"What else is there? We don't know where Clyde Rangor is, but we believe that he can still provide valuable information, maybe help us take Comb-Over down."

"How about Charles Talley and Detective Max Darrow? Any idea how they fit in?"

"Charles Talley is a thug with a record for brutality. He handled some of the girls in the clubs, made sure they kept in line, didn't steal much, shared their, uh, tips with the house. Last we heard he was working for a dump in Reno called the Eager Beaver. Our best guess is, Talley was hired to kill Emma Lemay."

"By this Comb-Over guy?"

"Yes. Our theory is that somehow Comb-Over found out that Emma Lemay was pretending to be this Sister Mary Rose. He sent Talley here to kill her."

"And what about Max Darrow?" Loren asked. "We know he was in Lemay's quarters. What was his role?"

Yates uncrossed his legs and sat up. "For one thing, we think Darrow, though a fairly solid cop, might have been crooked."

His voice drifted off. He cleared his throat.

"And for another," Loren prompted.

Yates took a deep breath. "Well, Max Darrow…" He looked at Thurston. She didn't nod, didn't move, but Loren got the impression that, as she had done with Steinberg, Yates was looking for an okay. "Let's just say that Max Darrow is connected into this case in another way."

They waited. Several seconds passed. Loren finally said, "How?"

Yates rubbed his face with both hands, suddenly looking exhausted. "I mentioned before that Clyde Rangor was into rough trade."

Loren nodded.

"And that we think he killed his last victim."

"Yes."

"The victim was a small-time stripper and probable hooker, named… hold on, I have it here…"- Yates pulled a small leather notepad from his back pocket, licked his finger, flipped through the pages-"named Candace Potter, aka Candi Cane." He snapped the notebook shut. "Emma Lemay and Clyde Rangor disappeared soon after her body was found."

"And how does that fit in with Darrow?"

"Max Darrow was the homicide investigator in charge of the case."

Everyone stopped.

"Wait a second," Ed Steinberg began. "So this Clyde Rangor murders a stripper. Darrow catches the case. A few days later, Rangor and his girlfriend Lemay vanish. And now, what, ten years later, we get Darrow's fingerprints at Emma Lemay's murder scene?"

"That pretty much sums it up, yes."

There was more silence. Loren tried to digest this.

"Here's the important thing," Yates continued, leaning forward. "If Emma Lemay still had materials pertinent to this case- or if she left information on the whereabouts of Clyde Rangor- we believe that Investigator Muse is in the best position to find it."

"Me?"

Yates turned toward her. "You have a relationship with her colleagues. Lemay lived with the same group of nuns for seven years now. The Mother Superior clearly trusts you. What we need you to concentrate on is that angle- in finding out what Lemay knew or what she had."

Steinberg looked at Loren and shrugged. Joan Thurston moved around her desk. She opened a mini-fridge. "Anybody want a drink?" she asked.

They didn't reply. Thurston shrugged, grabbed a bottle, began to shake it. "How about you, Adam? You want something?"

"Just a water."

She tossed him a bottle.

"Ed? Loren?"

They both shook their heads. Joan Thurston twisted off the cap and took a deep sip. She moved back in front of her desk.

"Okay, time to stop the dance," Thurston said. "What else have you learned, Loren?"

Loren. Already calling her Loren. Again she checked with Steinberg. Again he nodded.

"We found several connections between all of this and an ex-con named Matt Hunter," Loren said.

Thurston's eyes narrowed. "Why does that name ring a bell?"

"He's local, from Livingston. His case made the papers years back. He got into a fight at a college party-"

"Oh, right, I remember," Thurston interrupted. "I knew his brother Bernie. Good lawyer, died much too young. I think Bernie got him a job at Carter Sturgis when he got out."

"Matt Hunter still works there."

"And he's involved in this?"

"There are connections."

"Such as?"

She told them about the phone call from St. Margaret's to Marsha Hunter's residence. They did not seem all that impressed. When Loren started filling them in on what she'd learned this very night- that Matt Hunter had, in all likelihood, gotten into a fight with Charles Talley at the Howard Johnson's- they sat up. For the first time Yates started jotting notes in the leather pad.

When she finished, Thurston asked, "So what do you make of it, Loren?"

"Truth? I don't have a clue yet."

"We should look at this guy Hunter's time in prison," Yates said. "We know Talley was in the system too. Maybe they met along the way. Or maybe Hunter somehow got involved with Comb-Over's people."

"Right," Thurston said. "Could be that Hunter is the one cleaning up the loose ends for Comb-Over."

Loren kept quiet.

"You don't agree, Loren?"

"I don't know."

"What's the problem?"

"This may sound hopelessly naïve, but I don't think Matt Hunter is working as some kind of hit man. He has a record, yes, but that's from a fight at a frat party fifteen years ago. He had no priors and has been clean ever since."

She did not tell him that they'd gone to school together or that her "gut" didn't like it. When other investigators used that rationale, Loren wanted to gag.

"So how do you explain Hunter's involvement?" Thurston asked.

"I don't know. It might be a more personal thing. According to the front-desk guy, his wife was staying at the hotel without him."

"You think it's a lovers' quarrel?"

"It could be."

Thurston looked doubtful. "Either way, we all agree that Matt Hunter is involved?"

Steinberg said, "Definitely." Yates nodded hard. Loren stayed still.

"And right now," Thurston continued, "we have more than enough to arrest and indict. We have the fight, the call, all that. We'll get DNA soon linking him to the dead man."

Loren hesitated. Ed Steinberg did not. "We got enough to arrest."

"And with Hunter's record, we can probably get a no-bail situation. We can put him in the system and keep him there for a little while, right, Ed?"

"I'd bet on it, yeah," Steinberg said.

"Pick him up then," Joan Thurston said. "Let's get Hunter's ass back behind bars pronto."

Chapter 35

MATT AND OLIVIA were alone in Marsha's guest room.

Nine years ago Matt had spent his first night as a free man in this room. Bernie had brought him home. Marsha had been outwardly polite, but looking back on it, there must have been some serious reservations. You move into a house like this to escape people like Matt. Even if you know he's innocent, even if you think he's a good guy and got a bad break, you don't want your life enmeshed with his. He is a virus, a carrier of something malevolent. You have children. You want to protect them. You want to believe, as Lance Banner did, that the manicured lawns can keep this element out.

He thought about his old college buddy Duff. At one time Matt had believed that Duff was tough. Now he knew better. Now he could kick Duff's ass around the corner without breaking a sweat. He wasn't being boastful. He didn't think that with any pride. It was just a fact of life. His buddies who thought they were tough- the Duffs of the world- man, they had no idea.

But tough as Matt had become, he'd spent his first night of freedom in this room crying. He couldn't exactly say why. He had never cried in prison. Some would say that he simply feared showing weakness in such a horrible place. That was part of it, maybe. Maybe it was just a "saving up" outlet, that now he was crying for four years of anguish.