Spencer brought him some coffee, and went to tell Conni he'd be with her shortly.

Jim went with Spencer and Will as they drove in silence to Dartmouth-Hitchcock Medical Center to identify Kristina.

On the way, Jim told Spencer that there had been some weirdness on poker night he hadn't understood, about Albert's going to see Frankie and Frankie's not knowing about it; and Conni had gotten upset that Kristina would care what Albert was up to.

And no, Jim told Spencer, he didn't know why Kristina would care what Albert was up to.

It left Spencer confused.

Spencer watched Jim carefully as he walked in the cold to the hospital's modern main doors. He noted his sloping shoulders, his ashen face in the gleaming elevator taking the three of them to the subterranean bowels of Dartmouth-Hitchcock. They walked through stark-white, fluorescent-lit halls before they went through the double doors that led them to another long corridor that ended in unmarked gray doors. Will led the way, Jim followed, and Spencer closed up the rear. Spencer thought that judging by Jim's posture and stance, Jim was about to drop.

The morgue was a stark room with tall ceilings and clean tiled floors.

Sometimes the floors were less sparkling, covered with fluids from the victims that came through the morgue's doors.

Today, the floors were clean, and Spencer was grateful for that small favor.

The morgue attendant on call, a small thin gray-looking man, pulled out drawer number 515. Most of the body was covered by a sheet. The black boots were plainly visible.

Jim stood there bravely for a moment and then started to cry. Spencer, after a few seconds of staring dumbly at Will, put his hand on Jim's back and patted him brusquely. He wanted to say, 'It's all right.' But he couldn't trust his voice.

It was Will who, looking at Spencer, said, 'It'll be all right.'

'Yeah, right!' exclaimed Jim, moving away from Spencer's hand. 'She is dead! It's not all right. It's terrible.'

The morgue attendant stood near the covered gurney. His eyes were impassive.

'Yes,' Spencer agreed quietly. 'It is terrible. She was too young to die and had too much life ahead of her,' he said, welling up with emotion. He continued, 'That's why we need you to help us. Help us find out what happened to her. Help us '

'Oh, and what's that going to do? Helping you, how is that going to bring her back?'

Spencer stepped away, and his gaze became cold again. This boy was impossible. 'You're absolutely right. Nothing's going to bring her back. But helping us is going to keep you out of jail. Because I'm sure Concord's DA's office will want to know why you knew she was dead yesterday and didn't report it. Why you knew she was missing for over a week, yet didn't report her missing. They'll be very curious, I can tell you that right now. They're a curious bunch.'

Jim's expression went from defiant to broken. 'All right,' he said, pointing to the gurney. 'Do I need to see any more? It's her new boots, I know them.'

Yes, Spencer thought, reaching out and touching the boots with his fingers.

'Spencer!' exclaimed Will.

Spencer slowly took his hand off, not taking his eyes off the boots. 'Huh,' he said, squinting up at Jim. 'Interesting.'

Jim looked at the boots. 'What?'

Stepping back, Spencer said, 'Nothing, nothing.'

Jim said, 'Listen, it's her, all right? Do I have to see any more?'

Spencer didn't want to see her himself, and was about to say, no, no, you don't, when Will stepped in. 'Yes, Jim,' he said, glaring at Spencer. 'I'm afraid you do.'

'All right,' Jim said, stiffening. 'Show me, and then let's get out of here.'

The little attendant lifted the blanket off the body's head. Then he removed the blanket completely. Spencer stood at the head of the gurney, looking at Kristina in front of him and at Jim to the left of him. He held his breath. He didn't want another cry of pain to escape his throat.

If ever there was a positive identification, this was it. Jim looked at her and turned away, trembling. Kristina was naked, her hands at her sides. She was still frozen, but the extremities were starting to thaw: their bluish color was different from the rest of her body, which remained white. Spencer needed to ask the question Is it Kristina Kim? But he couldn't speak. He motioned to Will, who said, 'Jim, is it Kristina Kim?'

'Yes,' Jim said brokenly without turning around. 'It's her.'

Though Spencer noticed with a pang in his chest the blueness of her skin, the whiteness of Kristina's face, he was riveted on Jim. He wanted to see what was in Jim's eyes. Tears and shaking shoulders could just as easily be remorse as grief.

Crying, Jim turned back to the body. Wiping his face in a rough gesture, he asked, 'So what's going to happen to her now?'

'Nothing,' said Spencer. 'Nothing until she thaws. Maybe Saturday. The medical examiner in Concord has already been notified.' The last sentence was more a question than a statement. Spencer looked over at Will, who shrugged.

'Fell was supposed to call the coroner.'

'And the DA's office?'

Nodding, Will said, 'And the DA's office.'

Turning back to Jim, Spencer said, 'And I'll tell you about the DA's office, Jim. They're eager. The more criminals they put away, the better their record. You dig how that works, right?'

Jim, looking as if he were barely listening, nodded.

'There's nothing they like better than a homicide. We don't get too many of them around here. I don't know what it's like around Wilmington, but in this part of the country a suspicious death is the biggest deal there is. It's front-page news, if you get my meaning.'

Jim didn't move.

'If the death was an accident, fine,' Spencer continued. 'But if the autopsy shows it wasn't, then our little friends in Concord don't sleep or eat until they get their man. Understand?'

'What makes you so sure it was a man?' Jim asked.

'Jim, Jim. You're taking this personally. And literally. Try to relax. We don't know her death wasn't an accident.'

'An accident?'

'Yeah, sure, an accident,' Spencer said. 'The autopsy could show she'd been drinking. She could've drunk an entire bottle of Southern Comfort, walked the wall, then taken a walk through the woods and just collapsed. Alcohol made her seem warmer; meanwhile she was colder and colder. Sat down in the snow and went to sleep. It could've happened.'

