The connection was broken. Jennifer replaced the receiver. She felt strangely calmer, as though something had been accomplished. There was no reason to feel the confidence she did in Michael Moretti. From a logical point of view, it was a wild, insane thing to have done; but logic had nothing to do with this. Her son's life was at stake. She had deliberately sent a killer to catch a killer. If it did not work...She thought of the little girl whose body had been raped and sodomized.

Jennifer went to tend to Mrs. Mackey. She took care of her cuts and bruises and put her to bed. Jennifer offered her a sedative, but Mrs. Mackey pushed it away.

"I couldn't sleep," she cried. "Oh, Mrs. Parker! He gave that baby sleeping pills."

Jennifer stared at her in horror.

Michael Moretti sat at his desk, facing the seven men he had summoned. He had already given instructions to the first three.

He turned to Thomas Colfax. "Tom, I want you to use your connections. Go down and see Captain Notaras and have him pull the package on Frank Jackson. I want everything they've got on him."

"We're wasting a good connection, Mike. I don't think-"

"Don't argue! Just do it."

Colfax said stiffly, "Very well."

Michael turned to Nick Vito. "Check out the gas station where Jackson worked. Find out if he hung around any of the bars there, if he had any friends."

To Salvatore Fiore and Joseph Colella: "Get over to Jackson's motel. He's probably gone by now, but find out if he palled around with anyone. I want to know who his buddies were." He looked at his watch. "It's midnight. I'm giving you eight hours to find Jackson."

The men started out the door.

Michael called after them, "I don't want anything to happen to the kid. Keep calling in. I'll be waiting."

Michael Moretti watched them leave, then picked up one of the telephones on his desk and began to dial.

1:00 A.M. A.M.

The motel room was not large, but it was very neat. Frank Jackson liked things neat. He felt it was part of being brought up properly. The venetian blinds were rolled down and slanted so that no one could see into the room. The door was locked and chained, and he had pressed a chair against it. He walked over to the bed where Joshua lay. Frank Jackson had forced three sleeping pills down the boy's throat, and he was still sleeping soundly. Still, Jackson prided himself on being a man who took no chances, so Joshua's hands and feet were tightly bound together with the same kind of wire that had been used to tie up the old lady in the house. Jackson looked down at the sleeping boy and he was filled with a sense of sadness.

Why in G.o.d's name did people keep forcing him to do these terrible things? He was a gentle, peaceful man, but when everyone was against you, when everyone attacked you, you had to defend yourself. The trouble with everybody was that they always underestimated him. They failed to realize until too late that he was smarter than all of them.

He had known the police were coming for him half an hour before they arrived. He had been filling the tank of a Chevrolet Camaro and had seen his boss go inside the office to answer the telephone. Jackson had not been able to hear the conversation, but it was not necessary. He saw the covert looks his boss gave him as he whispered into the telephone. Frank Jackson knew immediately what was happening. The police were coming for him. The Parker b.i.t.c.h had double-crossed him, had told the police to lock him up. She was like all the rest of them. His boss was still talking on the telephone when Frank Jackson grabbed his jacket and disappeared. It had taken him less than three minutes to find an unlocked car on the street and hot-wire it, and moments later he was headed for Jennifer Parker's house.

Jackson really had to admire his own intelligence. Who else would have thought of following her to find out where she lived? He had done that the day she had gotten him out on bail. He had parked across the street from her house and had been surprised when Jennifer had been met at the gate by a little boy. He had watched them together and sensed even then that the kid might come in handy. He was an unexpected bonus, what the poets called a hostage to fate.

