But it was Joey who backed up a step, a funny little grin twisting his lips. "Oh. Hey, Quentin. Long time no see."

"Oh, it's just been a few months," Quentin said cheerfully. "Still, we have so much to catch up on. What say we step into your office and talk about old times, okay, Joey?"

Without protest and with rather astonishing meekness, Joey turned and led the way to a back hall and an incredibly filthy men's room. Kendra did her best not to touch anything and wondered vaguely if she could throw her shoes away the moment they got out of here; there was something crunching underfoot and she really didn't want to look down and see what it was.

Joey didn't object to her presence, which was hardly surprising since he didn't take his eyes off Quentin.

"You back for good?" he asked, hoping transparently for a negative response.

"Nah, just visiting, as usual. You keeping your nose clean, Joey?"

"Sure I am, Quentin."

Quentin lifted a disbelieving brow.

"Okay, I mighta been in a little trouble here and there, but nothing major."

"You haven't killed anybody else, have you, Joey?"

"No, I swear."

"I can find out if you're lying to me. You know I can."

Joey's lips twisted again in that sick little grin. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Honest, Quentin, I been good. Ask anybody."

"I'll do that, Joey. In the meantime, I'm looking for a little information."

"Okay, sure. Shoot."

"You know about the disappearance of Samantha Mitchell?"

Joey frowned for a moment, gears almost visibly turning, then nodded. "Oh, yeah. S'posed to be another one grabbed by that rapist."

"That's right. But now somebody's claiming to have kidnapped her. And that somebody wants her husband to cough up a ransom."

Joey shifted uneasily. "It ain't me, Quentin."

"Then who is it, Joey? What sorry son of a bitch decided to take advantage of that poor lady's misfortune?"

"I dunno, Quentin, honest."

Gently, Quentin said, "I want you to find out for me, Joey. And I want you to find out fast. Understand?"

Joey nodded. "Okay. Okay, Quentin, I can ask around, sure. Guys owe me some favors, somebody's bound to know what's going on."

Quentin produced a card and handed it to Joey. "The underlined number is my cell phone. Use that to call me as soon as you find out what I want to know."

Joey accepted the card gingerly. "Right. Gimme a couple hours, and I'll see what I can dig up."

"Don't make me wait any longer than that, okay?"

"Sure, sure."

"Call me quick enough, and I might not have time to ask around and find out what you've been up to, Joey."

Once again, the gears turning behind Joey's round blue eyes were almost visible, and his hopeful understanding definitely was. "Yeah. Okay, yeah, I got it. I'll call, Quentin. Count on it."

They left him there, his back literally pressed up against the grimy wall between two disgusting sinks. He showed no inclination to follow them out and, in fact, when Kendra glanced back as they were leaving the poolroom, he still hadn't come out of the bathroom.

"That is one very nervous incredible hulk," she commented as they got in the car. "I'd swear he was terrified of you."

Quentin smiled as he started the car but didn't respond to the comment.

Kendra eyed him, then said, "So Joey's an old childhood pal, huh?"

"More of a childhood acquaintance, you could say."

"Uh-huh. I don't suppose you'd want to tell me about this interesting childhood of yours?"

"Oh, it's not interesting. Boring, really."

"Really?"

"Sure."

"Mmm. Somehow I doubt that. But never mind- for now. Who did Joey kill?"

"I think that's 'whom,' " he said thoughtfully.

"Stop correcting my grammar and answer the question."

"Yes, ma'am. Joey killed his father. Shotgun blast full in the face."

"Jesus. And he's running around loose? Our judicial system sucks."

"Not so much in this case. Joey was eleven when it happened, and his old man had just beaten his mother into unconsciousness for about the hundredth time. Joey walked in on it, took one look-and something snapped. He very coolly went into the bedroom, found and loaded the old man's gun, then came back and blew him away."

Kendra turned slightly in her seat to study her partner. "That was his story?"

"Well, his story for the record was that he got the gun only to defend his mother and that when his father charged toward him with murderous rage in his evil face, Joey acted purely in self-defense."

"The evidence backed him up?"

"It didn't contradict his version of events. Especially with a witness testifying on his behalf."

"A witness?"

"Yeah. A classmate had come home with him to borrow a schoolbook. That was back when Joey actually showed a glimmer of turning into something better than his old man. Anyway, the witness backed him up, and Joey got probation and therapy."

"The therapy doesn't seem to have done him much good, if he's been in trouble since then."

"No, and he dropped out of school as soon as he could outrun the truant officer. Given his genetic heritage and environment, not so surprising. His father really was one of those pure evil bastards life sometimes produces, and I hear his grandfather was worse. But Joey got enough of his mother's blood-and her influence-to make him a lot more manageable. He'd con you six ways from Sunday and pick your pockets if he found you unconscious or dead, but he's terrified of his own strength and temper; he doesn't want to turn out like his old man. To his credit, he usually manages not to turn violent."

Kendra nodded. "So why is he wary of you? Afraid you'll tell the truth after all these years?"

Quentin smiled faintly. "I wouldn't. But the possibility does help me keep Joey in line."

"Even from the other side of the country?"

"Well, I try to come back here at least once a year or so. And I always look him up, find out what he's been into." He chuckled. "Ever since I joined the Bureau, Joey's kept his nose pretty clean. I think he's seen one too many Hollywood distortions of the power of the FBI."

"So your badge helps keep him in line as well."

"So far. Joey's down as a one-time impulse killer, and I'd like to keep it that way. It's the difference between being bad and crossing over into being evil."

"Mmm." Kendra studied him a moment longer, then said, "Why do I get the feeling your enigmatic past contains a number of stories like Joey's?"

"Probably your vivid imagination."

She sighed, unsurprised. "That was a filthy place you dragged me into."

"Sorry about that."

Kendra turned her gaze to the windshield. "You owe me a new pair of shoes."

With their questions left hanging unanswered in the air but providing a definite spur, both John and Maggie volunteered to stick around for a few hours and help go through the file boxes in search of more information about the earlier crimes. Within an hour, they had files stacked on every available chair but nothing else to show for their efforts.

It was nearly one when Scott and Jennifer left to bring back a late lunch for them, and John took the opportunity to tell Andy about Quentin and Kendra.

"Shit," Andy said, though clearly more startled than angry. "FBI agents-and unofficial? I didn't know the Bureau did anything unofficially."

"They belong to a fairly new unit of investigators and have a bit more autonomy than most. They're very good, Andy, and completely trustworthy. And they aren't interested in taking any credit no matter who breaks the case."

"It was damned officious of you, John."

"I know. And I'll apologize if you want me to-not for calling them in but for not telling you I was going to."

"Gee, that's big of you."

John chuckled.

Unwilling to relent just yet, Andy gave Maggie a hard stare. "You knew about this too?"