"Victim's name is Cicero Ruiz," Hadley said, ignoring my failure to answer his question. "Looks like a robbery-murder. Neighbor says he was doing some kind of cash business from the apartment."

I warned you, I thought. I thought. I warned you. I warned you.

Hadley nodded toward the door, where Soleil was out of sight. "The same neighbor called us this morning," he said. "She saw the print outside the door."

On my way in, I'd missed the sight of half a reddish shoe print, where someone had tracked blood on the way out.

"She got a bad feeling about it, so when he didn't answer her knock, she called us," Hadley finished.

"Have you interviewed her at length?" I asked.

"Not yet. That's why she's in the hall, waiting," Hadley said. He took out his notebook but didn't open it. "The rest of the neighbors say they didn't see anything." He indicated the medical instruments on the floor. "It looks like the guy was a doctor, but that can't be right; not in a building like this."

"He was was a doctor," I said. Cicero was beyond needing my promise of silence now. "Prewitt asked me to track him down. He was practicing out of his apartment." a doctor," I said. Cicero was beyond needing my promise of silence now. "Prewitt asked me to track him down. He was practicing out of his apartment."

"He saw patients patients here?" Hadley said. here?" Hadley said.

I nodded. "That's what we were hearing. I was supposed to get evidence for an arrest."

"Well, we're a little too late for that," Hadley said.

I swallowed against the solidifying muscle in my throat.

"Sarah?" Hadley said.

Homicide detectives, more than most police, have to rely on an article of faith: that victims of crime can be helped even after they're dead. I'm not sure I ever fully believed that. But now a voice in my mind said, Do your job. Do your job. And at the moment, I didn't question it. I swallowed a second time, and then I could function again. "What do you know?" I asked. And at the moment, I didn't question it. I swallowed a second time, and then I could function again. "What do you know?" I asked.

"Not much," Hadley said. "It looks like there might have been two people involved," Hadley said. "I'll let the technicians decide that, based on the shoe prints and any fingerprints they find. Like I said, robbery is the probable motive." He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I don't know how much money the doc was making, but I don't think he gave it up easy."

"He was beaten?" I asked.

"Oh yeah," Hadley confirmed. "I saw the body. He was worked over. Let me show you." Hadley moved down the hall, waving me after him.

In Cicero's sanctuary, the photos on the low dresser were undisturbed, but the drawers had been taken out and overturned, like those of the filing cabinet. On the floor, at the foot of the bed, the carpet had been stained dark red in an irregular area around three feet in diameter.

"He died in here," Hadley said. "I think Doc knew his attackers. At least, he let them in. There's no sign the front door was forced. They make a surprise attack in the front room, get him down and out of the chair. He fights enough that there's some blood out there. Then they drag him into the bedroom. This is where the serious beating took place." Hadley pointed at the blood spatters on the wall. "See that? That's a lot of blunt force. Either it was personal animosity, or, more likely, he wasn't giving his visitors what they came for."

Something was wrong about Hadley's theory, I thought. Cicero needed the money his practice brought him, but he was too practical to die for it. He would have surrendered it. If he'd been beaten to death... I shook my head. Hadley had suggested personal animosity, but I couldn't fathom it. Cicero had had no enemies; I would have staked any amount of money on that.

"We already bagged the weapon. A twenty-pound weight, one of a set. Are you okay?" Hadley said.

On the mirror, a dark hair was trapped in dried blood.

"I'm sorry," Hadley was saying. "I forget you don't see as much of this as I do. You want to go back out in the front room?"

"No," I said, finding my voice. "I'm okay. I want to help with this investigation, if I can."

Hadley nodded, finding nothing unusual in the request. "Be glad to have you," he said.

A woman's voice called for Hadley; it was the crime-scene technician in the other room. "Excuse me," Hadley said.

I looked toward the photos on Cicero's altar and thought of what he'd said after he'd written me the prescription.

I do not need to get arrested, Cicero had said. But he'd been wrong. Even if he'd served jail time, it wouldn't have broken him. Cicero might never have forgiven me for turning him in, but at least he would have been alive. He was dead now because I'd overruled my better instincts and obeyed his wishes. Cicero had said. But he'd been wrong. Even if he'd served jail time, it wouldn't have broken him. Cicero might never have forgiven me for turning him in, but at least he would have been alive. He was dead now because I'd overruled my better instincts and obeyed his wishes.

