"Well, if I screw it up too badly, I can take it to the ballpark tomorrow and get someone to fix it. Besides, it's a challenge. The amazing Kate Henry never shirks a challenge."

"Hear, hear!" Sally raised her glass.

I started at the top of the thumb, where the lacing was knotted. It wasn't too hard to pull it out, using a nail file. I was halfway across the palm piece when the padding began to come out.

"Oh, shit, Sally, look at this."

"What?"

Only the very edge of the padding was the grey felt I expected to find. Behind it were plastic bags full of white powder. I had not lived a totally sheltered life.

"If this is what I think, I know what the murderer was looking for in Sanchez's apartment. And maybe in yours, Sally."

"Oh, my God."

"I'm calling the cops."

There was no home number on the card Staff Sergeant Munro had given me, and the duty officer at the office told me he couldn't be reached.

"I know it's late, but could you have him call me? It's Kate Henry calling about the Sanchez case. I've discovered something that I think he'll want to know about."

"He really doesn't want to be disturbed tonight, Miss Henry. Maybe I could help you."

"No offence, but I'd rather talk to the staff sergeant. And it can't wait until tomorrow."

"I'll call him right away. I just want to warn you that if it's not important, he's going to be mad."

"Oh, I'm sure she'll understand, Officer."

I could hear him stifling a laugh as he hung up.

It was obviously time to switch to coffee. I made a pot and brought a couple of cups into the living room.

"You don't have to wait up."

"You think I could sleep?"

Five minutes later, a grumpy sounding Staff Sergeant Munro was on the phone.

"What is it, Ms. Henry?"

"I hope I didn't wake you up, Staff Sergeant."

"You didn't."

"I think I know why Sultan Sanchez was murdered."

"Yeah?" He didn't sound thrilled.

"What about drugs?"

"Ms. Henry, I didn't call you at quarter to one in the morning to play guessing games. What have you got?"

"I've got a glove, Staff Sergeant. A baseball glove that Sultan Sanchez gave to a young friend of mine. A baseball glove packed with what appears to be cocaine. I'm sorry if you think that's a game."

"I'll be right there."

He took my address and hung up.

"He's on his way. I'm going to change."

"Why?"

"You'll know when you see him," I said.

I crept into my bedroom and took a pair of linen slacks and a silk blouse out of the closet without waking T.C.-casual but elegant. I put on enough makeup to look good, but not enough to notice. Then I opened a new pack of cigarettes.

I heard a car door shut and went to the window. Munro was locking a Volkswagen Beetle a few doors down the street. Not your average cop. I went downstairs to let him in.

"Thanks for coming," I said, leading him up the stairs. I introduced him to Sally and didn't miss her appreciative look. He was wearing a pair of baggy sweat pants and a cotton sweater. So much for dressing up.

"It was her son Sultan gave the glove to," I explained. "They live downstairs."

I offered Munro a coffee.

"Black, with three sugars, please."

I must have made a face.

"It's one of my few vices."

I showed him the glove and explained how T.C. had got it, how I had come to take it apart, and about the break-in.

"Who knew the boy had the glove?"

"Tiny Washington was there when he got it. Any number of people on the field could have seen him with it."

"He was talking to some of the players on Sunday, too, Kate. I think he even got some autographs on the glove."

Of course. I picked it up.

"Joe Kelsey, Stinger Swain, Alex Jones, Slider Holmes, Gloves Gardiner, Mark Griffin. A lot of the players knew T.C., Staff Sergeant. He's been down on the field with me a couple of times. He's a nice kid."

"I'm sure he is. I'll have to talk to him."

"Now?"

"No. Let him sleep. I'll get together with him tomorrow."

"Should I keep him home from school?"

"It might be a good idea. Whoever wants that glove doesn't know we've got it. I assume the boy has been taking it with him wherever he goes, right?"

"You know kids."

"I've got a couple myself," he smiled. Married.

"I see them as often as I can," he continued. Divorced. I was glad I'd gone with casual but elegant. "My son's a big ball fan. He'll be jealous when he hears I've met you, Ms. Henry."

"Call me Kate, for heaven's sake."

"All right. I'm Andy."

"But your name's Lloyd."

"It's an old family name. I'm the fourth generation. My middle name's Andrew and my friends are kind enough to use it."

"Well, I guess I'll get to bed," Sally said, subtle as a crutch. "Nice to have met you, Staff Sergeant."

"Someone will be in touch with you in the morning."

"If I'm not at home, I'll be at the gallery. I'll take T.C. with me. Kate can give you the phone numbers."

After she left, we sat for a few moments in awkward silence.

"More coffee? Or could I offer you a drink? Unless you can't drink on duty."

"Well, I'm off duty, technically. I'd love a Scotch, if you've got some."

"With water?"

"Just a bit. And one ice cube."

"No sugar?"

"Not in Scotch, thanks."

When we had settled in with our drinks, we both started to talk at once.

"You first," I laughed.

"I've been thinking about you," he said.

"Oh?"

"There are a couple of things I'd like to talk to you about, but I don't want it all over the papers."

"I won't print any of it until an arrest is made, as long as I get an exclusive."

"You've got a deal. Do you have a cassette recorder?"

"Yes, in my study. Why?"

"I've got a tape for you to listen to. See if you recognize any of the voices."

"Where does it come from?"

"Sultan Sanchez's answering machine. It's the messages that were recorded on Saturday night."

I got my portable recorder. The sound quality wasn't great, but I had no problem with the first caller.

"Hi, honey, it's Ginny. It's seven o'clock. I'm at the Fillet. Where are you? If you're listening in, get your sweet buns down here. Bye bye." Kissing noises followed.

"Sultan had a number of friends in town when his wife wasn't here," I said. "I ran into that one on Saturday, as a matter of fact. She was pretty drunk by midnight."

"Yes, I could tell. She called back several times."

The second call was a man's voice.

"I've got the money. I'll be at Brandy's at eleven."

"He called again, too. Is the voice familiar?"

"I'm not sure."

He rewound it and played it again.

"I'll have to think about it."

The next call was in Spanish, a woman speaking.

"This is from another I um, friend of his," Munro said. "She's telling him she wants his body, approximately."

"Popular fella. Do you speak Spanish?"

"No. One of the translators at headquarters listened to it for me."

"I would imagine Alex Jones might be able to tell you who she is."

The fourth call was a crank call, some drunken fan telling him he was a bum for striking out.

"How do they get these guys' unlisted phone numbers? I had to work my butt off to get them."

The fifth was from Ginny again.

"Hi, honey," she said, sounding a bit frail. "I'm still at the Fillet. We're holding the champagne and cake until you get here, so hurry."

There was a lot of background noise on the next call.