Bennie shrugged. “Yeah, but we got a body this time.”

“We had a body with the Paroubek girl.”

“You think there’s a similarity?”

A shout of laughter rang through the room. “You’ll be the first to know if she does, Malcolm!” Cabell slapped the Tribune’s reporter on the back and waved his unlit cigar. “I’ll make sure of that.”

The man grinned. “Thanks, Rusty.”

Cabell let loose another raucous laugh and walked the reporter to the door. His slack mouth twisted into a smile when he spotted Francis. “Got any free tickets for the freak show, Francis?” he yelled as he headed to his office.

“Let’s go,” said Bennie, and he started for the door. Francis stayed put.

“Captain Cabell.” Francis’s voice echoed in the now-nearly-empty room. “Are you aware that four years ago, a twelve-year-old girl was found murdered inside the Hell Gate attraction at Wonderland Park in Boston?”

Bennie halted, and Cabell, too, stopped in his tracks. The desk sergeant looked up, startled.

“Deirdre Monahan, twelve years old,” Francis went on. “She had been defiled and her clothing removed. They’ve never found her killer.”

Cabell twisted the cigar between his fingers. “Well,” he said. “We’ll have to ask Smithson about that, won’t we?”

“I think you’ll find that Mr. Smithson was here at Riverview at that time.”

Cabell blinked. “This is a police matter, an open investigation—”

“An open investigation, Captain Cabell?” Bennie called out, and the two remaining reporters turned to him. “Yet you’re telling everyone that a colored magician will be charged with the crime. Is that correct?”

“We need to confirm everything before we—”

“I stood here and heard you tell a roomful of reporters, and I quote, ‘A Negro man has been taken into custody and will be charged with the crime…From my understanding, paperwork’s being drawn up now.’”

Bennie looked up from his notebook. “Those are your words, Captain Cabell. Every man in this room heard you say them.”

“I’m not denying that I said them.” Cabell’s voice dropped. Francis recognized this as a far more dangerous sign than if he’d started shouting. “Mr. Bacon, if you do anything to interfere with this investigation, I’ll have you brought in for tampering.”

“Is that what it’s called?” broke in Bennie. “I’d think you might be more concerned with negligence on the part of your staff—twenty sergeants at this station, and not a single one made a connection between this murder and one in Boston?”

“Boston is a very long way from here.”

“So it is,” said Francis. “I suggest you check with Mr. Smithson as to his whereabouts at the time of the Wonderland murder. I bet he has a very good alibi, just like he does now.”

Cabell strode toward him, his moist cigar pointed at Francis’s throat. “Don’t you tell me how to do my fucking job.”