"I saw the drawings. And this chick who went off the bridge taught art at St. Pat's."

"Yeah."

"We got nothing on it, Lucas. She went through a meat grinder under that dam. We looked through her house, we looked through her car, no blood, no signs of a struggle. No nothin'. We talked to a couple of people in her department who said she was angry and aggressive and confrontational and maybe depressed. And maybe an unfulfilled lesbo. So…"

"No sign that she was strangled?"

"She wasn't that beat up. No, she wasn't strangled."

"Okay. Just a thought," Lucas said.

"Where are you at?" Allport asked.

"Over by St. Pat's."

"You aren't more than ten minutes from her house, then. Run across the Lake Street Bridge. She's practically right there. We had her car towed back to her place. You could look at it there, if you want."

Lucas looked at his watch, then said, "How do I get in?"

HE HAD TO wait in the driveway for five minutes before the squad car showed. The patrol cop gave him the keys, and Lucas let himself inside. In ten minutes, he figured out that Neumann must have had a cat; not much else occurred to him. The house was ready for somebody to come back.

Her car was in the garage. He snapped on an overhead light, opened the door, and looked inside. She had not been particularly tidy about her transportation: The backseat was littered with old newspapers, memos, and empty Diet Coke bottles, along with a few wadded-up translucent paper sacks of the kind that usually held bakery. Lucas looked through it, found nothing, looked under the visor and in the glove box. A couple of cash register slips lay on the passenger-side floor, and he picked them up and turned them over. One came from a Kinko's: She had apparently done some copying. The other came from a supermarket. Forty dollars worth of groceries, cat litter, Tampax, and lightbulbs. At the bottom were the date and time: ten o'clock on the night she'd apparently died.

Lucas scratched his head. The house inside had been fairly empty…

He carried the slip back to the house and looked in the refrigerator and cupboards. Found a box of cat litter of the same brand, almost empty. Found a box of Tampax, almost empty.

He went back to the car and popped the trunk. No groceries.

"All right," he said. He called Allport with his cell phone.

"I just got back from lighting candles at the Cathedral. I was praying you wouldn't call back," Allport said.

"I found this cash register receipt," Lucas said.

He explained, and Allport said, "With the thing about the Tampax and the cat litter, it don't sound like she was taking food to a shut-in."

"No. She needed the stuff on this list. She got two quarts of two-percent milk, and there was an empty two-quart carton of two-percent in her garbage under the sink. She got bite-sized shredded wheat, and she had less than half a box of the same stuff in her cupboard."

"Goddamnit, where'd the fuckin' groceries go? I'll talk to the guys who found the car. Maybe they donated them or something."

"You think?"

"No. I don't think. Why don't you stay there for a few minutes. I'm gonna run over and get that cash register tape."

Allport showed up a half hour later, shaking his head. "The guys who found the car said there was nothing in it. No groceries."

"They're telling the truth?"

"Yup."

"Hard to believe that somebody knocked her on the head for her groceries," Lucas said.

"Stranger things have happened. You get some bums around that bridge-"

"Who knocked her on the head, threw her off the bridge, stole her groceries, but left her empty car in the street with the doors locked and two dollars in quarters in the parking-meter change holder."

"Probably not," Allport said glumly.

"Maybe the groceries depressed her and she took them with her," Lucas suggested. "You find any dead Tampax floating down the river?"

"Goddamnit."

WHEN LUCAS GOT back to City Hall, Marcy Sherrill told him that the task force would meet the next day to get organized. "McGrady called. They think the hill's clean. They think they got all of them."

"So we're all done."

"Not quite. The feds want to resurvey the whole hill. They're bringing in a team from Washington."

"Lake is pretty good, I think. If he can't find any more, then there probably aren't any."

"Eight's enough. Nine would be excessive."

"Yeah… All right, I got two things." He told her about the wall at St. Pat's and the professor found in the river. "What I want you to do is get a couple of guys working on St. Pat's connections. Get the names of everybody in the St. Pat's art department and run them. If you can't do it personally, get Sloan to do it. Black can be a little sloppy with that kind of thing. And do a background on this professor, the one who went over the dam."

"I'll do that. Are you off again?"

"Nope. I've got to make a couple of phone calls. Something just popped into my head."

He began by calling St. Paul Homicide and getting contact numbers for Charlotte Neumann, the art professor. She had no local relatives, so he started with the department secretary. After identifying himself, he asked, "Did Miz Neumann have any expensive jewelry?"

"Uh, a few pieces, I guess. She was a widow, you know."

"No, I didn't."

"Oh, yes, her husband was quite a bit older, a very well-known architect in Rochester. She had a nice diamond engagement ring-beautiful rose-cut diamond, a carat and a half, I think-and her wedding ring was gold, of course."

"Did she wear it?"

"Oh, yes. Not the diamond very often, but she wore the wedding ring, on her right hand. She also had an older woman's gold Rolex watch, which she liked because she worked in clay as her… artistic expression, I suppose you'd say. She said the dust didn't get in the Rolex like it did other watches. She also had a ring with a small green stone which might have been an emerald, but I'm not sure. Oh, and sapphire-and-diamond earrings. The earrings were very modest, but the sapphires were huge. A carat each. So blue they almost looked black. And, hmm… I think that was about it."

"No pearls?"

"Oh, sure, she had a string of pearls with matching earrings. I don't know how expensive they were. She wore them for routine cocktails sessions and so on. Social gatherings at the president's house."

"Listen: Thank you. You've really helped a lot." Lucas hung up and redialed St. Paul Homicide. "When you guys went through Neumann's house, did you inventory the valuables?"

"Sure. Want me to shoot you the list? There's not much on it."

Lucas felt the tingle. "You have it? The list?"

"Yeah, just a minute." The phone clunked on Allport's desk, and he went away. He was back in a minute, and he said, "She didn't accumulate a lot."

"She wore an older gold Rolex watch, had a diamond engagement ring, with a big diamond, maybe a carat and a half, pearls, a greenstone ring that might have been an emerald, and diamond-and-sapphire earrings. Big sapphires. Very expensive."

Long silence. Then: "You're really busting my balls, man."

"None of it's on the list?"

"No. I'll check with the guys," Allport said.

"She also wore a gold wedding band on her right hand," Lucas said.

"No wedding band. Nothing like that."

"What do you think?"

"I think I'm gonna wind up working overtime."

Lucas leaned toward his door and yelled, "MARCY."

She yelled back: "WHAT?"

"Do you have the number for Aronson's folks?"

She dug it out and brought it in. "What's going on?"

"Tell you in a minute," he said. She sat down, and Lucas dialed the number. Aronson's mother was named Dolly. She asked, quietly, "Did you catch him?"

"Not yet," Lucas said.

"I'm praying for it."

"Mrs. Aronson, did your daughter have anything expensive, especially jewelry, or anything small and high value like that, that might be missing?"