“Were working,” Tess echoed, recognizing the importance of the verb tense.

“Well, it led to a kind of dead end, didn’t it? No pun intended. Even if we can clear a bunch of burglary cases and the assault, it doesn’t really tell us why Bobby Hilliard was killed. Which is the way the case gets cleared, after all. His victims are fine upstanding types. The kind of people who holler for the police when any little thing goes wrong, not do-it-yourselfers. Unless-”

“Unless?”

“Unless the way Bobby got to them was the way he got to Shawn Hayes. I don’t know from hate crimes, but if he went after guys who weren’t up front about their… preferences, they could be reluctant to tell us about it, you know? There may be victims out there we don’t even know about, because they’d rather live with the loss than tell anyone how it happened. Bobby Hilliard knew someone was angry at him. He bought a gun the first week of January, and he had it on him when he was killed.”

“I had no idea,” Tess said. “You’ve kept that out of the papers. But I can’t say I blame him for carrying. I’m doing the same.”

“Here?” Rainer asked.

“No, I didn’t want to hassle with bringing a weapon into the police department. It’s locked in the glove compartment of Tyner’s van. I’m keeping it on me at all other times, however. I have a license. It’s legal.”

“It’s legal,” Rainer said, “but that doesn’t make it prudent.” He bit the last word into two harsh syllables, so Tess needed a second to catch what he said. In Rainer’s mouth, Pru Dent sounded like a distant cousin of Carte Blanche. At any rate, she wasn’t going to get drawn into a discussion of the second amendment with Rainer.

“So I guess Arnold Pitts has to move to the top of your suspect list, right? He was intent on finding Bobby Hilliard, he was Bobby Hilliard’s victim. And he clearly attached much value to this bracelet, for whatever reason. Have you been to his house? The guy fetishizes objects. I’d hate to see what would happen to anyone who broke one of his cookie jars.”

“Yeah, I been. Okay, so the guy wants to get this bracelet back. But where did he get something like this, anyway? It’s not what he usually traffics in. And why hire a private detective if he’s just going to follow the guy and cap him?” Rainer asked. “What’s the point?”

“To set up an alibi of sorts,” Tyner offered, but even he didn’t sound convinced. “By making a big show of sending someone to go to the grave site that night, he creates the suggestion that he has no intention of being there.”

“You’ve met Pitts,” Rainer said to Tess. “You’ve seen him.”

“Twice now.”

“How tall would you say he is?”

She held her palm to her collarbone and made a quick calculation. “Five-two?”

“On a good day. And Jim Yeager?”

“Two, maybe three inches taller than I am. I’d put him at six feet, although at least two inches of it was hair.”

“Well, we don’t know who shot Bobby Hilliard for sure, but we know that the other guy in the cape was taller than he was, right? He’s not off the hook, not by a long shot. Quite the opposite, since you showed me all the little gifts you’ve been receiving.”

“There’s no evidence they’re the same, Poe’s Visitor and my creep.”

“Okay, but hold on. For Yeager, we got an eyewitness, a pretty good one, given that she was a block away. She says the guy who stabbed him was almost as tall, if not taller, and unless Pitts was tottering around on stilts, that eliminates him. So, yeah, I got a lot of questions for Arnold Pitts, but I’m afraid he’s going to have some good answers. It’s the other guy I want, Mr. Visitor, and I’m putting that word out. At the very least, he’s an eyewitness to a crime. It’s his civic duty to come forward, but if he doesn’t I’m gonna find him. No more Mr. Nice Guy.”

“How are you going to find him if no one knows who he is?” Tyner asked, curious.

“I’m a cop. It’s what I do. No one can keep a secret, and there’s someone in Baltimore who knows who this guy is, because he told him. Got drunk at a party or showed his wife the cape one night. Even Superman ended up telling Lois Lane who he was. So I’ll find him.”

Tess took out a digital camera, her latest toy. It was helpful to know what the photo was going to look like before you took it, and then to be able to enter the photos into her computer files. Besides, maybe she’d get her own Web site, put up her favorite surveillance shots, charge for downloading the naked ones. Www.TessMonaghan.com.

“You gonna immortalize me for your scrapbook?” Rainer asked.

“No, I want to take several photographs of the bracelet, so I can show it to some people around town, see if they can tell me if it’s real or not.”

“That’s our job,” Rainer objected. “Dammit, you gotta stop this. I thought that was the whole point of this meeting. You let us do our job, and you do yours.”

“This is my job. I’m working for the Hilliards. They’re entitled to know the value of this item they’ve voluntarily surrendered to police and entitled to know if their son came by it legally. If he didn’t steal it, they should get it back when this is all over. I’m taking a photograph so I can take it around to some local appraisers and history types, see if they’ve even heard of such an item.”

“Is that all you’re doing?”

“For now. The Hilliards would like me to prove Bobby isn’t the person who attacked Shawn Hayes, Jim Yeager’s nattering to the contrary.”

“What, they think they’re going to cash in on some big lawsuit?”

“Bobby’s dead,” Tyner said. “And therefore can’t be libeled under the law. Yeager’s death doesn’t make him an ideal defendant, anyway, although I suppose one could pursue a claim against his estate. But, no, the Hilliards aren’t trying to cash in on their son’s death. They want to know the truth, even if it’s ugly.”

“Speaking of ugly”-Rainer’s smile was malicious, an effect heightened by the poppy seeds caught in his teeth-“you haven’t asked me about our eyewitness, the one who saw Yeager killed.”

Tess centered the bracelet in the frame, checked the view on the back of the camera, clicked the shutter. “You said they had a date. I guess I assumed it was someone from the local escort service, the little wifey in Washington notwithstanding.”

“Oh, I don’t think you’d get that kind of date with this gal. They say it’s a small world, but what are the odds that the person who saw Yeager killed happened to be one of the last people he ever interviewed?”

“You mean-”

Rainer nodded, enjoying her consternation. “Cecilia Cesnik was waiting for Yeager on the corner. And don’t think the cops assigned to the case won’t be looking hard at that happy coincidence.”

“But I got a phone call-”

“Yeah, you got a phone call. People get them every day. And for all we know, you were set up to get that phone call so we wouldn’t look at all the possibilities. But not to worry. Your buddy Tull is the secondary on Yeager, so I’m sure you’ll get all the scoop you need.”

“You don’t think Cecilia-”

“I don’t gotta think. It’s not my case, and I want it to stay that way. Jim Yeager was on the television, screaming about how Bobby Hilliard’s killer was a hero, that we should pin a medal on him, so why would that guy want to kill him? The way I see it, there’s no end of people who wanted to shut Yeager up. Start with the guest list from that night’s show. Or maybe Jim Yeager was assassinated by the fairy patrol, the Gay-Antidefamation League. Hey, that spells GAL.”

He laughed at what he mistook as wit, while Tess and Tyner shared a covert glance of dismay. It wasn’t just the horrible phrase Rainer had used, it was the way something brightened in his face, the joy he found in the slur.

“So,” Tess said, putting away her camera, “take care of these things, okay? Especially the bracelet.”

“We always do.”