When he'd told me the story about the troubled young psychiatric patient and the night she'd called him to her home, Cicero had said, I was probably pretty G.o.dd.a.m.ned lonely, although I couldn't have seen it back then. I was probably pretty G.o.dd.a.m.ned lonely, although I couldn't have seen it back then. The same could be said of me. I'd needed Cicero's friendship and feared living with the memory of his anger, so I'd shielded him from arrest. At the core of it, I'd spared him out of selfishness and, in sparing him, had killed him. The same could be said of me. I'd needed Cicero's friendship and feared living with the memory of his anger, so I'd shielded him from arrest. At the core of it, I'd spared him out of selfishness and, in sparing him, had killed him.

From the array of photos, a younger, untroubled Cicero and his brother Ulises regarded me. Dead now, both of them. One killed by cops, the other by a cop's leniency.

For the next hour I immersed myself in work. Hadley went out to do quick preinterviews with the neighbors, in order to separate out those who, like Soleil, knew enough to merit taking them downtown for a formal statement. I stayed in the apartment and, using one of the technicians' cameras, meticulously photographed Cicero's apartment, every object, every bloodstain, detaching my mind from what I saw through the viewfinder. hour I immersed myself in work. Hadley went out to do quick preinterviews with the neighbors, in order to separate out those who, like Soleil, knew enough to merit taking them downtown for a formal statement. I stayed in the apartment and, using one of the technicians' cameras, meticulously photographed Cicero's apartment, every object, every bloodstain, detaching my mind from what I saw through the viewfinder.

I was nearly finished when Hadley strode back though the front door. "Pribek!" he said. The tone in his voice was urgent enough that Malik dropped the pencil he was writing with. I lowered the camera.

Hadley was holding his cell phone in his hand. "We've got to suspend things here," he said. "A couple of officers got a call from a drugstore over on University Avenue. A pharmacist called them about a suspicious prescription. A couple of kids tried to pa.s.s it off, but the pharmacist knew right away it was a fake. The writing on it didn't mean anything. It was just some Greek-looking scribbles."

Of course. The prescription pad.

"And the doctor's sig on it? Cicero Ruiz, MD." Hadley flashed me a humorless smile, like a shark's. "Got to hand it to the doc. He shafted 'em."

Hadley had been mistaken, earlier. There was no hostility behind the beating, no personal hard feelings, like he'd theorized. They had needed Cicero to write prescriptions for them. When he'd refused, they'd hurt him to break down his resistance.

Hadley spoke again. "The kids wised up and fled the scene just as the cops were getting there. There was a little footrace in the store, and one of the suspects fell. He's in custody." Hadley shook his head. "His friend left him behind. No honor among thieves."

I barely heard him.

I could understand Cicero being targeted for his money. Everyone he'd ever treated knew he ran a cash business, plus everyone those patients might have spoken to about the unlicensed doctor in the towers. But the prescription pad- "Sarah?" Hadley's voice was impatient.

"Sorry," I said.

"They're holding the kid from the drugstore. The word's going out to pharmacies to be on the lookout for the other guy, but we've just got a description, not a name. Only his friend can ID him." Hadley slipped the cell phone into his jacket. "So let's go lean on him."

From the window of Hadley's car, I watched the flow of traffic, pedestrians filing through the crosswalk, the sun glinting off the high buildings in the distance. I felt as if a membrane were separating me from the outside world. Crumpled in my hand was a piece of paper: my medical history, written in Cicero's hand. It had my full name on it and, had it been found in Cicero's place, would have been impossible to explain to my superiors. Even so, I'd felt cheap and petty when I'd retrieved it from the overturned filing cabinet, like I was betraying Cicero by doing so. of Hadley's car, I watched the flow of traffic, pedestrians filing through the crosswalk, the sun glinting off the high buildings in the distance. I felt as if a membrane were separating me from the outside world. Crumpled in my hand was a piece of paper: my medical history, written in Cicero's hand. It had my full name on it and, had it been found in Cicero's place, would have been impossible to explain to my superiors. Even so, I'd felt cheap and petty when I'd retrieved it from the overturned filing cabinet, like I was betraying Cicero by doing so.

Hadley touched my hand with the backs of his ring and middle fingers, the lightest of touches. "Hey," he said. "I think you're taking this one too hard." He looked away from the street just long enough to make eye contact, then veered around a furniture delivery truck. "Is it because this guy was a paraplegic that this bothers you so much?"

"No," I said. "It's just..." I hesitated. I had to say something, but I didn't want to pierce the membrane and let my feelings out. "It seems like such a waste of a life." I pushed the medical history into my shoulder bag. Please don't let him want to talk about it anymore. Please don't let him want to talk about it anymore.

"I know," Hadley said. "According to his neighbor, he was-"

"Can we talk about interrogation strategy, before we get downtown?" I interrupted.

Hadley swerved around a slow-moving Oldsmobile. "That's probably a good idea," he said.

