"He said he was busy keeping Dorsey alive. But he noticed the name because of his dog."

"His dog?"

"He's got an Irish setter named Brennan."

"It's a common name."

"Maybe in Galway, but not here. You did talk to Dorsey about Cherokee Desjardins, did you not?"

"Yes, but nobody knows that."

"Except everyone at Op South."

"We were in a private interrogation room." Claudel was silent. I pictured the corridor, with the holding tank just ten feet away.

"I suppose I could have been spotted."

"Yes. These things have a way of getting back."

"Getting back to whom?"

"Dorsey was a Heathens hang-around. The boys wouldn't be happy if they thought he was launching a self-preservation movement."

I felt tension rise up my neck at the thought I might have triggered the attack.

"I don't think Dorsey kil ed Cherokee," I said, bunching up the towel and tossing it into the trash.

"You don't?"

"No."

"I suppose Dorsey claimed he was innocent as the Easter Bunny"

"Yes. But there's more."

He gave me an uncertain look, then folded his arms across his chest.

"Al right. Let's hear it.

I told him about the blood spatter.

"Does that sound like a biker hit?"

"Things go wrong.

"Bludgeoning? Don't hit men usual y come in shooting?"

"The last biker pul ed from the river was hammered to death. So was his bodyguard."

"I've been thinking about that void pattern behind Cherokee's head. What if he was kil ed for whatever was removed?"

"There were a lot of people mil ing around that scene. Someone could have knocked the thing out of position. Or maybe the neighbor snatched it."

"It was covered with blood."

"I'l talk to her anyway." Finite at the best of times, Claudel's patience was clearly evaporating.

"And why would Cherokee let someone in?" I pressed on. "Maybe the hit man was a buddy from the old days." That made sense.

"Has bal istics gotten anything?" He shook his head.

"Who's heading the Spider Marcotte investigation?"

"That and the little girl fel to Kuricek."

Sipowicz.

"Any progress?" Claudel raised both palms.

"Dorsey hinted he had something he'd trade on that."

"These degenerates wil say anything to save themselves." He dropped his eyes and picked a nonexistent fleck from his sleeve.

"There's something I need to discuss with you."

"Oh?"

At that moment we heard the door open in the adjacent tab, announcing the arrival of the technicians.

"May we ... ?" He tipped his head toward my office.

Curious, I led him across the halt and slipped behind my desk. When he'd settled across from me Claudel withdrew a picture from his inside pocket and placed it on the blotter.

It differed little from Kate's biker photos. The vintage was more recent, the quality better. And one other thing.

Kit stood among the group of leather-jacketed men centered in the image.

I looked a question at Claudel.