Lucy said to him, “Could you hit the twelve on the clock over there on the wall? If you drew your gun right this minute and took aim?”

“I ain’t interested in shooting up your aunt’s house in order to prove something to you.”

“Could you hit the twelve from where you’re standing?”

“You’re damn right.”

“You’re positive.”

“Yeah, I’m positive.”

“The lieutenant’s got a god complex,” Lucy said to me.

Marino turned to the fire, but not before I caught a flicker of a smile.

“All Neils Vander has is a workstation and printer,” Lucy said. “He’s connected to the State Police computer by modem. Has that always been the case?”

“No,” I replied. “Before he moved into the new building, there was much more equipment involved.”

“Describe it.”

“Well, there were several different components. But the actual computer was much like the one Margaret has in her office.”

Realizing Lucy had not been inside Margaret’s office, I added, “A mini.”

Firelight cast moving shadows on her face. “I’ll bet JON is a mainframe that isn’t a mainframe. I’ll bet it’s a series of minis strung together all of it connected by UNIX or some other multiuser, multitasking environment. If you got me access to the system, I could probably do it from your terminal here in the house, Aunt Kay.”

“I don’t want anything traced back to me,” I said with feeling.

“Nothing would be traced back to you. I would dial into your computer downtown, then go through a series of gateways, set up a really complicated link. By the time all was said and done, I’d be very hard to track.”

Marino headed to the bathroom.

“He acts like he lives here,” Lucy said.

“Not quite,” I replied.

Several minutes later, I walked Marino out. The crusty snow of the lawn seemed to radiate light, and the air was sharp in my lungs like the first hit of a menthol cigarette.

“I’d love it if you would join Lucy and me for Christmas dinner,” I said from the doorway.

He hesitated, looking at his car parked on the street. “That’s mighty nice of you, but I can’t make it, Doc.”

“I wish you did not dislike Lucy so much,’ I said, hurt.

“I’m tired of her treating me like a dumb shit who was born in a barn.”

“Sometimes you act like a dumb shit who was born in a barn. And you haven’t tried very hard to earn her respect.”

“She’s a spoiled Miami brat.”

“When she was ten, she was a Miami brat,” I said. “But she’s never been spoiled. In fact, quite the opposite is true. I want you two to get along. I want that for my Christmas present.”

“Who said I was giving you a Christmas present?”