One other small thing I could do, though, was to feed LaGuerta, too—something not quite as palatable as one of Relampago's sandwiches, though delicious in its own way. And so that afternoon I called on the good detective in her office, a lovely little cubby in the corner of a large room containing half a dozen other little cubbies. Hers, of course, was the most elegant, with several very tasteful photographs of herself with celebrities hanging from the fabric of the partitions. I recognized Gloria Estefan, Madonna, and Jorge Mas Canosa. On the desk, on the far side of a jade-green blotter with a leather frame, stood an elegant green onyx pen holder with a quartz clock in the center.

LaGuerta was on the telephone speaking rapid-fire Spanish when I came in. She glanced up at me without seeing me and looked away. But after a moment, her eyes came back to me. This time she looked me over thoroughly, frowned, and said, “Okay-okay. 'Ta luo,” which was Cuban for hasta luego. She hung up and continued to look at me.

“What have you got for me?” she said finally. “Glad tidings,” I told her. “If that means good news, I could use some.”

I hooked a folding chair with my foot and dragged it into her cubby. “There is no possible doubt,” I said, sitting in the folding chair, “that you have the right guy in jail. The murder on Old Cutler was committed by a different hand.”

She just looked at me for a moment. I wondered if it took her that long to process the data and respond. “You can back that up?” she asked me at last. “For sure?”

Of course I could back it up for sure, but I wasn't going to, no matter how good confession might be for the soul. Instead, I dropped the folder onto her desk. “The facts speak for themselves,” I said. “There's absolutely no question about it.” And of course there wasn't any question at all, as only I knew very well. “Look—” I told her, and pulled out a page of carefully selected comparisons I had typed out. “First, this victim is male. All the others were female. This victim was found off Old Cutler. All of McHale's victims were off Tamiami Trail. This victim was found relatively intact, and in the spot where he was killed. McHale's victims were completely chopped up, and they were moved to a different location for disposal.”

I went on, and she listened carefully. The list was a good one. It had taken me several hours to come up with the most obvious, ludicrous, transparently foolish comparisons, and I must say I did a very good job. And LaGuerta did her part wonderfully, too. She bought the whole thing. Of course, she was hearing what she wanted to hear.