A hand rose to my cheek.

“Gotcha.” Larabee made a finger pistol and fired it at me.

“You’re so hilarious, Hawkins may have to rol a gurney in here when I die laughing.” I told him what I’d learned from Wal y Cagle about the Lancaster skeleton, and about my conversations with Hershey Zamzow.

“I’l cal Raleigh. See if someone can drive Aiker’s dental records down,” Larabee said.

“Good.”

“Could be a breakthrough day. Jansen cal ed. Slidel cal ed. Tea party in half an hour.”

“Do they have news?”

Larabee checked, then tapped his watch.

“Main bal room in thirty minutes. Dress is casual.”

The corners of Larabee’s mouth curled upward.

“Your hair’s got a gleam to it, too.”

My eyes rol ed so far back I thought they might never return.

When Larabee moved on, I checked again with Mrs. Flowers. Stil no fax from Cagle.

I gathered and glanced through my message slips.

Jansen.

Slidel .

Cagle.

I tried Cagle’s cel . No answer.

A crime reporter with theCharlotte Observerhad cal ed.

A col eague at UNC-Greensboro.

I tried Cagle again. He stil wasn’t picking up.

I looked at my watch.

Showtime.

Placing the pink slips in the middle of my blotter, I headed for the conference room.

Larabee and Jansen were discussing the merits of the Panthers versus the Dolphins. The NTSB investigator was dressed in jeans, sandals, and a tan cotton tank from Old Navy. Her short blonde hair looked like it had just been blow-dried.

Slidel and Rinaldi arrived as Jansen and I were shaking hands.

Rinaldi was in blue blazer, gray chinos, and a turquoise and lemon Jerry Garcia tie.

Slidel was in shirtsleeves. His neckwear looked like something one got from a Kmart bargain table after the good ones had already been picked.

While the others coffeed up, I helped myself to a Diet Coke.

“Who goes first?” I asked when we’d al taken seats.

Larabee waved a palm in my direction.

I repeated what I’d told the ME about the Lancaster remains, described how I’d gotten the details from Wal y Cagle, and explained the skeleton’s possible link to the privy head and hands. I outlined what I’d learned from Hershey Zamzow and Rachel Mendelson concerning bear poaching and about the il egal trade in rare and endangered species. Final y, I dropped my bombshel about the missing wildlife agents Brian Aiker and Charlotte Grant Cobb.

As I spoke, Rinaldi took notes on his designer pad. Slidel listened, legs thrust forward, thumbs tucked into his belt.

For several seconds, no one said a word. Then Jansen slapped the table.

“Yes!”

Slidel ’s eyes crawled to her.

“Yes,” she repeated.

Unzipping a leather case, Jansen withdrew several papers, laid them on the table, ran her finger down the middle of one, stopped, and read aloud.