Ed scanned in the prints. 'What exactly are you looking for?'

'A name,' replied Spencer. 'Just a name.'

'Is a name important?'

'I don't know,' Spencer said in agitation. 'Depends what it is.'

This time they didn't have to wait so long. The computer cranked immediately, and on the screen appeared Albert's face. Spencer glanced at the name under the photo and let out his breath.

The name did not read Albert Maplethorpe. It read Nathan Sinclair.

Spencer stood numbly behind Landers. He heard the hum of the computer, and a printer in another room. He heard people talking; eventually he saw Landers turning around.

'Are you all right, Spence?'

Spencer came to. 'Yes, yes, of course. I'm fine. Let me look at this some more.' And he bent over the screen, trying to focus. The text was swimming in front of his eyes.

Nathan Sinclair had been arrested at age seventeen in Brooklyn Heights, New York, for juvenile delinquency. He and some friends got caught while bungling a convenience store robbery. He had served three months of a two-year sentence, and had been released on probation. According to police records, he had never reported to his probation officer, and, in fact, had never been heard from again.

'God, what was this person doing in Krishna's room?' said Ed.

Spencer leaned away from the screen, away from Ed. His emotions were as high-pitched as Conni's voice. 'I don't know, Ed. But this is what I needed. Could you print that?'

After he received a copy of the report on Nathan Sinclair, Spencer, clutching the manila envelope, walked out of the building.

He wanted to go home. To think that only four days ago, he had sat behind his desk at work, bored, restless, and frustrated because a college girl hadn't called.

Four days.

Sometimes he didn't leave his apartment for four days, doing nothing, feeling nothing. He ate eating, now that must have been a treat! he drank, he slept, he watched sports on TV, four days passed, and absolutely nothing happened.

Spencer drove slowly back to Hanover. It was dark again; another day without food. He made himself stop and go into Murphy's and order a beer and a burger. He didn't eat the burger, but the Molson's tasted pretty good. He ordered another one. It was still early; the place was empty.

'Looks like you got troubles, pal,' said Marty, his old friend the bartender.

'You could say troubles.' Spencer smiled thinly. Nathan Sinclair rang through his ears.

'Have something to do with that dead girl?'

'Yeah. About everything.'

'Well, you know I'm sure you must they made an arrest this afternoon. Incredible. Arrested some girl. Nobody can figure it out. I thought we were looking for a rapist. A girl. Can you believe it?'

'Almost no,' Spencer replied.

'Apparently she's guilty.'

'Well, we don't know that, do we? Let's not jump to any conclusions.'

'What do you mean? They wouldn't have arrested her if they didn't have enough evidence. They gotta have enough to go to the grand jury with, especially for murder. I can't believe it.'

'I almost can't believe it myself.' Spencer liked Marty, but tonight he wished Marty would just go away. 'Marty, how do you know all this stuff about the grand jury? Are you a lawyer on the side or something?'

Marty waved him off. 'Nah. What you see is what you get, Detective-Sergeant Tracy.'

Spencer sipped his beer.

'I hear she's not even denying it,' Marty said, as if that closed his book on her guilt or innocence.

'She does have the right to remain silent, you know,' said Spencer.

'Yeah, but I think she's not opening her mouth because if she does, they'll get a confession out of her.'

Spencer knew he should go to the station, but he wanted another drink. He wanted to sit quietly at his usual spot in the subdued bar and go to sleep.

He hoped it would all be over soon.

'You really look like shit, pal. Even in this light.'

'Thanks. You're too kind.' Spencer smiled.

'Tracy, you know you're always welcome in my bar, and I'm happy to see you. But go and fight crime.'

Before he left, Spencer took a long look at Marty and said, 'You know what, Marty? One of these days I sure as hell wish you'd stop calling me Tracy.'

'Ah, but Trace '

'I mean it, Marty. It pisses me off.'

Marty looked almost hurt. 'Spencer, I've been calling you Tracy for five years.'

'And it's been pissing me off for five years, Marty,' said Spencer, unsmiling and tired. 'Just thought I'd tell you. Good night.'

Marty mumbled something.

Spencer walked slowly home to clear his head and change his clothes before heading down to headquarters.

Spencer knew he'd catch hell from the chief. He clutched the manila envelope tighter, turning the corner to Allen Street, slowly making his way home past Stinson's, EBA, and the Dartmouth Music Shop.

