I popped a toast triangle into my mouth and chewed for several seconds. “Another thing. You know that the link to the Houdin family requires another look at Houdin. What was he, the treasurer?”

Nazari said, “The money guy. Not a politician. He managed all the town finances. Houdin was one of the golden boys. Handsome guy from a rich traditional family. Big house. Local roots. In the mayor’s clique.”

“He and Rigalle knew each other?”

“Sure. Small town, similar age, same social class.”

The waiter approached with a pot of coffee and we stopped talking. He left the pot. She said, “They’re warning off others. Butchering the Rigalle family was all about sending a message.”

“I think so. And there’s another thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Cop killing. That isn’t done lightly. There are usually consequences.”

Nazari looked into her coffee.

I buttered a fresh piece of toast. The bread was good. I said, “Killing cops usually aggravates any given situation. So now the situation is aggravated.” What I was thinking was weapons, and the fact that I didn’t have any. I figured I’d get my hands on a piece pretty soon, either way.

Nazari asked the waiter for a pen. She unfolded a napkin. “Look, here’s how we’re supposed to think about this. A fact-pattern is like a constellation in the sky, the Big Dipper or something.” She drew a bunch of stars, then she started connecting them with lines. “The facts are stars, and when they connect to each other they make a pattern right, like the Big Dipper and Orion.”

“What’s Orion, I only know the Big Dipper.”

“Orion’s a hunter with a club and shield.”

I nodded, “So far so good.”

“So we’ve got Orion and the Big Dipper, but they don’t connect. So we need a plan to connect the constellations.”

I said, “The Afghan dead guy on one side, with the trail bike kids, Woodcutter, and a tangential relation to Vaugeois.” I poked her drawing. “And on the other side the Houdin and Rigalle killings.” I circled the two constellations with my finger. “Is that what you mean?”

“That’s what I mean.”

I finished a cup of coffee and poured another. I said, “Here’s the plan. You’re going to work. If anyone’s paying attention, it looks like you’re just doing what you always do, being a cop. But today I’m coming with you, at least initially. I want to be seen at the station.”

“And then what?”

“Then I will leave and walk around town. See if someone picks up my tail. If there is a bent cop at the station, there is a chance that I’ll be followed. And if I am, then I’ll do my thing.”

“What do I do?”

“Go to work as usual. Keep the routine.”

“You’re using yourself as bait, Keeler. Is that wise?”