Finally, he came back on the line.

"Sorry, Jack, I had to look through all the papers here. The fax came to machine number two, in the academy office's wire room at three thirty-eight Sunday morning."

I looked at my notes. Subtracting the three-hour time difference, the fax came in at Quantico one minute after the call to the general number had been placed from Thorson's room.

"Okay, Jack?"

"Oh, yeah, thanks. Uh, I had one other question."

"Shoot-oh, shit, sorry."

"That's okay. Uh, the question I have is, um… Agent Thorson sent back an oral swab from the victim in Phoenix. Orsulak."

"Yes, Orsulak."

"Uh, he wanted to identify the substance. He believed it was the lubricant from a condom. The question I had was whether it was identified as coming from a specific brand of condom. Can that be done? Was it done?"

Hazelton didn't answer at first and I almost jumped into the silence. But then he spoke.

"That's a strange question, Jack."

"Yeah, I know but, uh, the details of the case, and how you people do things, really fascinates me. It's important to have them right-it makes a better story."

"Hold on another second."

Again he was gone before I could agree to hold. This time he came back very quickly.

"Yes, I have that information. Do you want to tell me why you really want it?"

Now it was my turn to be silent.

"No," I finally said, trying the honesty route. "I'm just trying to work something out, Brad. If it goes the way I think it's going, the FBI's going to be the first to know about it. Believe me."

Hazelton paused for a moment.

"Okay, Jack, I'll trust you. Besides, Gladden's dead. It's not like I'm giving away trial evidence and there's not much you can prove with this anyway. The substance was narrowed down to being similar to two different brands. Ramses Lubricated and Trojan Golds. Problem is they are two of the most popular brands in the country. It is not what we'd call unequivocal evidence of anything."

Maybe it wasn't evidence you could take into a courtroom, but Ramses Lubricated was the brand that Rachel had handed me from her purse on Saturday night in my hotel room. I thanked Hazelton without further discussion and hung up.

It was all there and it all seemed to fit. No matter how many ways over the next hour that I tried to destroy my own theory, I couldn't. It was a theory built on a foundation of suspicion and speculation but it worked like a machine, all the parts meshing together. And I had nothing to throw into its gears that could bring it to a grinding halt.

The last part I needed was Bledsoe. I paced the room waiting for his call, the feeling of anxiety churning in my stomach like something that was alive. I went out on the balcony for fresh air but that didn't help. Staring at me was the Marlboro Man, his thirty-foot-high face holding dominion over the Sunset Strip. I went back inside.

Instead of the cigarette I wanted, I decided on a Coke. I left the room, turning the night lock so the door wouldn't close all the way and trotted down the hallway to the vending machines. In spite of the painkiller, my nerves were jangling. But I knew that this intensity would translate to fatigue in a little while if I didn't ante up with a shot of sugar and caffeine. Halfway back to my room, I heard the phone ringing and I ran. I went for the phone before even closing the door, grabbing it on what I thought might be the ninth ring.

"Dan?"

Silence.

"It's Rachel. Who is Dan?"

"Oh." I could barely catch my breath. "He's, uh-He's just a friend at the paper. He was supposed to call."

"What's the matter with you, Jack?"

"I'm out of breath. I was down the hall getting a Coke and I heard the phone."

"Jesus, it must've been the hundred-yard dash."

"Something like that. Hold on."

I went back to the door and closed it, then put my actor's face on as I went back to the phone.

"Rachel?"

"Listen, I just wanted you to know I'm leaving. Bob wants me to go back to Florida and handle this PTL thing."

"Oh."

"It will probably be a few days."

The message light on my phone came on. Bledsoe, I thought, and silently cursed the timing of his call.

"Okay, Rachel."

"We'll have to get together somewhere afterward. I was thinking of taking a vacation."

"I thought you just did."

I remembered the notation on the calendar I had seen on her desk in Quantico. It struck me for the first time that was when she must have gone to Phoenix to stalk and kill Orsulak.

"I haven't had a real vacation in a long time. I was thinking about Italy maybe. Venice."

I didn't challenge her on the lie. I remained silent and she lost her patience. My acting wasn't working.

"Jack, what's the matter?"

"Nothing."

"I don't believe you."

I hesitated and then said, "There is one thing that's been kind of bothering me, Rachel."

"Tell it to me."

"The other night, our first night together, I called your room after you left. I just wanted to say good night, you know, and tell you how much I enjoyed what we did. And there was no answer. I even went to your door and knocked. No answer. Then the next morning you said you had seen Thorson in the hall. And I don't know, I guess I've been thinking about that."

"Thinking what, Jack?"

"I don't know, just thinking. I was wondering where you were when I called and when I knocked."

She was silent for a moment and when she finally spoke her anger crackled through the phone like a fire.

"Jack, you know what you sound like? A jealous high school boy. Like the boy on the bleachers you told me about. Yes, I saw Thorson in the hall and yes, I'll even admit that he thought I was looking for him, that I wanted him. But that's as far as it went. I can't explain why I didn't get your call, okay? Maybe you called the wrong room and maybe it was when I was taking a shower and thinking about how nice the night had been, too. And maybe I shouldn't have to defend myself or explain myself to you. If you can't deal with your petty jealousies then find a different woman and get a different life."

"Rachel, look I'm sorry, okay? You asked me what was wrong and I told you."

"You must have taken too many of those pills the doctor gave you. My advice is that you sleep it off, Jack. I have a plane to catch."

She hung up.

"Good-bye," I said into the silence.

48

The sun was going down and the sky was the color of ripe pumpkin with slashes of phosphorescent pink. It was beautiful and even the clutter of billboards up and down the strip looked beautiful to me. I was back out on the balcony, trying to think, trying to figure things out, waiting for Bledsoe to call back. He was the one who had left the message while I talked to Rachel. His message said he was out of the office but would call back.

I looked at the Marlboro Man, his crinkled eyes and stoic chin unchanged by time. He'd always been one of my heroes, an icon, no matter that he was always as shallow as a magazine page or a billboard sign. I remembered being at the dinner table, my position every night always to my father's right. Him always smoking and the ashtray always to the right of his plate. Me learning to smoke by virtue of that. He looked like the Marlboro Man to me, my father. Back then, at least.

Back in the room, I called home and my mother answered. She went into histrionics asking whether I was all right and gently scolded me for not calling sooner. Finally, after I had calmed her and assured her that I was okay, I asked her to put my father on the line. We had not spoken since the funeral-if we had even spoken then.

"Dad?"

"Son. You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine. You okay?"