"Thanks," he grumbled. "To think, I could have been a pediatrician. Thought treating runny noses and ear

infections all day wouldn't be exciting enough."

"You're up to your a.s.s in excitement now."

"That I am." He donned his gloves. "Anything I should know?"

"Looks like she's been dead awhile. My bet is neck was broken. Killed at another location, natch."

"Working girl?"

"Don't think so."

"You want to hold the light for me, McPherson?"

The man stepped onto the cans. Stacy glanced toward the mouth of the alley and the bag lady huddled beside her grocery cart. She touched Mac's arm to indicate she meant to question her, then headed that way.

As she neared, Stacy heard the bag lady mumbling to herself. The commentary sounded like the woman's own version of a language, similar to the pig Latin Stacy and her friends had used to convey secret messages in elementary school.

Stacy squatted down in front of her. "h.e.l.lo."

The woman didn't meet her eyes. Stacy held out the cup of coffee. "Would you like this? It's not hot anymore. But it's sweet." The woman took the cup, curled her fingers around it. Stacy noticed that her hands were surprisingly clean. She brought the cup to her mouth and drank, making slurping sounds as she did.

Stacy reached in her coat pocket for the granola bar she had grabbed on her way out of the door. She

had meant to eat it in the car but hadn't gotten around to it. She held the bar out to the bag lady; again the woman s.n.a.t.c.hed the offering.

"Sorry you had to find her," Stacy said, indicating the body in the Dumpster. "Thanks for calling us."

The woman grunted, tore the wrapper off the bar and shoved as much as she could of it into her mouth.

"You spend a lot of time in this alley?"

She shrugged, didn't look at Stacy.

"Some?"

She nodded, mouth hanging slightly open as she chewed.

"When's the last time you came around here? Before tonight?"

She mumbled something Stacy couldn't make out.

"I know you can speak because you called this in. Are you going to talk to me here or do I take you

downtown?"

"Been a few days. M'be a week."

She had an unusual accent. A mixed-up combination of Old South and country. Slightly guttural tone.

"Since you visited this alley?" Stacy asked for confirmation.

The woman nodded.

"Ever see anything strange around here? Anyone who didn't belong?"

"Nuh."

"How about tonight? Anything strange?" The bag lady pointed toward the Dumpster. "Besides the dead woman. See anything? Find anything we should know about?"

She dropped her hand. Curled her fingers around something encased in the layers of clothing she wore.

"The officer over there said you used a cell phone to call. That true?"

The woman looked at Stacy then. Was that suspicion she saw in her gaze? Or fear?

She shook her head.

She had been a pretty woman once, Stacy thought. And although her age was difficult to determine because of the dirt ground into every line and crease of her face, she seemed young to be in the position she was. Stacy wondered how she had come to be here, looking through Dumpsters for food.

"Here's the deal," Stacy said, keeping her tone nonconfronta-tional, "we know you called from a cell phone. If somebody dropped that in this alley or you found it in the Dumpster with the victim, I can confiscate it as evidence.

"I don't want to do that. But I have to have that phone. How about we trade? You name it."

The woman didn't hesitate. She pointed to Stacy's crucifix. Stacy brought her hand to her throat, to the thin gold chain and turquoise-and-mother-of-pearl crucifix that had spilled out of the neckline of her shirt.

Jane had given it to her when she graduated from the academy. So the Lord would always be with her,

Jane had said. Keeping her safe from harm. Stacy believed in what the crucifix represented and in the power of faith; she never took it off.

At the thought of being without it, a feeling akin to panic came over her.

She could say no, insist the woman choose something else. She, not the indigent, held all the power

cards. But perhaps this woman needed G.o.d's watchful eye more than she. Stacy unfastened the chain

and held it out.

The woman flashed her a triumphant smile and reached for it. Stacy drew her hand back. "First, the phone."

The woman dug in her layers of clothing, then handed the device over.

A Verizon flip phone, Stacy saw. She opened it. Color display. Looked like the latest technology.

Expensive. She took an evidence bag from her jacket pocket and dropped it in.

"Where'd you find it?"

The woman turned and pointed at the Dumpster.

"In the bin? With the body?"

She nodded. "On top. Give to me." She pointed to Stacy's necklace.

Stacy fulfilled her part of the bargain, though not without a moment of regret. She watched as the other

woman hooked it around her neck.

Stacy stood. "Wait here, we may have more questions."

The woman didn't acknowledge her in any way, and Stacy returned to the Dumpster.

"Get anything?" Mac asked.

"Mmm." She held up the evidence. "She found it in with the vic On top."

"Hot d.a.m.n. There is a G.o.d."

Stacy thought of her crucifix. Yes, there was.

Pete stepped down. "It looks like she was in her mid-twenties. Neck was broken. Autopsy will tell the

rest."

"When?"

"With everybody else out with this d.a.m.n flu, I don't know. I'll get to it as fast as I can."

THIRTY.

Friday, October 24, 2003

9:25 a.m.

Sunlight spilled over Jane, warming her skin. She stood on the beach, toes curled in the warm sand. With one hand she held the wide brim of a straw hat, with the other she waved at Ian, playing in the surf. With a child, a beautiful child with golden curls.

They were laughing.

A seagull flew overhead, throwing a shadow over the sun. It screeched, shattering the moment. "No!" she cried. It screeched again, and she swatted at it.

Her hand connected with something cold and hard, sending it tumbling. It hit the floor with a crash and she jolted awake.

Disoriented, Jane looked around. She was sitting in Ian's study, at the computer. It was on. As she watched, the image on the Screensaver morphed from one image of tropical paradise to another. Sun streamed through the blinds, falling across her.

The beach from her dream. The sun.

Her feeling of loss was acute. For the happiness of her dream. For Ian. Their once beautiful, bright future.

She shifted her gaze. Her mug lay shattered on the floor, the remnants of her herbal tea a puddle on the gleaming wood. She stared at the puddle, the events of the previous night filling her head. The reporter's call, her trip to Ian's office, collecting the box of CDs. The woman.

Jane dragged a hand across her eyes. Who was she? Whose file had she taken? Her own? Most probably, but not certainly. What could the file have contained that was so sensitive it was worth breaking and entering over?

Jane shivered and turned her attention to the computer screen. She hit the return b.u.t.ton, the machine hummed and the financial information she had fallen asleep while reviewing appeared on the screen.

Everything had been as she'd expected it to be, no surprises.

And nothing had jumped out, shouting Ian's innocence.