Was there anything unusual about the cuts? I asked him.

The guy’s had training, Spielman said. They were all done with very good surgical technique. But any medical school in the world could have taught him that. He blew out a breath and an apologetic smile flickered quickly across his face. Some of them were already healed.

What kind of time frame does that give us? Deborah asked him.

Spielman shrugged. Four to six weeks, start to finish, he said. He took at least a month to surgically dismember this guy, one small piece at a time. I can’t imagine anything more horrible.

He did it in front of a mirror, I said, ever-helpful. So the victim had to watch.

Spielman looked appalled. My God, he said. He just sat there for a minute, and then said, Oh, my God. Then he shook his head and looked at his Rolex again. Listen, I’d like to help out here, but this is . . . He spread his hands and then dropped them on the table again. I don’t think there’s really anything I can tell you that’s going to do any good. So let me save you some time here. That Mister, uh—Chesney?

Chutsky, Deborah said.

Yes, that was it. He called in and suggested I might get an ID with a retinal scan at, um, a certain database in Virginia. He raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips. Anyway. I got a fax yesterday, with a positive identification of the victim. I’ll get it for you. He stood up and disappeared into the hall. A moment later he returned with a sheet of paper. Here it is. Name is Manuel Borges. A native of El Salvador, in the import business. He put the paper down in front of Deborah. I know it’s not much, but believe me, that’s it. The shape he’s in . . . He shrugged. I didn’t think we’d get this much.

A small intercom speaker in the ceiling muttered something that might have come from a TV show. Spielman cocked his head, frowned, and said, Gotta go. Hope you catch him. And he was out the door and down the hall so quickly that the fax paper he had dropped on the table fluttered.

I looked at Deborah. She did not seem particularly encouraged that we had found the victim’s name. Well, I said. I know it isn’t much.

She shook her head. Not much would be a big improvement. This is nothing. She looked at the fax, read it through one time. El Salvador. Connected to something called FLANGE.

That was our side, I said. She looked up at me. The side the United States supported. I looked it up on the Internet.