"You think they'll know all these guys?" Lily asked.

"Most of them. They try to keep track of who has guns," Hart said.

"Why don't we just wire the pictures out…?"

"The technical guys said we'd lose too much resolution. We decided it'd just be best all around if I went. I could spend some time talking to them."

"That sounds right," Lily said.

"What about this computer tree you're building?" Lucas asked. "I understand you got all kinds of family stuff in there from Minnesota Sioux. Anything on Bluebird or Yellow Hand?"

"I looked up Bluebird. He's just about the last of the family. A lot of Bluebirds went East and married into the Mohawks and that bunch. There are still quite a few Yellow Hands out at Crow Creek and Niobrara. Those used to be Minnesota Indians before they got run out. But I know this Yellow Hand you talked to. He doesn't have much to do with the other Yellow Hands. This one is a loser."

"Nothing else?"

" Traid not." Hart checked his watch. "I've got a plane to catch."

"When will you know? About the pictures?" asked Lily.

"About five minutes after I get off the plane. Do you want me to call tonight?"

"Could you? I'll come back here and wait for the call," Lucas said.

"So will I," Lily added.

" 'Bout seven-thirty, we should know," Hart said.

"So now what?" Lily asked. They were standing on the sidewalk. Hart was on his way to the airport, riding in a squad.

Lucas glanced at his watch. "I've got to see my kid, get something to eat," he said. "Why don't we meet back here at seven o'clock? We can wait for Larry to call and figure out what we're going to do tomorrow."

"Depending on what he finds out," Lily said.

"Yeah," Lucas said, flipping his key ring around his finger. "Need a ride down to your hotel?"

"No, thanks." She smiled, starting away. "It's a nice walk."

Sarah was crawling around on the living room rug when Lucas arrived. He got down on his hands and knees, his tie dragging on the carpet, and played backup with her. First he backed up and she crawled toward him, gurgling; then, with her eyes wide, she backed away and he prowled forward.

"That'd be a lot more charming if you didn't have that big bump on your ass," Jennifer said from the kitchen. Lucas reached back, pulled out the P7 and put it on a lamp table.

"Jesus, not there," Jennifer said with asperity. "She could pull herself up and grab it."

"She can't pull herself up yet," Lucas objected.

"She will soon. It's a bad habit."

"Okay." Lucas stood up, slipped the pistol back in its holster and scooped up his daughter, who had been quivering in anticipation of the flight. He bounced her in his hands as he wandered toward the kitchen and propped himself in the doorway. "Have we got some kind of problem?"

Jennifer was making a salad. She turned her head. "No. Not unless you have."

"I just got here and I'm fine," Lucas said. "You sound a little tight."

"Not at all. I just don't want guns lying around tlu-house."

"Sure," he said. "Come on, Sarah, time for bed. Besides, your mom's being a grouch."

Lucas waited for it during dinner, watching Jennifer's face. Something was going on.

"Any lines on the guy from New York?" Jennifer asked finally. Rumors about the meeting at the StarTribune were circulating through all the media. Daniel had already fended off a half-dozen inquiries, but leaks were inevitable. Jennifer, called by her former partner at TVS, had spent the afternoon talking to old sources by phone. By the time Lucas had arrived, she had most of the story.

"Maybe. I've got a call coming in at seven-thirty."

"You're going back?"

"Yeah. Around seven."

"If Kennedy called you from the station, could you give him something for the ten-o'clock broadcast?"

"He'd have to talk to Daniel," Lucas said.

"Is he going to be there tonight?"

"No, I don't think so."

"How about this New York cop lady?"

Lucas thought, Ah, and said, "She'll be there."

"I hear she's terrific-looking," Jennifer said. She looked up from her dinner plate, straight into Lucas' eyes.

"She's pretty good," Lucas said. "A little chubby, maybe… Is this going to be a problem? Who I work with?"

"No, no." Jennifer looked down at her plate again. "There's something else too," she said.

"Okay," Lucas said, putting his fork down. "Let's have it."

"A guy at the station asked me out."

"Who?"

"Mark Seeton."

"What'd you say?"

"I said… I'd get back to him."

"So you want to go?"

Jennifer stood up, picked up her plate and carried it to the sink. "Yes, I think so," she said. "No big heavy deal. Mark's a nice guy. He wants somebody to go to the symphony with."

Lucas shrugged. "So go."

She looked sideways at him. "You wouldn't mind?"

"I'd mind. I just wouldn't try to stop you."

"Jesus, that's worse than trying to stop me," she said, one fist planted against her hip. "You're trying to mind-fuck me, Davenport."

"Look, if you want to go, go," Lucas said. "You know I'm not going to take you to the symphony. Not on any regular basis."

"It's just that you have your friends and the things you do, the games, the fishing, the police work… me and Sarah. You see somebody almost every day, one way or another. I hardly see anybody at all, outside of work. And you know what I'm like about music…"

"So go," Lucas said shortly. Then he grinned. "I can take Mark Seeton, I'm not worried," he said. He pointed a finger at her. "But I don't want to hear any shit about this New York cop. She is good-looking, but she's also happily married to a big-shot professor at NYU. Shearson made some kind of move on her yesterday and he's now carrying his nuts around in his lunch box."

"You're protesting too much," Jennifer said.

"No, I'm not. But you're looking for an excuse…"

"Let's not fight, okay?"

"Are we still in bed?" Lucas asked.

"You might get lucky," Jennifer said. "A little romance wouldn't hurt, though."

Lily had a short white line on her upper lip when she got back to Lucas' office. They were alone in the tiny office, the door open on the darkened hallway.

"Did you have a glass of milk?"

She cocked her head. "You're also psychic, right? In addition to the game-making and the money."

He grinned and reached out and wiped his thumb across her lip. "No. Just a little rim of milk, here. Like my daughter."

"What's her name? Your daughter?"

"Sarah."

"We've got a Marc and a Sam," Lily said. "Marc's fifteen now, God, I can't believe it. He's started high school and he plays football. Sam's thirteen."

"You've got a kid who's fifteen?" Lucas asked. "How old are you, anyway?"

"Thirty-nine."

"I thought maybe thirty-four."

"Oh, la, such a gentleman," Lily laughed. "How about you?"

"Forty-one.' "Poor guy. Your daughter will be hanging out with all the metal-heads at the high school and you'll be too old and feeble to do anything about it."

"I'm looking forward to my feebletude," Lucas said. "Sit around in a good leather chair, read poetry. Go up to the cabin, sit on the dock, watch the sun go down…"

"With your fly down and your dick hanging out because you're senile and can't remember how to dress yourself…"

"Jesus, I can barely stand the flattery," Lucas said, laughing despite himself.

"You were getting a little carried away with the retirement bullshit," Lily said wryly.

Hart called at quarter to eight from the Rapid City airport. "They knew him right away," he said. "His name's Bill Hood. He's a Sioux from Rosebud, but he married a Chippewa woman a few years ago. He lives in Minnesota. Somewhere up around Red Lake, they think."

"What?" Lily said. There was no extension in the office and she was watching Lucas' face.