“I feel bad making Patty and the DNA techs go through so many hoops for us,” I said. “Could be an innocent explanation.”

“Like somebody picked up some flotsam and jetsam at the scene of the wreck, and didn’t think it was connected to the case? Just tossed it out in a ditch at City Hall?”

I smiled at Mike. “You’ve been looking for the cross-dresser in this case from day one. Maybe that’s all it was-debris on the beach, so far as anyone knew. Somebody grabbed it and forgot to throw it away. Whoever had it in his pocket didn’t want to be embarrassed getting caught with makeup going through the metal detector.”

“Good for you, Coop. At least you’re not seeing the bogeyman everywhere. Maybe we just wasted the last few hours. Show me Donny Baynes in lingerie and makeup and I’ll be satisfied.”

“All worth the time just to meet Patty,” I said. “Maybe the puzzles will unravel in my dreams.”

“Do me a favor?” Mike asked as I opened the car door.

“Sure.”

“Double down on that Dewar’s tonight. I want you to sleep like a baby.”

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Thanks for pushing them on that touch DNA rush,” Mike said.

“Sure.”

We had dropped the plastic bag off at the lab on our way here, causing no small annoyance to the terrifically overworked staff.

“You got plans or you staying home tomorrow?”

“The Sunday morning newspaper, a pile of bills, Christmas correspondence that stacked up while I was away, and a long afternoon nap. I promise not to cause any trouble.”

One of the doormen came to help me out of the car and escort me inside.

I went upstairs and let myself into the apartment. The quiet of my own space was comforting after the day’s unexpected encounters.

I undressed and pulled back the comforter just far enough for me to slide into bed. I didn’t even feel like a drink. I pressed the button and listened to messages from friends. Joan and Jim had flown in from D.C. and tried to find me for dinner, and the office team was eager for updates. My parents were urging me to join them for a warm weekend in the Caribbean sun later in the month, and I hoped they were blissfully unaware, at that very long distance, of the turmoil that had enveloped my professional life.

Luc’s voice was warm and loving. I put my head on the pillow and replayed his message several times. His day had started at dawn, at the market in Cannes; then he took his kids to the museum in St. Paul de Vence for the afternoon; and described in detail the feast he enjoyed with two other couples I knew at his restaurant in Mougins. A little too much champagne, it sounded, infused his words with a slight slurring of affection, but it was a calming way to end the evening.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d turned my lights out this early.

Sleep washed over me and I gave in to it without resistance.

The phone rang shortly before four A.M. I sat up, pleased I hadn’t anesthetized myself with alcohol.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Alex.” There was no mistaking Mercer’s voice. “I’m just through the tunnel on my way uptown. I think you might want to tag-team me.”

“On what?”

“The Three-three just broke up what they thought was a domestic. Not quite the usual thing. A guy in a Jaguar arguing with a woman.”

“A Jag in the Three-three? The jerk might as well have lit himself up in neon.”

“It gets better. She’s standing out on the sidewalk screaming bloody murder but took off on a fast trot when the cops appeared. She left something behind in the car that might interest you.”

“I’m all ears, Mercer.”

“A perfectly healthy little girl, around nineteen months old. She’s got a gold locket around her neck, engraved with the name Ana.”

I was out of bed, reaching for my clothes. “They get the driver, or did he run too?”

“He’s sitting in the station house, waiting for you. It’s your friend Ethan Leighton.”

FORTY-ONE

The child was sound asleep in a portable carrier that had been brought in from the car. A young policewoman was watching over her in a quiet corner of the detective squad room on the second floor of the Thirty-third Precinct station house on Amsterdam Avenue.

I noticed them before I saw the congressman sitting at a desk in the corner. He looked even more drawn than he had yesterday in the park, now dressed in a black-and-gray argyle sweater. Over his shoulders, he had one of those all-weather jackets with corduroy collars that made him look ready to embark on an early morning hunt from Balmoral Castle.

“This is the last thing I expected to happen during the night, Ethan.”

“Hello, Alex.”

I could barely hear him, even though I was only several feet away.

“This is Mercer Wallace. He’s a detective from the Special Victims Unit.”

Leighton nodded. “Am I being held here in custody?”

“Not as I understand it.”

“Free to leave?”

“We have some questions we’d like to ask you. We’ll wait till Lem gets here.”

“I haven’t called Lem.”

Leighton was staring at the floor. I looked over at Mercer and shook my head. “I’d better do that.”

“You don’t need to.”

“Actually, I do.”

“I fired Lem Howell.”

“You what? You couldn’t have a better lawyer. When did you do that?”

“Late last night. I’ll be representing myself.” Ethan Leighton picked his head up and looked at me. His eyes narrowed to dark slits, hooded by heavy lids. “What do you want to know?”

The cops who brought the congressman into the station house had not charged him with any crime, even before they had identified him. The car was registered to his father, he didn’t appear to be intoxicated, and the screaming woman who had attracted police attention didn’t wait around long enough to make a complaint to them.

Mercer nodded at me to start asking questions. “Why don’t you tell me where Ana has been since the night you were arrested? Who the woman was making a scene up here in the middle of the night?”

Leighton put his jacket on and started walking toward the baby in the carrier.

“Not the baby, sir.”

“What?”

“You can’t take the baby with you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mr. Wallace. She’s my child.”

“Right now we don’t know who she is.”

“I’m telling you who she is. She’s my daughter.” Leighton turned to me. “Tell him this is my child, Alex. Doesn’t he read the newspapers?”

“No need to raise your voice, Ethan. You don’t want to talk to me, so just head off into the night and we’ll take good care of Ana, I promise you.”

“Has your daughter ever lived with you?” Mercer asked, even though he knew the answer.

“No. But she’s going to live with us now.”

“In your wallet, sir, do you have any kind of identification for her? Any medical card, for example? A photograph?”

“I don’t have any forms, any cards. I-I’ll have to get those. Her mother’s been killed, Detective. Have a heart.”

There was a slight tremor in Leighton’s hands when he reached for his wallet. “At my office, I’ve got results of a DNA test that established my paternity of Ana. Obviously, I wasn’t married to her mother. You can pick it up from my secretary on Monday.”

Someone had done a banner business in faking paternity tests. Leighton must have caved to Salma’s demands when he saw the report that even an amateur could have forged, with the indecipherable markings of a DNA match.

“Who was the woman in the street, Ethan? The woman who was screaming at you?”

He pretended not to hear me as he stalled for time, for a way to resolve this potentially explosive incident. The tabloid feeding frenzy would crush any hopes he had of disposing of his drunk driving case.

“Who was the woman in the street?”

Leighton glanced at the sleeping baby but didn’t answer. The tic in his eye was getting more pronounced.