Jack Coffey sat down. Janos remained standing, going with his strength, silent menacing via looming over small civilians like the man in the torn jeans, who was introduced as Randy of SoHo. The youngster had a vacant look about him, and the lieutenant wondered if he was high on drugs today, or was the boy bone stupid all the time?

Coffey glanced at a clock on the wall. "Zachary, you're here early tonight."

"I'm pretaping the interview with Randy here. I should've mentioned that, Lieutenant. You're on tape now, too. You'll be able to hear yourself on the air in three hours."

Randy leaned into the conversation. "I thought we were on the air right now."

A bemused Zachary pointed to the clock. "Can you tell time?"

"It's six o'clock," said Randy, taking no offense. "Almost exactly six o'clock."

"And when does my show start?"

"Nine o'clock."

"So I guess we can't be on the air – not right now – can we?"

Randy actually gave this a moment of thought, then grinned and shook his head.

Zachary shrugged as he looked from one cop to the other. "I wish I could tell you that he's an atypical fan. So, what's this all about? Do I need a lawyer?"

"Oh, yeah," said Jack Coffey. "We just had a few questions, but you should have a lawyer sitting in your lap around the clock. And the bastards even told you that, didn't they? They told you never to talk to cops, not without a lawyer checking every word that comes out of your mouth. They treat you like an idiot, don't they? But you're safer that way. Now, if you like," he pulled a small card from his pocket, "you can waive the attorney, and then we can get this over with. Or we can take you downtown, and you can just drag this out all night. Your choice." He tossed the card on the console. "That lists all your constitutional rights. I know you've seen it before. Just sign it."

He turned away from Zachary, assuming the attitude of a man who did not care one way or the other. And of course the shock-jock signed the card.

Coffey's smile was genuine as he turned to the interview guest. "So you're the famous Randy? You're the one who ratted out that poor bastard MacPherson?"

The young man nodded and smiled, so pleased with himself, just so happy to be here with Ian Zachary and the cops. "We live in the same building. He's a real nice guy. He fixed my busted radiator."

Jack Coffey was slightly discouraged to hear the boy use the present tense, the living tense for the latest Reaper victim. So much hung on the words of this moron. The lieutenant slid another card from his pocket. "This is called a Miranda card – just like Zachary's." He handed it to the younger man. "Would you like to sign one, too?"

"Oh, sure." Randy accepted a pen from Detective Janos and signed the card, not bothering to read it. And now Ian Zachary was having second thoughts as he stared down at the card he had just put his own name to.

Too late.

Janos whipped the Miranda card out of the man's hand, slid it into his coat pocket, then collected Randy's.

Coffey's attention was still focused on Zachary's guest. "Randy, you say you were friends with MacPherson. So now that your buddy is dead, how do you like your game prizes?"

"Well, I couldn't win the trip to New York City, could I? I mean, 'cause I already live here. I got a place in SoHo. But they put me up in a great hotel for the night. I love the minibar." He turned to Zachary. "I get to keep all that stuff, right? The candy and those little bottles of booze?"

"You earned it," said Lieutenant Coffey, answering for the shock-jock. "So the minibar made it all worthwhile?"

"Well, sure, but being on the show – hell, that's the best part. Can I say hi to my buddies at the carwash?"

Coffey held his friendly smile. "When you turned in MacPherson on the radio, did you know what would happen next?"

Before the younger man could speak, Ian Zachary shook his head, saying, "Don't waste your time, Lieutenant. The pinheads never make that connection."

Coffey ignored this and leaned forward in his chair, widening his smile for the fan from SoHo. "That's not true, is it, Randy?"

"Give it up," said Zachary.

Coffey swiveled his chair around to face the talk-show host. "I understand that Randy is the first winner to get on the air before the murder. Am I right?"

"A minor departure from the format," said Zachary, all but yawning. "Randy doesn't have anything quite as sophisticated as e-mail, or even a telephone. And he only had a bit of change left for the pay phone."

"So you couldn't afford to lose the connection. I understand." He wondered if Zachary's attorneys had been quite so understanding. "Your producer tells me you spend a lot of time at the station."

"Needleman? You met him?" Zachary's gaze was fixed on some point beyond the lieutenant's chair.

"We had a long talk on the phone." Coffey glanced back over his shoulder, but all he saw was a dark window like the one that spanned the girl's lighted sound booth. "Needleman says you spend twelve hours a day in here. He told me you had this studio built to specs for prison security. Are you afraid of the Reaper?"

"Hardly." Zachary was speaking to the dark window. "The Reaper only kills morons. Why would I be afraid of him?"

"And that's what I told your producer." Coffey smiled. "I said, 'Needleman, those two monsters are partners, buddies.'" He splayed his hands in the air. "Am I right?"

"In a manner of speaking." Zachary leaned back in his chair, so pleased, so smug. "I suppose you could say the Reaper is my biggest fan."

"So you knew he'd be listening," said Janos, "when Randy here told you MacPherson lived in his building."

"Yeah," said Jack Coffey, not wanting to give Zachary a moment to consider this. "That was real cute, not giving up the exact address. Instead, you just got Randy to mention the restaurant next door. Very smart." Actually – a huge mistake. A first-year law student would never have approved of that ploy. "And then MacPherson was murdered. The Reaper couldn't have done it without you. Have I got that right, Zachary? Did I miss anything?"

"I'd say you've got the gist of it."

"So that's a yes." Coffey turned to Detective Janos, saying, "Cause and effect. One down."

Zachary was half risen from his chair. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Jack Coffey ignored the startled shock-jock and leaned toward the young fan, saying, "You never answered my question, Randy. What did you think would happen when you gave up MacPherson on the radio?"

"I told you," said Zachary, "the fans are idiots. They don't have the slightest clue – "

"Zachary, put a sock in it," said Coffey. Then, remembering that this man was British and slang-impaired, he added, "Shut up or I'll arrest you for obstructing an investigation. Clear enough?" The lieutenant turned all of his attention on the younger man, the dim-witted one. "Randy, when you made that call, what did you think would happen to MacPherson?"

With no hesitation at all, Randy raised his right hand. There was no malice in his face, only cheerful compliance, as he used one finger to make a chilling cutthroat gesture from ear to ear, the silent demonstration of a death.

And Jack Coffey said, "Close enough." He looked up at Janos, saying, "Cuff Zachary."

Janos moved behind Ian Zachary's chair and pulled out a pair of handcuffs, saying, "You're charged with the murder of John MacPherson."

And Zachary yelled, "This is insane! He tried to kill mel"

"Really? Did you report that to the police?" Coffey took the man's dumbstruck expression for a no. "Too bad. You were seen in a bar with MacPherson last night. We've got witnesses."

"He left before I did."

"So you're out drinking with a guy who tried to kill you." Janos slid the manacles over the man's wrists. "And you just let him walk away. No police report. You got a better story than that one?"