I placed the briefcase next to the athletic bag and rotated my shoulder to work out a kink. Hip-hop music pounded from a Caravan on the opposite side of Parthenais. The driver sat sideways, one arm draped around the wheel, the other drumming the back of the seat.

"I'l be home by six," I told Kit. "Tel me what you'd like and I'l throw something together for dinner."

"That's why I'm cal ing. Lyle said he'd take me to the TV studio so I can watch them do the show tonight."

A man emerged from an apartment building across the street and did a slow crawl down the steps, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. His hair looked as if he'd gotten his head too close to an explosion. Some of it stuck out in clumps, some strands lay in knots against his head. He wore a sleeveless denim jacket that showed arms so ful y tattooed that from where I stood they looked blue.

The man took a deep drag as he scanned the street. His eyes locked onto me then narrowed, like those of a terrier sighting on a rat. Two smoke streams shot from his nose, then he flicked the butt, crossed the sidewalk, and climbed into the van with the music loves As the pair drove off I felt a chil , despite the warmth of the afternoon sun.

" ... ever seen it in person?"

"What?"

"The news. Have you ever been at the station when they actual y do it?"

"Yes. It's very interesting."

"So if you don't mind, I'd real y like to go."

"Sure. That sounds like fun. I'm pretty beat anyway."

"Did you find out who she is?" The switch left me behind.

"The girl. Did she turn out to be who you thought she was?"

"Yes."

"That's cool. Can I tel Lyle?"

"It's not official yet. Better wait until the coroner releases her name.

"No sweat. So, I'l see you later."

"O.K."

"You're sure?"

"Kit, it's fine. I've been ditched by tougher men than you."

"Ooh. Hit me where I bleed."

"Bye."

Lyle Crease. Was that bastard going to use my nephew to wheedle information that he couldn't get directly from me?

Upstairs, I secured Savannah's remains in my evidence locker, and gave one set of bone samples to Denis, the histology technician. He would use a microtome to cut slices less than a hundred microns thick, then stain them and mount them on slides for analysis.

I took the other set to the DNA section. While there I asked about the eyebal . As I waited I felt a band of tension move slowly up the back of my head, and I began to rub my neck.

"Headache?" asked the technician when she returned.

"A little."

The results were not yet in.

Next I reported to LaManche. He didn't interrupt as I told him of my meeting with Kate, and showed him photos and copies of hospital records.