She took a bunch of the dinners and some of the corn, then managed to tug and pull the body around until she could boost it into the freezer. Johnson landed facedown, and she had to twist his legs to get him to fit inside. She slammed the lid.

With a few paper towels to wipe up the odd blood smear, she thought, everything would be as nice and tidy as Honus Johnson used to be.

And she had a new phone, a new house, and a new car.

Not bad for twenty minutes' work.

Though, she admitted to herself, moving the body had given her the willies. As did Johnson's bed. She was beat from the day, needed some sleep, but couldn't sleep with the smell of him, and his body still cooling in the freezer. She found clean sheets in a linen closet, sheets that smelled only of detergent, and crashed on the couch.

Long day coming…

18

THEY WOUND UP SITTING IN ONE OF THE FBI rental trucks, a six-seater Suburban, eating Snickers and Milky Ways, drinking Cokes and waiting for anything on the perimeter, any sign that Rinker was coming in. They got nothing except distended bladders, and strange looks in a Shell station when they repeatedly tramped through to the rest rooms. Andreno gave up at nine o'clock and took off. At ten-thirty, Mallard was willing to admit that Rinker had flown.

"We go back to the four main guys," Mallard said, in frustration. "Ross must be a target-she worked for him for too long. He must be her original connection. Dallaglio is necessary because of Dichter. If she goes after one, she'll go after the other. Giancati used her at least four or five times-one of her best customers. Ferignetti is marginal, but we can't take a chance."

"If you're gonna talk to them, I want to be there," Lucas said.

"You're invited," Mallard said. He looked out at the darkness across the brewery's parking lot. "We'll make the rounds tomorrow morning."

"Don't worry so much, Louis," Malone said. She'd gotten into a sack of Cheese Doodles, and the back of the truck was suffused with the smell of cheddar. "We'll get her. We just missed her tonight. We're closing in."

"You're sure."

"Yeah, I am," Malone said. "And I can't wait. Locking her up is gonna feel so good."

"It's gonna be hard taking her alive," Lucas said. "I think she'll fight."

"I'll take that," Malone said. And after a moment of silence: "I think I've got a pound of yellow cheese goop stuck to my teeth."

LUCAS LAY IN bed that night, listening to the trains going by along the waterfront. There was no good reason for it, but the sound of distant trains and distant truck traffic, trucks downshifting to climb a hill, left him feeling moody. People going places, doing things, while he was here in bed, alone, staring at the ceiling. He'd talked to Weather, and she was feeling fine, although beginning to wonder how much longer he'd be in St. Louis.

"I'd just like to see you," she said. "I'm getting a little lonesome."

"I'd like to see you, too. I'll give this a couple more days, and then if there's nothing definite happening, I'll run up for a day or two."

"Fly?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Brave of you."

"How's the kid?"

"Strong little thing. I think he or she is gonna be a soccer player."

"Not if I have anything to do with it," Lucas said. "I've already cut down a hockey stick."

"Still thinking about an ultrasound…"

"C'mon… that's the easy way out."

"You've already got a daughter."

"Two daughters would be wonderful. A son would be excellent. I really don't care. I just pray that the kid's healthy."

"Maybe come up for a day or two… at the end of the week?"

"Over the weekend, if nothing's happening. A guy down here told me about a weird way to induce labor. I'll show it to you when I come up."

"It's too early, Lucas."

"It doesn't always induce labor. It has other uses…"

AFTER HE RANG OFF, he wondered what Rinker was doing. She was almost certainly holed up somewhere, alone, or with a scared friend like Hill, who probably didn't want her around, and might even betray her, given the chance. That must be really lonely. The thought gave him no comfort, and the night went slowly, patches of sleep mixed with weary semiconsciousness.

He hoped, as he looked at the bedside clock at five in the morning, that they took Rinker clean. Either grabbed her or killed her, but ended it. That the FBI ended it. That he didn't have to…

WHEN LUCAS ARRIVED at the FBI offices in the morning, still sleepy, Mallard gave him a cup of good coffee and said, "Hill gave up Rinker's car and license tag. California plates. We're running them now, and every cop in St. Louis is looking for them."

"Are you going to Memphis? To talk to Hill?"

"I thought about it, but I decided to stick here… You ever hear of a lawyer named Ann Diaz? In Memphis?"

"No. Should I?"

"She's representing Hill. I got a call from the Memphis guy this morning-he talked to Hill last night, with Diaz present. Hill said that Rinker showed up on her doorstep, threatened to kill her if she thought about going to the police, and threatened to turn her in if she didn't stay straight… Hill says she was so scared that she froze for a couple of days, and then ran for it."

"Did your guy ask her how she managed to pack up everything in the place?"

"Yeah. She said that Rinker went out every day-and that she pretended that she was going to work, watched until Rinker left, then ran back, threw everything in her car, and took off. She said she packed it out of the car and mailed it to her folks, and then headed down to Memphis. She says if we don't get Rinker, Rinker will kill her."

"It's bullshit, Louis."

"I think so… but the problem is Diaz. She's pretty well known, she's got some clout in D.C., connections with all kinds of feminist groups. She could make Hill a cause. And she's tough. She won't let Hill give us anything that's not scripted."

"What're you saying?"

"Hill's gonna be a dry hole."

Lucas shrugged. "That's the way things work now. Fifty years ago, you could have taken her down the basement with a couple of steel fishing poles, and beaten the shit out of her, and after she confessed, you could've hanged her on Wednesday. Now it's just a bunch of sissies whining about civil rights."

"Thanks," Mallard said. "I enjoy being mocked before lunch."

Lucas raised his coffee cup in a semiserious toast. "Rinker was a step ahead of us, Louis. But Malone's right. It's only a half-step now. We would have found her yesterday. If she hadn't decided to book, we would have had her."

"You think she spotted us?"

"Yeah. Maybe when we were going around to the houses, or maybe she spotted the guys running in after the phone calls. But we were close."

"All right. So let's go talk to these assholes."

"I want to talk to you about that. About the approach. About tactics."

THE MEETINGS BETWEEN Mallard and Malone for the FBI on one side, and the four hoods on the other side, were like the Israelis and the Palestinians working on a deal, Lucas thought-everybody smiling and lying like motherfuckers, but still, messages were sent and received, both ways. Mallard told all four of them flatly that the FBI had tried to protect Richter and Levy, and had failed, and that they believed Rinker would be back.

"She's had a lot of time to think about her approach. I'm not sure we can stop her without your help. Or even with your help," he told them.

Giancati and Ferignetti denied having anything to do with Rinker-Ferignetti said he'd never met her, didn't know Ross except to nod to him, and said he planned to carry on with business as usual. He didn't have bodyguards because he didn't need them.

Giancati, on the other hand, was leaving for England.