“What about Donaldson?” Marge asked Hollander. “How many little buggers does he have?”

“Not written in his profile,” Hollander said. “You’re slipping, Pete.”

Decker said, “I don’t know for certain, but I remember several pictures of two little girls sitting on Donaldson’s desk.”

“Linda didn’t screw him,” Hollander said, matter-of-factly. “The dude hadn’t proved fertile enough.”

Decker was about to retort, but was interrupted by a flash in his gray matter. He bolted up and grabbed his coat.

“Where’re you off to, Sherlock?” Marge asked.

“Off to find the missing link,” Decker said.

He made it back to the Manfred development in a record seven minutes, jumping a few lights in the process. His overworked adrenals had caused him to break into a sweat, and his shirt needed a wringing by the time he reached Patty Bingham’s house. When she answered the door, Decker didn’t bother with the niceties. He said, “Where’s your husband?”

Patty said, “He’s not home.”

Decker entered the house, paying no attention to Patty’s high-pitched protests. The place was the same—a pigsty. The TV was blaring, laundry was scattered on the couch, a radio talk-show psychologist was blasting words of wisdom from the kitchen, kids were in various stages of dress. The boy was in his swimming trunks, one of the older girls was in shorts and tank top, the baby sat on the carpet, naked, examining herself.

Patty had on a bikini bra and a pair of cutoffs. Her skin had darkened to a bronze glow, but her nose was red and peeling. Her feet were bare, her toenails were long and sharp and painted bright red. They looked like bloody nail files.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, barging in like that?” Patty placed a hand on her hip and regarded his face. “The name was Decker, wasn’t it?”

Decker nodded. “I need to talk to your husband, Mrs. Bingham.”

“He’s working.”

“Find him for me.”

“He’s an electrician,” Patty said. “He’s out on jobs. What do you want with him? What’s he done?”

“Call his office and have them page him on his beeper,” Decker said.

“Mind telling me what this is all about?” Patty asked.

“The same thing I came here for last time. It’s about a lost little girl. Only now I know her name. It’s Katie Darcy. Name Darcy ring a bell?”

Decker saw it all in Patty’s eyes. Her face crumbled, her lower lip began to tremble. Her eyes turned ugly. She turned to the kids and screamed at them to leave the room. They obeyed without question except for the baby, who began to cry. Patty swooped her up in her arms and comforted her with soft words and a kiss. It took Patty a moment to find her voice. When she did, it came out a whisper.