Jackson smiled to himself at how terrified the old b.i.t.c.h of a housekeeper had been. He had enjoyed twisting the wire into her wrists and ankles. No, not enjoyed, really. He was being too hard on himself. It had been necessary. necessary. The housekeeper had thought he was going to rape her. She disgusted him. All women did, except for his sainted mother. Women were dirty, unclean, even his wh.o.r.e of a sister. It was only the children who were pure. He thought of the last little girl he had taken. She had been beautiful, with long blond curls, but she had had to pay for her mother's sins. Her mother had had Jackson fired from his job. People tried to keep you from earning an honest living and then punished you when you broke their stupid laws. The men were bad enough, but the women were worse. Pigs who wanted to soil the temple of your body. Like the waitress, Clara, he was going to take to Canada. She was in love with him. She thought he was such a gentleman because he had never touched her. If she only knew! The idea of making love to her sickened him. But he was going to take her out of the country with him because the police would be looking for a man alone. He would shave off his beard and trim his hair, and when he crossed the border he would get rid of Clara. That would give him great pleasure. The housekeeper had thought he was going to rape her. She disgusted him. All women did, except for his sainted mother. Women were dirty, unclean, even his wh.o.r.e of a sister. It was only the children who were pure. He thought of the last little girl he had taken. She had been beautiful, with long blond curls, but she had had to pay for her mother's sins. Her mother had had Jackson fired from his job. People tried to keep you from earning an honest living and then punished you when you broke their stupid laws. The men were bad enough, but the women were worse. Pigs who wanted to soil the temple of your body. Like the waitress, Clara, he was going to take to Canada. She was in love with him. She thought he was such a gentleman because he had never touched her. If she only knew! The idea of making love to her sickened him. But he was going to take her out of the country with him because the police would be looking for a man alone. He would shave off his beard and trim his hair, and when he crossed the border he would get rid of Clara. That would give him great pleasure.

Frank Jackson walked over to a battered cardboard suitcase on a luggage rack, opened it and took out a tool kit. From it he removed nails and a hammer. He laid them on the bedside table next to the sleeping boy. Then he went into the bathroom and lifted a two-gallon gasoline can from the bathtub. He carried it into the bedroom and set the can on the floor. Joshua was going to go up in flames. But that would be after after the crucifixion. the crucifixion.

2:00 A.M. A.M.

Throughout New York and around the country, the word was spreading. It started in bars and flophouses. A cautious word here and there, dropped into a willing ear. It began as a trickle and spread to cheap restaurants and noisy discotheques and all-night newsstands. It was picked up by taxi drivers and truckers and girls working the midnight streets. It was like a pebble dropped into a deep, dark lake, with the ripples beginning to widen and spread. Within a couple of hours everyone on the street knew that Michael Moretti wanted some information and wanted it fast. Not many people were given a chance to do a favor for Michael Moretti. This was a golden opportunity for somebody, because Moretti was a man who knew how to show his appreciation. The word was that he was looking for a thin blond guy who looked like Jesus. People began searching their memories.

2:15 A.M. A.M.

Joshua Adam Parker stirred in his sleep and Frank Jackson moved to his side. He had not yet removed the boy's pajamas. Jackson checked to make sure that the hammer and nails were in place and ready. It was important to be meticulous about these things. He was going to nail the boy's hands and feet to the floor before he set the room on fire. He could have done it while the boy was asleep, but that would have been wrong. It was important that the boy be awake to see what was happening, to know he was being punished for the sins of his mother. Frank Jackson looked at his watch. Clara was coming to the motel to pick him up at seven-thirty. Five hours and fifteen minutes left. Plenty of time.

Frank Jackson sat down and studied Joshua, and once he tenderly fondled an errant lock of the small boy's hair.

3:00 A.M. A.M.

The first of the telephone calls began coming in.

There were two telephones on Michael Moretti's desk and it seemed that the moment he picked up one, the other started ringing.

"I got a line on the guy, Mike. A couple years ago he was workin' a scam in Kansas City with Big Joe Ziegler and Mel Cohen."

"f.u.c.k what he was doing a couple of years ago. Where is he now now?"

"Big Joe says he ain't heard from him in about six months. I'm tryin' to get hold of Mel Cohen."

"Do it!"

The next phone call was no more productive.

"I went over to Jackson's motel room. He checked out. He was carryin' a brown suitcase and a two-gallon can that coulda had gasoline in it. The clerk has no idea where he went."

"What about the neighborhood bars?"

"One of the bartenders recognized his description, but he says he wasn't a regular. He went in two or three times after work."

"Alone?"

"Accordin' to the bartender, yeah. He didn't seem interested in the girls there."

"Check out the gay bars."

The telephone rang again almost as soon as Michael had hung up. It was Salvatore Fiore.

