‘After a while you gotta sell if you’re gonna buy,’ Maier said.

‘There may be a connection between Davila and the murdered woman,’ I said.

Commander Penn watched me with interest.

‘We shouldn’t discount that possibility,’ I went on. ‘At a glance, it seems unlikely. But Gault and Davila were both down in that tunnel at the same time. Why?’

‘Luck of the draw.’ Maier stared off.

Marino didn’t comment. His attention had drifted to autopsy table five, where two medical examiners were photographing the slain officer from different angles. An attendant with a wet towel scrubbed blood off the face in a manner that would have been rough could Davila feel. Marino was unaware anyone was watching him, and for a moment his vulnerability showed. I saw the ravages from years of storms, and the weight pressing his shoulders.

‘And Benny was in that same tunnel, too,’ I said. ‘He either got the knapsack from the murder scene or from someone, or it was dropped on his blankets as he claims.’

‘Frankly, I don’t think it just turned up on his blankets,’ Maier said.

‘Why?’ Commander Penn asked him.

‘Why would Gault want to carry it from Cherry Hill? Why not just leave it and be on his way?’ he said.

‘Maybe there was something in it,’ I said.

‘Like what?’ Marino asked.

‘Like anything that might identify her,’ I said. ‘Maybe he didn’t want her identified and needed a chance to go through her effects.’

‘That could be,’ Commander Penn said. ‘Certainly we have found nothing among her belongings that would seem to identify her.’

‘But in the past Gault hasn’t seemed to care whether we identified his victims,’ I said. ‘Why care now? Why would he care about this head-injured, homeless woman?’

Commander Penn did not seem to hear me, and no one else answered. The medical examiners had begun undressing Davila, who did not want their help. He held his arms rigidly folded across his torso, as if blocking blows in football. The doctors were having a terrible time getting the commando sweater free of limbs and over his head when a pager went off. We involuntarily touched our waistbands, then stared toward Davila’s table as the beeping continued.

‘It’s not mine,’ one of the doctors said.

‘Damn,’ the other doctor said. ‘It’s his.’

A chill swept through me as he removed a pager from Davila’s belt. Everyone was silent. We could not take our eyes off table five or Commander Penn, who walked there because this was her murdered officer and someone had just tried to call him. The doctor handed her the pager and she held it up to read the display. Her face colored. I could see her swallow.

‘It’s a code,’ she said.

Neither she nor the doctor had thought not to touch the pager. They did not know it might matter.

‘A code?’ Maier looked mystified.