"If the lead is good, do you want me to call CPD?"

"I'd rather you contacted me first," Vincent said. "I am still uncertain of how much trust to place in the local police. I cannot help but think it must have been the reason the thieves fled here-that they possessed some contact or advantage with the local authorities. I'd like as much time as possible to decide whom to trust."

I frowned and thought about Marcone's flunkies taking a shot at me. Chicago PD had an unfair reputation for corruption, thanks in part to the widespread mob activity during Prohibition. It was inaccurate, but people were people, and people aren't immune to being bought. Marcone had attained police-only information with disturbing speed before. "Might be smart. I'll check it out and let you know. Shouldn't be more than an hour or two."

"Very good. Thank you, Mister Dresden. Is there anything else?"

"Yeah," I said. "I should have thought of this last night. Do you have any pieces of the Shroud?"

"Pieces?" Vincent asked.

"Scraps or threads. I know that many samples were analyzed back in the seventies. Do you have access to any of those pieces?"

"Very possibly. Why?"

I had to remind myself that Vincent seemed to be largely a nonbeliever in the supernatural, so I couldn't come out and say that I wanted to use thaumaturgy to track down the Shroud. "To confirm identification when I find it. I don't want to get foxed with a decoy."

"Of course. I'll make a call," Vincent said. "Get a sample FedExed here. Thank you, Mister Dresden."

I said good-bye, hung up, and stared at the phone for a minute. Then I took a deep breath and dialed Michael's number.

Even though the sky was barely light with morning, the phone rang only once before a woman's voice said, "Hello?"

This was my nightmare. "Oh. Uh, hello, Charity. It's Harry Dresden."

"Hi!" the voice said brightly. "This isn't Charity though."

So maybe it wasn't my nightmare. It was my nightmare's oldest daughter. "Molly?" I asked. "Wow, you sound all grown-up now."

She laughed. "Yeah, the breast fairy came to visit and everything. Did you want to talk to my mom?"

Some might find it significant that it took me a second to realize she wasn't being literal about the faerie. Sometimes I hate my life. "Well, um. Is your dad around?"

"So you don't want to talk to Mom, check," she said. "He's working on the addition. Let me get him."

She set the phone down and I heard footsteps walking away. In the background, I could hear recorded children's voices singing, the rattle of plates and forks, and people talking. Then there was a rustling sound, and a thump as the handset on the other end must have fallen to the floor. Then I heard the sound of heavy, squishy breathing.