"Yeah, well look what happened to him. Insomnia just plain sucks. There's no upside and I ought to know. Can you imagine what it would be like to want to go to sleep, close your eyes, and presto, you're gone? I would call that heaven. I'd sell what's left of my soul for half of that."

"But that wasn't Tuesday night?"

"Jesus." She suddenly sounded tired just thinking about it. "It must have been one o'clock, and I started trying-I'm talking in bed with the lights out-around ten."

"And Eric wasn't home by then?"

"No. He was still at Mrs. Markham's. Evidently it went on pretty late."

Glitsky held the warrant up in front of him. "We're talking now," he said. Marcel Lanier was with him and brushed past in a show of force, getting himself inside the apartment.

"Where do I start, sir?" he asked.

"Back to front, but maybe first the bedroom. I'll be with you in a minute or two."

"What are you looking for?" Kensing had gotten back from a run recently. He still wore his running shoes, shorts, and a tank top. He'd been at his kitchen table, drinking orange juice and ice, when the doorbell had rung. Now he turned at the sound of Lanier rummaging somewhere back in his room. "You can't just come in here and tear things apart."

Glitsky turned the warrant around, pretended to read it, came back to Kensing. "Judge Chomorro says I can. Oh, and before I forget." He handed him Ash's subpoena, as well.

"What's this?"

"An invitation to talk to the grand jury. Tomorrow, nine thirty."

"You can't do this," Kensing repeated. "This isn't right. Mr. Hardy had a deal with the DA. I'm going to call him."

"Go ahead." Glitsky stepped over the threshold. "He's not allowed in here without our permission when we're conducting a search. He might take something. But you can call him if you want. Then you can both wait until we're done. Take it easy, Doctor. I told you last time you should have let me in when we could have talked in a more comfortable atmosphere. You've really left me no choice."

"What are you looking for?"

Glitsky read from the warrant. "Medical paraphernalia, specifically syringes and prescription drugs-"

"I'm a doctor, Lieutenant. You want, I'll go get all that for you." He turned and wiped sweat from his brow again. "I don't believe this. This is America, right? We do this here?"

"You'd better thank God this is America, Doctor, and that this is how we do it. Anywhere else it wouldn't be so pleasant." Glitsky was reading from the warrant again. "Clothes with splatter or stains consistent with blood-"

"You're going to find that, too. I work with blood every day. It comes from inside people."

Glitsky raised his eyes in a baleful expression.

"I want to call Hardy."

"Absolutely. I'd never try to stop you. But he's not coming inside here."

Another thumping noise emanated from the bedroom.

Glitsky raised his voice. "Marcel! Easy! By the book, please. Nice and neat."

The doctor hung his head for a minute, then looked back up. "This is bullshit," he said.

Bracco struck out trying to reach either Malachi Ross or Brendan Driscoll. He was in the middle of leaving a message with the latter's answering machine when another call came in on their line and his partner picked it up. "Fisk. Homicide."

"Sergeant Fisk, this is Jamie Rath again, from Carla Markham's coffee group? I'm calling because I've been worrying all day. My daughter said something last night and it got me to thinking that maybe it was something you'd want to ask her about."

"What was it?"

"Well, you know she plays soccer. She's at practice right now, in fact. But she also runs cross-country, so she gets up early every morning and runs down to the greenbelt on Park Presidio and then up to the park and back the same way."

"Okay."

"Well, we were talking about Tim's accident, me just being a bitchy mom trying to remind her how dangerous the streets could be, even when you were paying attention. And she said she didn't need me to remind her. On the same day that Tim had gotten hit, almost the same thing had happened to her, only a couple of blocks away."

Fisk was snapping his fingers at his partner, indicating he ought to pick up the other line.

Mrs. Rath was continuing. "It had scared her silly. She'd just turned off Lake onto Twenty-fifth, coming back home, and was crossing the street. She saw this car coming, but there was a stop sign and she was in the walkway. Then suddenly she heard the tires screech and she looked over and jumped backward and the skid stopped just in time. Lexi was standing there with her hands on the hood, just completely flipped out. She said she yelled something at the driver, to watch where she was going, then slapped at the hood and went back to running. But I didn't have to tell her how dangerous it was. She knew."

"Did she say anything else about the car? What color it was, for example?"

"Oh yeah. It was green, which I guess is what made me think about Tim. Didn't I read that the car that hit him was green?"

Bracco butted in. "What time does your daughter get home from soccer practice, Mrs. Rath?"

Lexi sat between her mom and dad, Doug, on the couch in their living room. She'd been home long enough to have showered and changed into jeans, tennis shoes, and a light sweater. She was a tall and thin fourteen-year-old with braces and reasonably controlled acne. Her long brown hair was still wet. She was holding both of her parents' hands, nervous at being the center of attention, at talking to these policemen who were sitting on upholstered chairs facing her. "It wasn't really that big a deal. I mean"-her eyes begged for her mother's understanding-"I had this kind of thing happen before while I've been running. Maybe not this close, but almost. People just space out when they drive, but I know that. So I pay attention when I'm out there."

"I'm sure you do," Fisk responded. "And paying attention the way you do, did you notice anything unusual about the car that almost hit you?"

Lexi threw her eyes up to the ceiling in concentration, looked from Jamie to Doug, back to the inspectors. "I really only saw it out of the corner of my eye. You know, there was a stop sign. I saw it coming up the street and thought it would stop, so I didn't break my stride. I guess she didn't see me until I was right in front of her."

"So it was a woman? The driver?"

"Oh, yeah. I mean, yes, sir. Definitely."

"Was there anybody else in the car?"

"No, just her."

"Did you get a good look at her?"

She nodded yes. "But only for a second."

Bracco had been letting Fisk take the interview. He'd crowed all the way out here about the car, the car, the car. Jamie Rath had called him at the detail, or at least he'd answered the phone. He knew all along that the car would be part of it. Bracco didn't mind-Fisk tended to be good when gentleness was called for. But Bracco thought that sometimes he didn't hit all the notes. "But you did get a good look at her for that second, is that true? Do you think you could recognize her again?"

"I don't know about that. Maybe. I don't know."

Doug patted her reassuringly on the leg. "It's okay, hon. You're doing good."

"You are doing good, Lexi," Fisk seconded. "What we're asking is maybe we could send an artist out here to try to draw her face as you remember it. Would that be all right with you?"

She shrugged. "I could try, I guess."

Bracco asked her about the time, wanting to narrow it down.