He finally checked into his office. The General Work guys had done a good job while he'd been going to meetings, and they'd compiled a neatly typed name and address list from the Ewing phone numbers, which now lay under a stapler on his desk. For lunch, he washed two rice cakes down with a Diet Coke. When his receptionist buzzed to tell him that two ATF agents were here, he felt reasonably prepared.

But that didn't last long.

The two of them- Aitkin and Drew- struck Glitksy as having come straight not from their offices but from the street, perhaps a bust. Both still wore their black field jackets with the oversized initials "ATF" across the back; both were packing in obvious, bulging shoulder holsters. Drew made the introductions for both of them, and they sat without any fanfare in the chairs in front of Glitsky's desk.

Glitsky had planned to open the discussion by expressing his appreciation that they'd come down on such short notice and so on, but Drew barely gave him the chance before he interrupted. "We just wondered, sir," he began in a terse tone, "if you're familiar with the joint task force we've had working with local officers in each county and through which we're all supposed to coordinate our activities?"

"Sure," Glitsky said. "I called Sergeant Trona last Friday and he told me he could get me hooked up with one of your agents by early next week, which is now. I'm heading up an event number force on this Allan Boscacci homicide. I didn't have that kind of time." He reached for his list. "But I think you'll be pleased with my results."

Aitkin, who so far hadn't said a word, came forward and took the sheet of paper. Drew glanced over at it without much show of interest. "And these are what?" he asked.

"Names and addresses of people who've bought suppressors illegally from a man named James Martin Ewing out of the Cow Palace. Or at least that's where he was working out of last Friday."

"How did you get to him?" Drew asked. "Ewing?"

"I had a snitch. It was easier than I thought it should be."

Finally Aitkin spoke, turning to Drew. "Imagine that."

"I beg your pardon." Glitsky didn't much appreciate the tone. "Do you gentlemen have some kind of a problem?"

"Yes, sir. I'm afraid we do." Drew sat back, linked his hands over his belt.

Aitkin had carried in with him a flat leather briefcase and now he opened it on his lap and withdrew a photograph, which he handed over to his partner. Drew, in turn, handed it to Glitsky. "I'd like to ask you, sir, if this looks familiar to you."

The picture was of him. The photo was taken last Friday, no doubt from the camera Ewing had concealed somewhere inside his van. "Ewing is your snitch," he said.

Drew nodded. "Didn't you wonder why it was so easy getting connected with him? You got a guy looking at twenty years if he gets caught at this stuff and you drop one name to a more or less random dealer at a gun show and you're talking to him in fifteen minutes? Any warning bells go off for you?"

"I thought I was having a lucky day."

The two agents' heads turned, briefly, to each other. Drew came back at Glitsky. "So what are you looking for?"

"Background. I need to know if any of these guys are connected to Boscacci." He pointed to his list. "It's long odds, but we're not working with much."

The problems of any local police department were of no concern to the ATF. "We've busted two-thirds of Ewing's people already," Drew said. "The others we're watching to see who they hang with, how they hook up. You know the drill, which is why we're asking you not to pursue… this any further."

Glitsky passed the photo back to Drew. His stomach was doing a mariachi dance and he put a hand over it. "I'd still be interested in getting some background on anyone who has bought suppressors, see if we can get a match."

Drew and Aitkin exchanged a glance and nodded. "We can provide that," Drew said. "Probably be a couple of days."

"Sooner would be better."

"Always. Of course."

As the two men were standing up, Aitkin spoke for the second time. "It's always our intention to work with local agencies, sir. That's why we set up the joint task forces, for mutual communication and cooperation. So in future, if you plan to freelance out of your jurisdiction, you might check in with local authorities to find out what you might be getting into."

"I get it," Glitsky said.

When they had gone through the door and out of the office, he heard one of them say, "Fucking locals."

"I need to talk to you." Wu hadn't changed since the hospital. She still wore her blue jogging suit, tennis shoes, the Giants warm-up jacket. She stood in the doorway to Brandt's mini-cubicle at the YGC. Her mouth was dry and her palms wet. Even after the ride they'd shared to downtown, which had seemed to break the ice a little, she didn't know how he would receive her. But she felt that coming here to him could be read as an apology of sorts. She was playing straight with him now, keeping her opposite number up on developments in the case. She knew she was here with the best of intentions. "You're not going to like it."

Brandt had his hand on the telephone receiver, halfway to his ear, but he replaced it. He wore a neutral expression. "I already heard," he said. "Did he make it?"

"He's going to."

"I'm glad. I really am."

"Which leaves us some business." She leaned against the doorjamb. "I'm requesting a continuance on the hearing tomorrow. I wanted to tell you about it beforehand."

"I figured you would," Brandt said, "when I heard about the suicide attempt. You ought to know, since we're being up front with one another, that I heard Warvid this morning talking to his clerk about that very thing. I wouldn't get my hopes up."

"He said he wouldn't continue?"

"That's what I hear from the clerk. If Andrew's bipedal, we go."

"Maybe he won't be."

"That remains to be seen then. But let me ask you something. If Warvid continues on these grounds, what's to stop everyone from feeling suicidal the day before their hearing?" Brandt leaned back in his chair, put his hands behind his head, his feet up on the desktop. "Let's be straight here, okay? This hearing is a formality. You know it, I know it, Warvid knows it."

"My client went sideways, Jason. Hasn't that ever happened to you?"

"Of course. All the time. But right now, the only thing Warvid wants is to restore order to the cosmos, and to do that, he's got to get Bartlett back upstairs. Which he'll do. Tomorrow."

Wu went from one doorpost to the other, arms crossed. "I'm calling witnesses, you know. I've filed a list."

Brandt's feet came off the desk. He straightened in his chair. "You're not fighting the criteria?"

"Every one."

"All I need is one, you realize that?"

"Sure."

Brandt sighed. "I've got to assume you've read his short story."

"I have," she said. "I can mitigate it."

"All right, mitigate. But you can't believe that a double homicide won't strike the court as of sufficient gravity?"

"It isn't if he didn't do it."

Brandt's mouth stood half-open. When he finally spoke, his voice hummed with concern. "Amy, listen. Last time we were in court, you were admitting the petition. Now you've got one of the world's fairest judges seriously upset with you. And what are you going to argue, that the homicides didn't happen? 'Cause that's all I've got to show- that they did. There's no burden of proof. You know this. I make a prima facie case and I've got gravity and circumstances. You even get a step into arguing the basic facts and Warvid's going to shut you down."

She smiled. "Good. You're worried."

"I'm not worried," he said. "Or rather, I'm worried for you. There's no argument to be made here. Warvid's going to walk in with his mind made up, as it should be."