'Really?' Jim said, with so much expectation, so much hope, it made Spencer almost physically sick.

'No,' Spencer said sadly. 'No. But never mind that, right now. You understand how important your testimony is? Taking her body temperature is useless. Worse than useless. Irrelevant. It won't tell us anything. She's been frozen solid under three feet of snow for nine days.'

'But at least we know when she ...' said Jim, trailing off as if the words were too much in Krishna's presence.

'Died?' finished Spencer, mindful of Jim's delicacies. 'Do we know that? I think we don't know anything.'

Moving away from the stainless-steel gurney, Jim blinked away tears. Spencer motioned to the attendant that they were done.

I hope this attendant doesn't fall asleep in public places, Spencer thought. Or someone might mistake him for a corpse, too.

The white-gray sheet was spread over her legs, then over her naked midsection, over her frozen breasts, and finally over her face and wet, black hair. Spencer lowered his head.

'Let's go,' he said. 'Tell you what I'll do. I'm going to send you home. I want to talk to your friends. Albert and Constance. I'll ask you to come back tomorrow. Don't go into Kristina's room. We're getting a search warrant first thing in the morning. Understand everything? Hope for your sake your story checks out. Come on, let's go.'

'Why'd you do that?' Will whispered to Spencer on the way to the car. 'It's against protocol. We definitely should keep him overnight.'

'He's a poor scared-shitless kid,' Spencer whispered back. 'And I don't think he did it.'

'You don't? Why?'

'Because,' said Spencer. 'I don't think the killer would keep coming back to Kristina's room. What would be the point?'

In the car, Spencer said, 'I just want to ask you again, the dog wasn't with you for Thanksgiving?'

'No,' Jim said from the backseat.

After they dropped off Jim, Spencer and Will went back to the station. It was after hours, and the station was nearly empty. Albert and Conni remained separated in their rooms.

Spencer poked his head in to see Conni. 'How are you doing?'

'God!' she exclaimed. 'It's been so long.'

'Just a few minutes longer, all right?' said Spencer. He wanted to talk to Albert first.

'That's what you said last time,' she said. 'Look, can I get something to eat, or '

'No, Conni, you can't,' said Spencer as he was shutting the door. 'This is not a restaurant.' He brought her a glass of water and some coffee, anyway.

He and Will went in to talk to Albert, who was composed. Spencer knew composure did not mean internal calm nor ignorance. All it meant was that someone could handle his or her bodily tics in front of others. It was eight o'clock. Spencer was still a long way from being done, and he was spent. He adjusted his gun holster so he could sit more comfortably, and then took it off altogether.

Albert said, 'Do you need someone to identify her?'

Opening his notepad, Spencer said slowly, 'Jim Shaw already identified her. What we need is someone to authorize an autopsy and to claim her body. Can you do that?'

Shaking his head, Albert said, 'I thought maybe you needed someone else to look at her.'

Spencer considered him for a moment. 'We got a positive ID. We don't need to second it.'

Shrugging, Albert turned his gaze straight ahead and shifted in his seat. Spencer watched him. There was something impressive, something no-nonsense, about his demeanor, about his unwavering gaze and his stoicism. Young people didn't regularly die in this part of the country. This was not the streets of New York. And Kristina was Albert's friend. Yet he was composed. He didn't look so beaten down as Jim, and he did not look away from Spencer's face.

Before Spencer could speak, Albert expressed remorse for what had happened and said he would do whatever he could to help.

'Well, we certainly appreciate that,' said Will Baker, who took his seat next to Spencer and across from Albert.

'It was very hard for Jim Shaw,' Spencer added.

'It's hard for all of us,' said Albert, and somehow Spencer didn't doubt for a moment that Albert was talking about himself. Spencer turned on the tape recorder.

'Albert, before I get to Kristina, tell me a little about yourself.'

'What would you like to know?'

'Where are you from?'

'Clairton, Pennsylvania.'

Spencer nodded. 'Never heard of it. Where are your parents?'

'I don't know. Maybe still there. We don't keep in touch.'

'You don't keep in touch with your mother?'

'No.'

'Why not?'

Albert shrugged. 'I just don't,' he said slowly.

'She was important enough to you to tattoo her name on your arm.'

'She was my mother, detective.'

'Any brothers or sisters?'

'No.'

'Why did you choose Dartmouth?'

Albert smiled lightly. 'Because my SAT scores were too high to get into Harvard.'

Spencer didn't smile. 'Why Dartmouth?' he repeated.

Albert stopped smiling. 'I didn't choose Dartmouth. Dartmouth chose me.'

Spencer studied Albert, while the tape recorder hummed. They didn't speak. Albert looked different from a few hours ago, somehow more familiar, more sympathetic. The tattoos made sense, the earring, the long hair, the impenetrable black eyes. Albert was collected and he was steadfast, but underneath, Spencer saw no fear. No fear of him, no fear of the interrogation, no fear of jail. Albert looked like a guy who had nothing to hide.

'Albert, tell me,' said Spencer. 'Were you good friends with Jim?'

'Yes, we were roommates in our freshman year.'

'Is that how you met Kristina and Conni? Through Jim?'

'Kristina and I were in the same philosophy class together. Conni was Kristina's roommate.'

Well, that explained it. Albert had met Kristina in class. He wondered why Jim didn't know that. Why had Jim been sitting there puzzling over a three-year-old memory when in two seconds and one sentence it was all clear?

Will stood up. 'Can I see you for a second, Trace?' he said.

Closing the door behind him and lowering his voice in the narrow hallway, Will said, 'What are you doing?'