Jim pointed at the young Italian agent. “You. Come with me.” The two men left the room. Twenty minutes later, Jim returned. “I’ve sent it to the police lab. Do you know if Hedy has ever been fingerprinted?”

Stone shook his head.

“Military service? Arrest? Application for a gun license? Anything?”

“I don’t know,” Stone said. “Run the print and see what you come up with.”

“That’s being done,” Jim said. “I’m going to go over to the lab and see what they’re finding out. Do you want to come?”

“No, thanks,” Stone said. “Right now I’m working on not losing my lunch.”

“I’ll call you when I know something.”

“Try for some more cheerful news,” Stone said. Jim left, and the others sat there, silent. “Maybe I shouldn’t have hung up on Casselli,” Stone said at last.

“Stone, this is not your fault,” Viv said.

“Isn’t it? The worst luck Hedy has ever had was meeting me on an airplane. This wouldn’t have happened to her otherwise.”

They sat, mostly in silence, for another hour or so; then Stone’s phone rang, and he got it out of his pocket.

“Just a moment,” Viv said. She took a small object from her pocket and affixed it to the back of his phone. “Now answer it.”

Stone pressed the button. “Hello?”

“You don’t sound so good,” Casselli said. “Has something upset you?”

Stone was silent.

“It was very quick, you understand, and a nurse was standing by, so no permanent damage has been done.” He paused for a beat. “Yet.”

Stone still couldn’t speak.

“Of course, it was very painful—nothing to be done about that.”

“You miserable piece of shit,” Stone was finally able to say. “I hope I find you before the police do.”

“That would be a very interesting meeting,” Casselli replied. “Now, are you ready to negotiate the release of the girl?”

“I won’t negotiate with you.”

“I don’t know what it takes to move you, Mr. Barrington. Shall I send you more body parts? Would you like to return them to her parents?”

Stone hung up. Viv took the phone from him, tapped some keys, and replayed the conversation. Everyone listened, rapt. “Good man,” Viv said when it was done.

Jim Lugano strode into the room. “Relax,” he said, “the finger doesn’t belong to Hedy.”

“How do you know?” Stone asked.

“We found her prints from an application she made for a Global Entry pass, the thing that gets you through airport security in a hurry. No match. Also, the lab says the finger, though recently severed, had been refrigerated for several days. The finger was probably taken at a morgue. Finally, we got a hit on the print from the Italian database: the woman it belonged to had an arrest record for prostitution in Naples.”