"Two producers for morning shows. The rest of the jocks don't rate a staff, but sometimes sponsors come by and look in on their shows."

Mallory ran one finger over the surface of the built-in console. There was no dust. Evidently, the cleaning staff had no trouble getting inside.

"Well, this is progress," said Zachary. "You can dust this place for fingerprints."

"But I won't. There's no point." She did not plan to waste much time exploding the civilians' television mythology of fingerprints. "The prints can only be matched by cops, and they need a good reason to use the national database. Too many people have access to this booth. Some of these prints have been here since the last time the room was painted, a hundred sets, maybe more. Now – if you die – the cops might run all those prints, but otherwise – "

"So what's the problem? Not money. Just bribe a cop and run them all."

"No cop can run a hundred prints without attracting attention and losing his job. Half the prints won't even be in the database." Baby-sitting Ian Zachary was tedious, and now one hand went to her hip, sign language to tell him that this discussion was over. "Why not do it the easy way?"

She led him through the door to his studio. When they stood before the dark window of the producer's booth, she pulled out a camera the size of a cigarette lighter. "Tomorrow night, palm this in one hand, then jam it up against the glass. It's small but the flash is bright. He'll never see it coming. When you've got his picture, I can tail him for you. Satisfied?" She gave him the camera. "I'll put that on your bill."

He looked down at the small object in his hand, smiling at this elegant solution. "Great. So what about Dr. Apollo? Did you get me some good dirt?"

"Suppose I find something that forces her into an interview? Wouldn't that spoil the Reaper's game? She doesn't fit his criteria of too stupid to live."

"What if she's the Reaper? Think about it," he said. "A shrink is good at mind games. Didn't you ever wonder why Dr. Apollo voted not guilty with the rest of them? She could've hung that jury all by herself. And here's another thing. She's a hunchback, a cripple. She could walk up to those people and slit their throats before they even got suspicious."

"But why?"

He splayed his hands in a gesture of frustration. "That's what I need from you. A motive. It could be the other juror, too, but I'm betting on the doctor. If I could get her on the air for ten minutes – "

"You think she'd expose herself – to you."

"Yes. I'm that good."

"What if she didn't do it?"

"Well, I'd hardly be inclined to let that get in the way of a good show. And I've still got one more juror if the lady flops on the air. That's assuming that you can find him for me."

Mallory turned to the dark glass of the producer's booth.

You're not coming with us." Johanna Apollo gently pushed Riker away from the car. "You can hardly keep your eyes open. Go inside and get some sleep."

Riker had no comeback for that. He was cold sober, yet his feet were dragging and so was his mind. He could only stand there and watch the Mercedes pull away from the curb.

When the car had reached the end of the street, a concerned Charles Butler looked back to see the man still standing there, as if he might have forgotten the way home – a door three steps to his left. "He's so tired. I hope he doesn't fall asleep on the sidewalk."

"It's my fault," said Johanna. "I'm guessing he never closed his eyes last night." She faced the windshield, and her voice was softer, lower now, in the range of conspirators. "All through dinner, I had this feeling that you wanted to talk to me in private."

"About Mallory," said Charles. "She tends to be a bit – Oh, how shall I put this?"

"Utterly ruthless?"

"I wouldn't have said that."

"No, you wouldn't. You're her friend, but that's her nature."

He began again. "There's a kind of purity in Mallory's character."

"And of course she's a sociopath," said Johanna, "but you already knew that."

They drove on in strained silence for a few blocks while Charles cast about in his great reservoir of words for exactly the right ones. "Mallory's foster parents were very sheltering people."

"And good people. That's what Riker tells me. He talks about the Markowitzes all the time. It's a pity they didn't get to that child sooner. I believe Mallory was ten or eleven when they took her into foster care."

He understood her meaning. Louis Markowitz had missed the wonder years when his foster daughter should have formed her socialization skills – but never did.

"I'll tell you where Mallory departs from the sociopaths I've treated," said Johanna. "She doesn't make any effort to be charming."

"She wouldn't even know how." Charles had intended this as a defense, but the words had come out all wrong.

"However, she lies true to form," said the doctor, "and much better than most."

"That's a skill that goes with her job." Did that sound egregiously defensive on his part? He kept his eyes on the road and softened his next remark. "The lying, well, that's to a good purpose." Indeed, that was sometimes the case. "Here's another departure you may not have noticed. She never lies to increase herself in someone else's eyes." And that much was certainly true. "She doesn't care what the world thinks."

"But the world should care what Mallory thinks," said Johanna Apollo, and her voice was tinged with a sadness. "That young woman lives large, edgy, risky – and she's dangerous."

"Dangerous," said Charles. "Well, of course she is. She's the police. And she was so much more than that. "Mallory's also gifted. High aptitude for mathematics and computers. My job is career placement for very bright people with unusual gifts, so I can assure you she'd make a fortune if she quit her job with Special Crimes."

"But would she have a gun and all that power? Don't you think she'd miss frightening people?"

The Mercedes came to a gentle stop at a red light, and he turned his face to Johanna Apollo's. Her eyes held nothing but compassion, but this would not weaken his adversarial resolve, for friendship was everything to him, and his precious logic was sometimes warped to the best intentions. "Mallory frightens people when she has a reason to do so. You, for example. She thinks you're holding back something important. Her instincts are remarkable – and very rarely wrong. And I've never found any false notes in her basic code. She's a cop, and a good one. She is the law." "I'm sure she knows exactly what she is."

Charles nodded, understanding these words on every intended level. "But don't be too sure that you have an easy diagnosis for Mallory. Even if you were right about her, I'd never have her trade places with someone – " "Someone normal? Less dangerous perhaps? You do understand her, and you wanted to warn me about her. Thank you. I'd be honored to have Mallory for an enemy. But I think she looks at me like a broken piece of machinery that won't cooperate in her scheme." "If you know who the Reaper is – "

"I'd never tell Mallory. Why ruin her game? She's beautifully equipped to work it out on her own. Oddly enough, I admire her. She makes no apologies, takes no prisoners."

"Actually, she does," said Charles as the Mercedes rolled forward again. "That's not just a figure of speech. She takes hostages. That was… the warning."

Riker watched the taillights of the Mercedes until they winked out with the turn onto Houston. He sat down on the front steps, preferring this to falling down. The cold air was doing him no good. Had he ever been this tired before? Jo was right. Tonight he would be useless to her. But he had no worries about the Reaper while the giant Charles was in her company, though Mallory would actually make a more formidable opponent, and she was the one he counted upon to keep Jo alive through the night. With any luck, the lady would sleep through the changing of the guard when her second watcher arrived at the hotel. And he could only hope that Jo had the presence of mind to lock up Mugs before the cat could annoy Mallory and die.