It was almost too hard to be alone with the knowledge of Nathan Sinclair.

Oh, if only Conni had known. If only she'd known. She would have run from Kristina and Albert, screaming, and told Jim Shaw, and he would have run screaming, too. As it was, Conni's hatred had gotten the better of her, and for what? For who? Spencer was almost sure Constance Tobias had done away with the wrong person. As Ruth Ellis the last woman to be hanged in Britain had done, Conni should have dealt with the disease, not the symptom.

Going up the stairs and turning the key to his apartment, Spencer wished he had someone to go home to. For someone to listen to him and then say, this is where you've gone wrong, this is where you're mistaken.

Secretly Spencer was afraid Will Baker was a better cop than he, because Will Baker had a wife. Will went home, and he talked about his day for ten minutes, and if there was something to add, Ginny Baker would add it, and then they would forget it and go on with their evening.

Spencer couldn't go on with his evening. He could only go on with himself. Usually he could bear it, but there were times when he looked at his dark, empty apartment and the forces of universe would combine and stifle him. When he wished someone else would be angry for Kristina and at Conni, and at Nathan Sinclair. When someone else would be mad at the chief for chewing him out and calling in the henchmen.

When someone would be angry for him.

When someone would be anything for him.

Spencer dropped his keys on the little table and, out of habit, looked in his refrigerator. Nothing. It was six on Monday evening, and no one would be home later, or tonight. Or tomorrow morning. No one but himself, and tonight he just couldn't stand himself anymore. He was sick of the sight of him.

He showered and changed, and then drove back to the station. He left Nathan Sinclair's manila envelope on the kitchen table.

Spencer was unprepared for the pandemonium at the station.

The press was everywhere with their cameras and lights and insistent microphones that had a life all their own. How did everyone get here so quickly? Spencer wondered. There were TV cameras from a station in Oklahoma, and two journalists from the Los Angeles Times shoving their live mikes at him. He pushed past them, muttering no comment, no comment. He barely even heard their questions, because his own questions were screaming in his head.

The blue-and-red lights of the police sirens flashed. There was still snow on the ground, and it was very cold.

Spencer went straight to the chief's office. Gallagher glared at Spencer as if he were mud.

'Where the hell have you been? We've arrested Conni Tobias.'

'So I've heard.'

'Goddammit! Where were you? Silas and Artell wanted you to go with them and Ray.'

'Why? They seem to have managed fine by themselves.'

'O'Malley, don't be a wiseass. You were heading this investigation. They needed your help.'

'Well, well,' said Spencer, his mouth stretching at the corners. 'Why didn't you say so? That's what I'm here for. To help them.'

'That is what you're here for,' snapped Gallagher. 'To help them. We all work together, Tracy. What's going through your thick head? You find the killer, they prosecute the case, remember?'

'Yeah, well, I didn't realize prosecuting the case involved making the arrest. I thought I was in charge of that.'

'You weren't here!' shouted Gallagher, as Will stared at the carpet. 'Maybe if you had been here, you could've made the arrest.'

'If I had been here, I would have advised you to wait '

Gallagher cut him off. 'O'Malley, wait for what? Christmas? I'm tired of your shit. Want Baker to take over?'

Spencer glanced at Will, who didn't look up. 'Is that another threat, chief?'

'Shape up, O'Malley! The DA's office needs you, your partner needs you, this station needs you. Don't let your personal problems overwhelm you every time we have a big case.'

'Overwhelm me? Every time? What, out of the two we've had?'

'What, unless it's a murder, it's not a big case? What about the forty robberies we had last year? What about the burglaries? What about that nearfatal assault in the bar last winter? Every time things get heated up, you go off somewhere, doing God knows what.'

Spencer considered the situation. 'Is that why you brought in the AD As? Because you think I'm off somewhere?'

'I didn't bring them in! We work together, goddammit! It was a suspicious homicide. Now it's murder one. Concord and Haverhill should've both been here on Thursday.'

'Yes, but they weren't.'

'No, and look what we got I don't even know what!' Gallagher banged on his desk, stood, and sat back down. 'Look,' he said, in a calmer voice. 'Baker seemed to indicate you might need some help.'

