'That's her,' said Strange.

The father took her arm as they descended the porch steps. Even at this distance, Strange could see that she was near death. Beneath the coat she wore, her shoulders were like garden shears, and her eyes were hollowed out above sunken cheeks.

Now they were all standing in the yard, and the son was gesturing wildly toward the woods, the anger in his voice carrying through the trees, reaching Quinn and Strange. The older man was talking to his son in a quiet way, trying to calm him down. Then the son grabbed hold of Sondra Wilson's arm and shook her violently. Her head kind of flopped around on her shoulders, and that was when the father took three steps forward and shoved the son in the chest, sending him down to the gravel and dirt.

The son got up slowly, not saying a word, not looking at his father anymore or at Sondra. The father took hold of Sondra gently and walked her back into the house.

The son waited until they were inside. He pulled a gun from beneath his jacket and began firing in the direction of the tree line. His face was twisted into something between a grimace and a smile. Strange blinked with each shot, the rounds ricocheting metallically into the woods.

'What the fuck did we just see?' said Quinn.

Strange was thinking about the photograph packet on his desk, once again. He pictured himself in Chris Wilson's room, the items on his dresser and in his cigar box. He saw himself talking to Wilson's mother, the pictures hung on his wall, one picture…

'Derek?'

'Sorry, man. Was thinkin' of something.'

'What?'

'Wilson had a stub from a grocery store, a Safeway, I think, in the cigar box on his dresser. There was a camera on that dresser, too.'

'So there are some pictures he never got around to pickin' up.'

'Uh-huh. Also, if he was trying to find his sister… if we been covering the same tracks he was makin', I mean, then he probably has some kind of documentation related to what he was doin'. I'm thinkin' that maybe I know where that is.'

'What are we waitin' on, then?'

'It's just that I hate to leave her,' said Strange. 'You got a look at her, man, she doesn't have much time.'

'We can't do anything today. Not unless you want to pull that Buck knife off your hip and wave it at that guy with the automatic'

'You're right,' said Strange. 'But I'm coming back.'

29

Strange lifted the framed photograph of Larry Brown and a young Chris Wilson, and placed the photograph on Wilson's bed. As Strange had suspected, the frame covered a hole of sorts in the wall. A tablet-sized notebook was wedged inside the hole among chips of particle-board, covered with a thick coat of dust. The hole was just large enough to accommodate the notebook; it looked as if Wilson himself had punched it through.

Leona Wilson had said that Chris had become visibly upset when she'd gone to straighten the picture. From everything Strange knew, Chris Wilson seemed to be the type of young man who would need an awful good reason to rise up at his own mom. Whatever Wilson had found – and Strange was certain that what he'd found was reflected in the notebook – he had kept it from his mother, his girlfriend, and the department as well.

Strange stashed the notebook in his day pack, along with the ticket stub from Safeway. The stub was redeemable at the Piney Branch Road location in Takoma, D.C., near his church.

In the living room, Leona Wilson peered out from behind her parted curtains at the Lumina parked on the street. She released the curtain and turned as Strange walked into the room.

'Did you find what you were looking for?'

'I did.'

'Then you're making progress.'

'Yes, I am.' Strange slung the day pack over his shoulder. 'Mrs Wilson?'

'Yes.'

'I believe I've located your daughter.'

Leona Wilson's lip trembled up into a smile. 'Thank you. Thank the good Lord.' She rubbed her hands together in front of her waist. 'Is she… what is her health?'

'She's gonna need help, Mrs Wilson. Professional help to get her off the kind of trouble she's found. You best… you need to start lookin' into it right away. There's programs and clinics; you can get a list through the church. You need to set that up now, understand? Do it today.'

'Why?'

"Cause I plan on bringin' Sondra home.'

Strange headed for the door.

Leona Wilson said, 'Who is that white man in the car out front? I'm afraid I can't make anything out but his color without my glasses.'

'An independent I been using.'

'Is he helping you with this?'

'Uh-huh.' Strange opened the door.

'Mr Strange-'

'I know. Just doin' what you're paying me for, Mrs Wilson. Don't forget, you will be gettin' a bill.'

'I'll say a prayer for you this Sunday, Mr Strange.'

'Yes, ma'am.'

He stepped outside and stood for a moment on the concrete porch. He'd gone and promised this woman something, and now he'd have to see it through.

'I saw the Wilson woman looking at me through the curtains,' said Quinn. 'She recognize me?'

'She wouldn't recognize her own face in the mirror without her glasses on,' said Strange. He blew a late yellow on Georgia, catching the red halfway through the intersection.

'I went to Chris Wilson's funeral. I tell you that?'

'No.'

'Word must have gotten around with the relatives that I was there. There weren't many white faces to begin with, except for a few cops. Anyway, Mrs Wilson found my eyes through the crowd – she was wearing her glasses that day – and I nodded to her. She gave me the coldest look-'

'What'd you expect?'

'It wasn't that I was expecting anything, exactly. I was hoping for something, that's all. I guess I was wrong to even hope for that.'

Strange didn't feel the need to respond. He passed Buchanan and continued north.

'Hey,' said Quinn, 'you missed your house.'

'I'm droppin' you off at your place, Terry. When I get close like this I need to think everything out my own self

'You're not gonna cut me out of this now, are you?'

Strange said, 'I'll phone you later tonight.'

After he dropped off Quinn, Strange stopped at the Safeway on Piney Branch. When the woman behind the glass handed him the packet of photographs, she said, 'These been in here a long time, Mr Wilson,' and Strange said, 'Thanks for keepin' 'em safe.'

He drove back to the car rental on Georgia, dropped off the Lumina, and picked up his Caprice, which he had left on the lot. Back at his row house, he fed Greco, showered, changed into sweats, went into his office, and had a seat at his desk. There was a message from Lydell Blue on his machine: the numbers on the cruiser matched up with a Crown Vic driven by a street cop named Adonis Delgado. Strange wrote down Delgado's name.

Strange angled his desk lamp down and studied the photographs he had picked up at Safeway. Halfway through them, his blood jumped. He said, 'I'll be goddamned,' and said it again as he went through the rest. He opened the notebook and read the ten log-style pages of text, detailing by date, time, and location the progress of Chris Wilson's own investigation. Strange reached for the phone, lifted the receiver, then replaced the receiver in its cradle. In an envelope in his file cabinet, he found the taped conversations he had recorded. He listened to them through. He rewound the tape to the sections that interested him and listened to those sections two more times.

Strange sat back in his chair. He reached down and patted Greco's head. He folded his arms and stared at the ceiling. He ran his finger through the dust that had settled on his desk. He exhaled slowly, sat forward, and pulled the telephone toward him. He dialed a number, and on the third ring a voice came on the other end of the line.