Onthe seat was a small pile of papers. Jessica held the Kleenex tightly, sortedthrough them. There were a pair of flyers for a recent Oktoberfest in Kelton, acoupon for a free car wash. There was a brochure for tours of Philadelphia. Atthe bottom was a postcard depicting a beach in South Carolina. Greetingsfrom Edisto Island. Jessica flipped the card over, angled her Maglite.

    Lookingforward to seeing you and everyone at Société Poursuite!

    I'llbe staying at the Hyatt Penn's Landing. Look me up and we'll have a drink.

    Itwas signed, simply, R.

    Jessicaglanced at the date on the postmark. It was from the previous Friday.

    Sheslipped the postcard back where it had been, closed the truck door, and walkedout of the garage. She told Byrne about the postcard.

    'Itlooks like he might be at the annual meeting of the Société Poursuite.'

    'That'sthe group that handles the cold cases, right?'

    'Andthese are all—'

    'Coldcases,' Byrne said. 'Melina Laskaris, Marcellus Palmer, Antoinette Chan, andPeggy van Tassel are all open investigations, just the kind of thing a grouplike Société Poursuite would look into.'

    Jessicanodded, thought for a moment. 'Logan said this guy used to be a state trooper.Maybe he's a member.'

    'Thatconvention is this week.'

    Itoccurred to both of them at the same time.

    'He'sin Philly,' Jessica said.

    'He'sin Philly.'

Chapter 67

    InJuly 1998, at a small Italian restaurant in Queens, New York - an old-schooltrattoria on Astoria Boulevard called Theresa's - a man named Paul Ferrone, aretired NYPD detective, met with two of his oldest friends.

    Thethree men had been meeting at Theresa's every month for the past four years,mostly for two reasons. One, Theresa Colopinti's chicken with peppers was thebest in the city of New York. More importantly, the second reason was thatthese three men genuinely enjoyed each other's company.

    Aftertheir entree plates were cleared, they began to talk about murder, as was theircustom. Cold-case murder. Paul Ferrone's two friends - Matt Grayson, a retiredforensic dentist from Newark, New Jersey, and Eli O'Steen, a retired judge fromBrooklyn - had been thinking about forming a group that did this sort of thingwith regularity, a group that would expand beyond the three of them.

    Onthat night they created an association called Societe Poursuite, anhomage to the Vidocq Society, a similarly themed group named after anineteenth-century French detective named Eugene Francois Vidocq.

    Similarin some ways to the Vidocq Society, Societe Poursuite - which translatedas Pursuit Society - now boasted more than three hundred and seventy membersworldwide. And since its inception on that summer night in 1998, it hadcontributed to the solving of more than sixty homicides around the world.

    Thegroup met every month in New York City, with their annual conclave held in adifferent major city on the east coast each October, rotating between New York,Philadelphia, and Washington D.C.

    Thisyear their eleventh annual conclave would meet in Philadelphia, at the LeJardin hotel. On the final night, an evening which would include a five-coursemeal prepared by the hotel's Michelin-starred chef Alain Cochel, there would bea speech by the Attorney General for the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania.

    WhenJessica and Byrne arrived at Le Jardin they were met in the lobby by thehotel's director of security, John Shepherd.

    Shepherdhad been a homicide detective in Philadelphia for more than twenty years. WhenJessica had come into the unit, it had been Kevin Byrne and John Shepherd whohad showed her the ropes. While Byrne taught her - indeed, in many ways wasstill teaching her - how to work a crime scene, it was John Shepherd who taughther how to walk into an interrogation room, how to position her body at firstso as not to intimidate, how to walk that gossamer-thin line between treatingsomeone like a suspect and like a witness, how to coax that first lie out oftheir mouths, and then, an hour or two later, how to slam it back in theirfaces.

    ThePPD had lost a great one when he retired.

    JohnShepherd, turned out in a smart navy blue suit, opened his arms. 'Jess,' hesaid. 'Beautiful as ever.'

    Theyembraced. Even though they were still on the same side, they were no longer onthe same team, and shows of affection were now allowed. 'We miss you, John.'

    Shepherdlooked at Byrne. 'And if I wasn't head of security here, I'd have to callsecurity on this shady-looking character.'

    Thetwo men did the handshake, shoulder-bump, back-slap, I-swear-to-God-I'm-not-gay thing. Men, Jessica thought. God forbid theyshould show emotion in public. Cops were the worst.

    'Youlook good, Johnny,' Byrne said.

    'Underworkedand overpaid.'

    Shepherddid look healthier than he ever had. Anytime you could get away from cop foodand cop hours, you looked better. Tall and Denzel-handsome, now in hissalt-and-pepper fifties, Shepherd looked relaxed, and in charge.

    Heled them to the other side of the lobby, to the other side of a tallfrosted-glass panel that somehow managed to keep the noise of arriving guestsout of the tastefully appointed lounge.

    Theystood at the far end of the bar, away from everyone. Without asking, three cupsof coffee, with creamers on ice, were put in front of them.

    'Sowhat are you up to?' Shepherd asked. 'Keeping the peace?'

    'Disturbingit whenever possible,' Byrne said. 'How are things here?'

    'Hada door pusher last month.'

    Adoor pusher was one of the more unsophisticated breeds of hotel criminal. Hewas a guy who got into the hotel, went to upper floors, and simply pushed ondoors to find one that was unlocked, or improperly closed or, God help the roomattendant, left open by housekeeping. These were guys who always had a recordfor B & E, generally nonviolent types but a real nuisance in hotel securitywork.

    'Youtake him down?' Byrne asked.

    'Guyhit the Sheraton Society Hill in March, moved over to the Hyatt Penn's Landingin May. We had him on tape, but he was slick - ball caps, glasses, packing hiswaist to look heavier. Wore a suit one time, sweats and sneaks the next. We gothim, though.'

    Theykicked the cop talk around for a while, until Shepherd moved his stool closerand lowered his voice. 'Now, I know how magnetic and incredibly charming I am,but I think y'all are here for another reason.'

    Byrnetook a moment. 'There's a convention here. We think we might have a connectionto a case we're working.'

    Shepherdnodded. 'The serial?'

    'Yeah.'

    'Layit out.'

    Byrnetold Shepherd the details.

    'Andhis name is George Archer?' Shepherd asked.

    'Yeah.'

    'Hangon.'

    Shepherdleft the bar, returned a few minutes later. 'No one registered here under thatname. Maybe he's staying somewhere else. Do you have a description on the guy?'

    'Notyet,' Byrne said. 'We have a request in to the state police. But they may noteven have a picture. The guy was questioned, but he was never arrested orcharged.'

    Shepherdnodded. He'd been right where Jessica and Byrne were.

    'Canyou reach out to some of the other hotels, see if they have a George Archer?'Byrne asked.

    'Noproblem. I'll make a few calls.' Shepherd pointed to the other side of thelobby. 'They're setting up in the Crystal Room right now. It's going to be abig deal tonight, even bigger tomorrow.'