Spencer cocked his head and studied his partner levelly. Will Baker flushed. 'Baker seemed to indicate that, did he? Well, did he or didn't he indicate that?' Before the chief or Will could reply, Spencer said, 'For your information, the help you've given me is too little too late, chief. I had only Ray on Thursday to process the scene, and there's no bigger screw-up in the department. No camera, no tape, no notebook, doesn't call Concord when told to, the coroner isn't notified till Friday evening, and frankly, where were you last week? If this was so important, where the hell were you? I don't know and I don't care, but one thing's for sure, you weren't here.' Spencer's voice was becoming progressively louder. Had he been calmer, he would've understood that Gallagher's bluster and anger at Spencer was to cover-up for his own neglect of a murder investigation, but Spencer wasn't calm. And he didn't understand.

'I am the chief, Tracy,' said the chief, raising his voice.

'Yeah, well, where was the chief last week when we were digging up a woman's naked corpse with our bare hands? Where were you when we found nine million dollars in her account, and where were you when we couldn't find a soul on earth to come and claim a dead girl, who was everybody's flavor of the month when she was alive, but dead must've given off quite a stink, because no one wanted anything to do with her! Let me tell you something about me going off somewhere. Yesterday I drove to Norwalk, Connecticut, and spoke to a woman who told me some pretty incredible things you don't give a shit about. Today I drove to Concord because ' He paused for breath. 'Because one set of prints didn't match up. I've hardly eaten in four days. Where were you yesterday? Let me guess playing touch football with your kids and having a nice Sunday roast with your wife. So don't tell me I've been going off somewhere,' said Spencer with his fists clenched. 'I've been doing my job.'

It took a long while to blow Spencer's fuse, but once blown, it was blown.

At Spencer's side, Will didn't look up from the floor.

Gallagher's voice when he spoke was remarkably calm, as if he were a parent trying to mollify a temperamental child.

'Now, Spencer,' said Gallagher softly, through gritted teeth, and Spencer, had he been less angry, would've been amazed, for the chief never called him by his first name, not even when they were drinking.

'Ah, don't Spencer me,' snapped Spencer. 'I'm tired of it all. Just tired. I'm going home. You got your girl, so to speak. Go and talk to those mikes outside. They're clamoring for your opinion. Go and tell them everything you know about Conni Tobias. About Kristina Kim. And about Nathan Sinclair.'

'Who the hell is Nathan Sinclair?' Will whispered.

'I'm sorry we can't all be as smart as you, Tracy,' said the chief angrily. 'But we're not idiots. And we'll all beg your pardon for having wives and families, but we do also try to do our jobs, as best we can, though of course not brilliantly and twenty-four hours a day like you.'

Spencer did not want to have this discussion. He was overflowing with emotion. He hadn't felt this much since his wife died. He realized suddenly that Gallagher knew something very important about Spencer Patrick O'Malley, something that gave him the power of intimidation over Spencer, and this wasn't the first time the chief had wielded that power with glee.

Gallagher knew that Spencer O'Malley had no life.

Barely breathing, Spencer stood in front of the chief. Faced with a dilemma, a situation of mutually exclusive and equally unfavorable options, Spencer's only outward sign of emotion was a shaking of his fingertips.

'I quit,' he said.

'O'Malley, don't be stupid,' the chief said. 'Every time I chew you out, you threaten to quit. I'm tired of it. One of these days I'm not going to call you back.'

'Make that day today, chief,' said Spencer, unzipping his holster with the Magnum and throwing it on the desk.

'O'Malley!' Gallagher exclaimed.

'Tracy, stop it, man,' said Will quietly, coming over to him.

Spencer backed away, unclipping his police badge from his shirt pocket, and also throwing that on the table. 'I know, I know,' he said, much calmer now, and more relaxed. 'It's always the same thing. I pretend to quit because I'm just fed up to here the way you treat me, the way you talk to me, the way you run this place. I've been waiting five years for you to retire so I can take over your job, but they seemed like fifty-five years. I stayed because I had no choice. But you know what? Kristina Kim has no choice. Katherine Sinclair has no choice. I actually have some. And I quit. You think I love this job too much '

'I don't think that, O'Malley.'

'Well, you're wrong. I do like this job. But then, I don't have a life to compare it to. That's why you treat me like shit, isn't it? Because I got nowhere else to go. Well, the hell with this place. I quit now. You can clean out my desk. I got nothing in it. If the DA needs me to testify, let them subpoena me.'

'Tracy,' Will whispered to him. 'You're going too far.'

'Yeah. Out the door.'