Panicking again, Kim pulled the storeroom's door closed as quickly and as silently as possible. Holding the broom in both hands by the tip of its handle, he flattened himself against the wall just to the right of the door.

The sound of the footsteps stopped. Kim could hear the man cursing. Then the footfalls recommenced, increasing in intensity until they stopped just outside the door.

Kim held his breath. He gripped the broom handle harder. For an agonizing moment, nothing happened. Then he saw the door handle begin to turn. The man was coming in!

Kim's heart raced. The door was yanked open. As soon as Kim sensed the man was starting in. he gritted his teeth and swung the broom at chest height with all the strength he could muster. By chance he hit the man full in the face, knocking him back through the door. The surprise and the force of the impact dislodged the knife, and it tumbled to the floor.

Still holding the broom in his left hand, Kim leaped for the knife. He seized it, only to discover it was a flashlight, not a knife.

"Freeze!" a voice commanded.

Kim straightened up and looked into the blinding glare of another flashlight. Instinctively he raised his hand to shield his eyes. Now he could make out the man on the floor. It wasn't the Mexican but rather a man dressed in a brown Higgins and Hancock shirt. It was a security guard, and he had both hands clasped to his face. Blood was coming out of his nose.

"Drop the broom," a voice behind the glare commanded.

Kim let go of both the flashlight and the broom. Both fell to the floor with a clatter.

The bright beam of the flashlight was lowered, and to Kim's utter relief, he found himself facing two uniformed policemen. The one without the flashlight was holding his pistol in both hands, pointed directly at Kim.

"Thank God!" Kim managed, despite looking down the barrel of a gun less than ten feet away.

"Shut up!" the policeman with the gun commanded. "Get out here and face the wall!"

Kim was only too happy to comply. He stepped out of the storeroom and put his hands against the wall as he'd seen done in movies.

"Frisk him," the policeman said.

Kim felt hands run up and down his arms, legs, and torso.

"He's clean."

"Turn around!"

Kim did as he was told, keeping his hands raised to avoid any confusion as to his intentions. He was close enough to read the officers' name tags. The man with the gun was Douglas Foster. The other was Leroy McHalverson. The security guard had gotten up and was dabbing at his newly bent nose with a handkerchief. The metal portion of the whisk had hit him with enough force to break it.

"Cuff him," Douglas said.

"Hey, hold on!" Kim said. "I'm not the one you should be cuffing."

"Really?" Douglas questioned superciliously. "Who would you suggest?"

"There's someone else in here," Kim said. "A dark, wiry-looking guy with tattoos and a huge knife."

"And wearing a hockey mask, no doubt," Douglas said scoffingly. "And his name is Jason."

"I'm serious," Kim said. "The reason I'm here is because of a woman named Marsha Baldwin."

The two policemen exchanged glances.

"Honest!" Kim maintained. "She's a USDA inspector. She was here doing some work. I was talking with her by phone when someone surprised her. I heard breaking glass and a struggle. When I got here looking for her to help her, I was attacked by a man with a knife, presumably the man who attacked Ms. Baldwin."

The policemen remained skeptical.

"Look, I'm a surgeon at the University Med Center," Kim said. He fumbled in the pocket of his soiled white coat. Douglas 's grip on his pistol tightened. Kim produced his laminated hospital ID. card and handed it to Douglas. Douglas motioned for Leroy to take it.

"It looks authentic," Leroy said after a quick inspection.

"Of course it's authentic," Kim said.

"Have you doctors given up on personal hygiene?" Douglas asked.

Kim ran a hand through his scruffy beard and glanced down at his dirty coat and scrubs. He'd not showered, shaved, or changed clothes since early Friday morning. "I know I look a little worse for wear," he said. "There's an explanation. But for the moment I'm more concerned about Ms. Baldwin and the whereabouts of that man with a knife."

"What about it, Curt?" Douglas asked the security man. "Was there a woman USDA inspector here or a strange, dark, tattooed man?"

"Not to my knowledge," Curt said. "At least they didn't come in while I've been on duty. I came on at three o'clock this afternoon."

"She was talking to me on her cell phone. It's in the record room."

"That's creative," Douglas commented. "I have to give you credit for that." He looked at Curt. "Do you think we could take a look? I mean it's on our way out."

"Of course," Curt said.

While Curt led the way to the record room with Kim and Douglas in tow, Leroy went out to the squad car to make contact with the station. At the record-room threshold, Curt stepped aside and let the others enter. Once inside, Kim was immediately crestfallen. The chairs had been righted; more important, the phone was gone. "It was here, I swear," he said. "And a number of these chairs were upended."

"I didn't see any phone when I came in here to investigate the break-in," Curt said. "And the chairs were as you see them now."

"What about the broken glass-door panel?" Kim said excitedly. He pointed at the door to the front hall. "I'm sure that was the shattering noise I heard while I was on the phone with her."

"I assumed the door was just part of the break-in," Curt said. "Along with the window."

"It couldn't be," Kim said. "I broke the window, but the door panel was already broken when I got here. Look, all the glass from the door panel is on the inside. Whoever did it was in the hall."

"Hmm," Douglas said. He stared down at the broken glass at the base of the door. "He does have a point."

"Her car!" Kim said, getting another idea. "It has to be outside still. It's a yellow Ford sedan. It's parked at the end of the building."

Before Douglas could respond to this new suggestion, Leroy returned from the squad car. A wry smile lit up his broad face. "I just got off the radio with the station," he said. 'They ran a quick check for me on the good doctor, and guess what? He's got a sheet. He was arrested just last night for trespassing, resisting arrest, striking a police officer, and assault and battery on a fast-food manager. Currently he's out of the slammer on his own recognizance."

"My, my," Douglas said. "A repeat offender! Okay, Doc, enough of this nonsense. You're going downtown."

FIFTEEN

Sunday, late morning, January 25th

It was déjà vu all over again for Kim. He was back in the same courtroom with the same judge. The only real difference was the weather outside. This time there was no sun; the day was cloudy with scattered snow flurries, and Judge Harlowe's mood matched the gray day.

Kim was seated at a scarred library table alongside Tracy. Standing before them and directly below the bench was Justin Devereau, a lawyer and longtime friend of Kim's. He was aristocratic in appearance, a Harvard-trained lawyer who'd followed the old adage: "Go West, young man." He'd started what had become one of the largest and most successful law firms in the city. His case success rate was unrivaled. Yet, on this particular morning, he looked concerned. He'd been fighting an uphill battle against Judge Harlowe's ire.

Kim looked worse than ever, having spent yet another night in jail in the same outfit. He still hadn't shaved or showered. He was also clearly anxious about the outcome of the current proceedings. The last thing he wanted to do was go back to jail.