"Colfax talked to Captain Notaras. The police property clerk got a record of a p.a.w.n ticket in Frank Jackson's personal effects. I got the number of the ticket and the name of the p.a.w.n shop. It's owned by a Greek, Gus Stavros, who fences hot rocks."

"Did you check it out?"

"We can't check it out until mornin', Mike. The place is closed. I-"

Michael Moretti exploded. "We can't wait wait until morning! Get your a.s.s down there!" until morning! Get your a.s.s down there!"

There was a telephone call from Joliet. It was hard for Michael to follow the conversation because his caller had had a laryngectomy and his voice sounded as if it was coming from the bottom of a box.

"Jackson's cellmate was a man named Mickey Nicola. They were pretty tight."

"Any idea where Nicola is now?"

"Last I heard he was back east somewhere. He's a friend of Jackson's sister. We have no address on her."

"What was Nicola sent up for?"

"They nailed him on a jewelry heist."

3:30 A.M. A.M.

The p.a.w.nshop was located in Spanish Harlem at Second Avenue and 124th Street. It was in an unloved two-story building, with the shop downstairs and living quarters upstairs.

Gus Stavros was awakened by a flashlight shining in his face. He instinctively started to reach for the alarm b.u.t.ton at the side of his bed.

"I wouldn't," a voice said.

The flashlight moved away and Gus Stavros sat up in bed. He looked at the two men standing on either side of him and knew he had been given good advice. A giant and a midget. Stavros could feel an asthma attack coming on.

"Go downstairs and take whatever you want," he wheezed. "I won't make a move."

The giant, Joseph Colella said, "Get up. Slow."

Gus Stavros rose from his bed, cautious not to make any sudden movements.

The small man, Salvatore Fiore, shoved a piece of paper under his nose. "This is the number of a p.a.w.n ticket. We want to see the merchandise."

"Yes, sir."

Gus Stavros walked downstairs, followed by the two men. Stavros had installed an elaborate alarm system only six months earlier. There were bells he could have pushed and secret places on the floor he could have stepped on and help would be on its way. He did none of those things because his instincts told him he would be dead before anyone could reach him. He knew that his only chance lay in giving the two men what they wanted. He only prayed he would not die from a G.o.dd.a.m.ned asthma attack before he got rid of them.

He turned on the downstairs lights and they all moved toward the front of the shop. Gus Stavros had no idea what was going on, but he knew it could have been a great deal worse. If these men had come merely to rob him, they could have cleaned out the p.a.w.n shop and been gone by now. It seemed they were only interested in one piece of merchandise. He wondered how they had circ.u.mvented the elaborate new alarms on the doors and windows, but he decided not to ask.

"Move your a.s.s," Joseph Colella said.

Gus looked at the p.a.w.n ticket number again and began to sort through his files. He found what he was looking for, nodded in satisfaction, and went to the large walk-in strong room and opened it, the two men close behind him. Stavros searched along a shelf until he found a small envelope. Turning to the two men, he opened the envelope and took out a large diamond ring that sparkled in the overhead lights.

"This is it," Gus Stavros said. "I gave him five hundred for it." The ring was worth at least twenty thousand dollars.

"You gave five hundred to who?" little Salvatore Fiore asked.

Gus Stavros shrugged. "A hundred customers a day come in here. The name on the envelope is John Doe."

Fiore pulled a piece of lead pipe out of nowhere and smashed it savagely against Gus Stavros' nose. He fell to the floor screaming with pain, drowning in his own blood.

Fiore asked quietly, "Who did you say brought it in?"

Fighting for breath, Gus Stavros gasped, "I don't know his name. He didn't tell me. I swear to G.o.d!"

"What did he look like?"

The blood was flowing into Gus Stavros' throat so fast he could hardly speak. He was beginning to faint, but he knew if he pa.s.sed out before he talked he would never wake up.

"Let me think," he pleaded.

Stavros tried to focus, but he was so dizzy from the pain that it was difficult. He forced himself to remember the customer walking in, taking the ring out of a box and showing it to him. It was coming back to him.

"He-he was kind of blond and skinny-" He choked on some blood. "Help me up."

Salvatore Fiore kicked him in the ribs. "Keep talkin'."

"He had a beard, a blond beard..."