These musings mingled with more mundane considerations. How to relocate Kit to Houston. Birdie's overdue vaccinations. The cavity. Hair growth.

But underlying al my thoughts was the nagging signal from my subconscious, unrelenting, yet out of reach. The redneck in the basebal cap. I tossed and turned, frustrated that my psyche was beaming a message I could not decipher.

I was sleeping fitful y when the phone shril ed. "Hel o." Groggy.

"Oh, were you in bed?" The digits on my clock glowed one-fifteen. "Hm."

"It was the University of South Carolina," Isabel e chirped.

"What?"

"Lyle is from London, Ontario, but he went to school in South Carolina." Her voice beamed with satisfaction. "And don't worry about my source. I was très discreet."

Oh boy.

"Thank you, Isabel e." Mumbled.

"Now, go back to sleep. Oh, and I found the suitcase in the bathroom closet. Sil y me. Bonsoir."

Dial tone.

I clicked off and flopped back on the pil ow, noticing that the bedroom wal no longer vibrated. Had Kit gone out?

As I began to drift off my id made one more try at sending up images. The hyena took form with his leather vest and grungy long hair Boots. Cap.

Cap.

My eyes flew open and I shot to a sitting position, searching my stored memories for another image.

Could it be?

The next morning I was up before the alarm. A peek told me Kit was asleep in his bed. I showered, dressed, and puttered until it was time to go to the lab.

I went directly to Ronald Gilbert's office and made my request. Without a word he crossed to a shelf, selected a videotape, and handed it to me. I thanked him and hurried to the conference room.

Nervously, I inserted the plastic box into a VCR and clicked on the monitor. Not knowing at what point I'd find the scene, I started at the beginning and hit fast-forward.

Views of the Cherokee Desjardins apartment jerked across the screen. The living room, the kitchen, the faceless corpse. Then the tape focused on bloody wal s.

The camera swept across a corner, zooming in, then drawing back. I hit play and the pace slowed to normal.

Two minutes later I spotted the object wedged between the wal and a rusted birdcage supporting a guitar I hit freeze and read four letters peeking from a wine-colored stain.

" -- cock -- "

I studied the cap closely. It was red and white, and I could see portions of a familiar logo that hadn't registered while I was at the scene. My mind completed the letters obliterated by Cherokee's blood.

G-a-m-e -- -- s. Yes.

Game cocks.

The cap hadn't proclaimed some macho obscenity. It had broadcast the name of an athletic team. The Gamecocks.

The University of South Carolina Gamecocks.

The hyena's cap had nudged my id. Isabel e's cal had al owed my brain's summons to assemble and organize to breakthrough.