"You might need it." I limped out to the living room and got the backpack. I touched it lightly, and felt the solid curve of Bob the skull within. I got my coat and my car keys and headed for the back door.

"Where are you going?" Thomas asked.

"Gumshoeing," I said.

"You shouldn't go alone."

"Probably not," I agreed. "But I am."

"At least take Mouse," Thomas said.

The big dog tilted his head quizzically, looking back and forth between Thomas and me.

"And hold his leash in my teeth?" I said. "I've only got the one hand to work with."

Thomas frowned and then rolled a shoulder in a shrug. "Okay."

"The phones are apparently unreliable," I said. I tossed the backpack at Thomas. He caught it. "Bob will know how to reach me if you find something. Got that, Bob?"

A muffled voice from the backpack said, " Jawohl, herr kommandant."

Butters jumped halfway out of his chair and made a squeaking sound. "What was that?"

"Explain it to him," I told Thomas. "I'll be in touch as soon as I call."

My brother nodded at me. "Good luck. Be careful."

"You too. Keep your eyes open. Thanks again, Butters."

"Sure, sure. See you soon." Butters poked at the backpack with his fork.

"Hey!" Bob protested from inside the pack. "Stop that! You'll scratch it all up!"

I swung out the door. The night's rest had done me good, and realizing how it might be possible to stop the heirs of Kemmler had given me an electric sense of purpose. I strode to the car, barely feeling my aching leg.

I turned my hand over and regarded Shiela's phone number, written on it in black marker.

I didn't have a photographic memory.

But I knew someone who did.

Chapter Twenty-seven

I went to my office. Traffic wasn't as bad as it could have been. It looked like the commuters hadn't poured into town in the usual volume. The traffic lights were out, but there were cops at most of the problem intersections, and everyone seemed to be driving slowly and reasonably during the crisis. That's what they were calling it on the radio—the crisis. There were a lot more people than usual out and about on the street, and with far less of the usual brisk, businesslike manner.

All in all, it was about the best reaction to the situation you could hope for. It seemed like people could go one of two ways: Either they freak out and start rioting, or they actually act like human beings in trouble ought to, and look out for one another. When LA blacked out, there had been big-time rioting. In New York, people had pulled together.