Peter held up two fingers. “Two things. The guy who did the shooting? He was a member of the group that Bruce Spicer is mixed up with. He was one of the people who got hauled in along with Spicer during the chicken-liver incident. Lewis did a little investigating on his own and discovered that.”

“I did crap work for you, Peter. I’m sorry.”

“Forget it. Number two. Big number two. The doctor who was killed was a close personal friend of Lewis. They went back over thirty years.”

I allowed the information to seep in. “Then we might not be talking ‘awesome instincts’ here, Peter. We might be talking someone who’s leading with his anger. What you’re telling me is that your boss wouldn’t mind revenge.”

Peter let his breath out slowly. “I don’t know what I’m telling you. That’s the whole damn problem. I know I don’t have to remind you how important this case is.”

“I know it’s important, counselor. I just hope you’re ready to let it go if things start to fall in other directions. Look, I know you and Gottlieb have spent the better part of the past ten months trying to nail Marshall Fox to the wall for Blair and Rossman.”

“But?”

“But Robin Burrell and Zachary Riddick were killed in the same fashion as those two women. If you’re cutting me loose to find out who did these recent murders, you just have to understand that I’m not going to be operating with a closed mind about Marshall Fox’s guilt or innocence. If I-”

Peter exploded. “Fox’s innocence? Jesus, Fritz, cut me a big fat fucking break right here, you have got to be kidding!” He implored the heavens. “That son of a bitch slaughtered his…uh-uh. Forget it. Don’t even go there. We’ve got him. I don’t care if that jury does fall apart and blow away, we got the bastard who killed those two women! Our case is solid. Someone is trying to blow smoke all over the whole damn thing. That’s what’s happening. If it isn’t Bruce Spicer, it’s someone else.”

“All I’m saying-”

He wasn’t finished. “These are copycat killings. Come on, don’t get yourself all turned around. That’s exactly what the killer wants. I need you thinking straight here.” He pointed a finger at me. “We got the right killer. We got Fox. There’s nothing to investigate there. Zero. You do what we’ve hired you to do. Is that understood?”

He didn’t wait for an answer but turned abruptly and pushed back through the revolving door. It was one of those ultra-smooth revolving doors. It took the power of Peter’s force, swallowed him up instantly, and continued revolving after he was well out of it and back inside the building. I stood a moment watching my own reflection flashing in the door panels.

I SWUNG BY THE Reuters Building. A folder was waiting for me. It contained two résumés. Back at my office, I gave the résumés a look. I was just reaching for the phone to call Megan Lamb when it rang.

“Mr. Malone? This…” The wavering signal gobbled up the rest of the sentence. It was a woman’s voice.

“I didn’t catch that,” I said.

“It’s Michelle Poole. From the Quaker meeting. He’s here!”

“Who? Who’s where?” I bolted upright in my chair. “Where are you?”

“I’m in my apartment. Remember I told you I’ve been feeling like someone’s following me all the time? I felt it again when I was coming down the block just now. He’s really there. I saw him. He was definitely following me. I…I peeked out my window a minute ago, and he’s still…oh my God.”

“Give me your address!” I grabbed a pen and scribbled down the address. “Give me your phone numbers. Home and cell.” I scribbled those down as well. “I’m on my way. Listen to me. Call my number every five minutes. You got that?”

“But what-”

“Call! If you get voice mail, just say hi and hang up. Whatever you do, stay away from the window. Just hang tight.”

“I’m scared. Hurry. Please. I don’t-”

I nearly took out the tax accountant who works two doors down from me. He was shuffling toward the men’s room, holding a key attached to a clipboard. I missed him by an inch.

18

I HIT THE STREET in five minutes. Four of them were spent on the elevator going down from my office to the street. It was lunchtime. The elevator eased to a stop over and over again.

Twelfth floor…

Eleventh floor…

Ninth floor…

Eighth floor…

Fourth floor…

Third floor…

Outside, I hailed a cab. I tossed a handful of bills on the front seat and told the driver to go reckless. Eight minutes later, I had him pull over a block from Michelle Poole’s building.

Michelle lived on Twenty-seventh Street, near Third Avenue. Close enough to where Zachary Riddick had lived, I realized, to account easily for Michelle’s several sightings of the lawyer. As I got out of the car, I registered this factoid and tucked it away in a deep file. Riddick hadn’t necessarily been stalking Robin’s friend. The woman was just jumpy. In that case, maybe-

I spotted him.

He was standing outside of a stone church in the middle of the block. The church had large red doors, and he was leaning up against one of them, smoking a cigarette. My heart slammed against my rib cage.

It was Ratface. The guy I had noticed at the Quaker meeting. He was wearing a baseball cap, but otherwise he was dressed the same as before. As I watched, he pulled a fresh cigarette from a pack in his coat pocket, lit it off the first one and flicked the old one to the sidewalk, just missing a man walking by. The man must have said something to him. Ratface gave the man the finger, took a drag on his new cigarette and refixed his gaze on the building across the street. As I rounded the corner, he looked up and saw me. The red door behind him opened, and as an elderly woman exited the church, Ratface flicked his cigarette to the sidewalk and ran inside the church. I picked up my pace. Full speed.

The church was dark except for the altar area. In the rows of shadowy pews, I could make out a dozen or so people sitting quietly in the dark. There was a center aisle as well as aisles running down either side of the church. They appeared to be empty. There was no way Ratface could have already raced down the length of any aisle and disappeared into another part of the church. He was here. In the dark. I started to pull out my gun then hesitated. Not here. Not yet, anyway.

I started slowly down the center aisle, checking the faces of the people in the pews. I couldn’t imagine that he would have had the wherewithal to slip into a pew and try to blend in. My mind gave me an image. A man shrinking with tremendous quickness, his clothes dropping to the floor as if he has vanished altogether, and a black hairy rat scurrying out from under the clothes and darting into the shadows.

I was nearly right.

“Hey!” Partway down the pew I was approaching, a man leaped to his feet. “What in the world…?”

Ratface bobbed to his feet at the far end of the pew. As soon as he’d entered the church, he must have hit the floor and scurried beneath the pews, making his way forward on knees and elbows. He took off running. He was through the door at the end of the aisle before I was halfway down the narrow pew. I leaped onto the pew, where I could run faster.

“Move!”

The man sitting in the pew lurched forward. I cleared him, pounding my way to the end of the pew. I hit the aisle and raced to the door. Behind it, a set of winding stairs led to the basement level. I heard a sound from below-a clanging-and took off down the stairs. They wound down to a basement hallway that ran under the altar. A small kitchenette. Two restrooms. A large open room with a piano and folding chairs. And a door directly to my left. I paused. I tried the door. Locked. Or perhaps the doorknob was being held. I squeezed the knob and tried to twist it. It seemed like it was giving a little.