“You have to put it in your suitcase and check your suitcase.”

“What if I break a nail getting onto the plane and I got to file it down?”

“You’ll have to gnaw it down with your teeth. I’ll get you in an hour.”

Tank was parked in front of the bonds office and he was being surveillant. I went out to him and gave him the game plan. He said his assignment was to stick to me and he didn’t need to pack.

“Not even a toothbrush?” I asked. “Not even an extra pair of tighty whiteys?”

Tank almost smiled.

Okay then. I ran to my car and took off for my apartment. I hit the ground running when I got to my building. I took the stairs two at a time, barefoot with my shoes in my hands. Tank was ahead of me in the hall. He opened my apartment door and stepped inside. Four eight-by-ten glossies were spread across the floor. We bent to look at them without touching anything. They were photos of a man with half his head blown away. Like the first set of photos, they were enlarged to hide the victim’s identity. My first thought, of course, was of Carl Rosen.

“Do you recognize him?” Tank asked.

“No.”

Tank closed the front door and gave me a gun. “Stay here while I check the rest of the apartment.” Moments later he was back. “No one here. No more photos that I can see. I didn’t go through your drawers.”

“Okay,” I said, “here’s what we do. We leave these photos exactly where they are. We try not to disturb any prints that might have been left. I pack as fast as possible and we get the hell out. When we’re ready to board I’ll call Morelli. If I call him now I’ll have to stay for questioning and we’ll never make the plane.”

“Works for me,” Tank said.

Ten minutes later I was out of the apartment, a change of clothes and essential makeup in a tote bag slung over my shoulder. We left my car in the lot and took Tank’s SUV.

Connie lived in the Burg, so she was next on the pickup list. We beeped once when we pulled to the curb and Connie hustled out to us. Connie’s house was a narrow single family, similar to my parents’ duplex, but half of Connie’s house had been chopped away. Vito Grecci used to live in the adjoining half house. Vito was a Mob bagman who came in with a light bag one time too many. Next day Vito’s house mysteriously caught fire and Vito turned up in the Camden landfill. Fortunately for Connie, the fire didn’t go beyond the brick firewall between the two adjoining houses. Connie bought Vito’s fire-gutted half at a bank auction, tore the trashed house down, and never rebuilt. Connie liked having the empty lot. She put a big free-standing pool with a wraparound cedar deck in the newly created side yard. And she set up a shrine to the Virgin for sparing her house.