felt my palms starting to sweat. Geez. There were a hundred reasons why this could be wrong. But h.e.l.l, we had lives, too.I looked at Molinari and smiled. "We gotta eat."

Chapter 59.