It was a time-honored tactic: when two people commit a crime, get one to turn on the other. Give him a chance to get a jump on his partner, implicating him in everything. Appeal to his self-preservation, and imply that his partner would do the same to him, if the chance presented itself. time-honored tactic: when two people commit a crime, get one to turn on the other. Give him a chance to get a jump on his partner, implicating him in everything. Appeal to his self-preservation, and imply that his partner would do the same to him, if the chance presented itself.

It was Hadley's investigation; I'd agreed to let him take the lead. I was supposed to take the gentler, good-cop role.

The young man waiting in the interrogation room didn't look like much of an outlaw: about five-seven, with hair the color of straw and a scraggly chin beard. The lower lids of his blue eyes drooped a bit, giving him a listless appearance, but there was a glint of hostile pleasure in his gaze, as if he were looking forward to not helping us. He wore oversized jeans of dark, coa.r.s.e denim and a red hooded sweatshirt. A bluish tattoo hid in the webbed fold of flesh between right thumb and forefinger, and it seemed to crawl like a spider when he moved his hand.

When he saw us, the first thing he did was yawn.

"Don't get too comfortable, Jerod," Hadley said.

Jerod Smith, 19, of South Minneapolis. He had a prior for marijuana possession. That wasn't a serious rap sheet. It was possible that his friend at large was, in fact, the author of Cicero's death.

"You want to tell us about Cicero Ruiz?" Hadley said.

"Who?" Jerod said.

"If you're gonna lie, at least tell smart lies," Hadley said, perching on the corner of the table. "Ruiz's name was on the prescription you handed over to the pharmacist, so we know know you know who he is." Hadley took a deep breath, just for show. He was nowhere near losing his temper. "Ruiz is dead, and then you're trying to fill prescriptions he wrote. That looks very, very bad. I think it's time to cooperate." you know who he is." Hadley took a deep breath, just for show. He was nowhere near losing his temper. "Ruiz is dead, and then you're trying to fill prescriptions he wrote. That looks very, very bad. I think it's time to cooperate."

The boy shrugged. "He was fine when we left his apartment," he said. Then his lips quirked, as if he were holding back amus.e.m.e.nt. "Maybe he fell out of the wheelchair and hit his head on something. Maybe he had some kind of seizure, like those people do." Jerod raised his arm, with the hand flopped over, and banged it against his chest in imitation of a spastic.

I leaned forward. "Listen, you little p.r.i.c.k," I said, "do you think that you're safe because Minnesota doesn't have a death penalty?" I couldn't stop myself. "That's no cause for joy. Runts like you don't have girlfriends in prison, they are are girlfriends. By the time you get released as an old man, that jumped-up c.l.i.toris between your legs won't have gotten any action for fifty years." girlfriends. By the time you get released as an old man, that jumped-up c.l.i.toris between your legs won't have gotten any action for fifty years."

Jerod's eyes first widened, then heated, and his jaw set. Behind me, Hadley said smoothly, "You gotta admit, that's something to think about, Jerod. Why don't we give you some time to mull that over." He stood, and I followed him out. I knew what was coming.

Out in the hallway, Hadley rubbed his forehead and said, "Okay, there was a lot of engine noise in the car and maybe I misheard, but I thought we were clear that I was going to be the heavy, and you were going to be nice and give him someone to confess to." He didn't sound as upset as I knew he was. He had the control over his emotions that you need in the interrogation room.

"I know," I said, ashamed. "He p.i.s.sed me off."

"Well, now we have to regroup," Hadley said. He watched as a file clerk rolled a cart past us down the hall. "All right, I'm just going to cut to the chase in there. Then you get impatient and give up, and I'll agree. We'll see if that works."

Jerod looked mutinous as we came back in, but he didn't actually sneer, and he didn't say anything. Maybe he would crack.

"Okay, let me lay it out for you." Hadley pulled out a chair and turned it backward, straddling it. "This is how it's going to work. We need to bring in your partner. That's our main concern. If you a.s.sist us with that, it's going to help you a lot, in the eyes of a judge."

I leaned against the wall as if bored with the whole process.

"Right now, we don't know whose idea it was to go to Ruiz's apartment. We don't know who actually killed him. We don't know if that was supposed to happen or not. All that's up in the air." Hadley held up a cautioning hand, as if Jerod had been about to speak, although there'd been no sign of it. "Now, I'm not telling you to say anything that isn't true, Jerod. I'm just saying that we don't know any of these things, and with Mr. Ruiz dead-"

Dr. Ruiz, I corrected Hadley mentally. I corrected Hadley mentally.

"- we've only got two people who were in that apartment who can tell us," Hadley said. "Now, your buddy, back in the drugstore, he ran out while you got arrested. That doesn't suggest to me a real trustworthy person. I'm just wondering, when we catch that guy, what kind of regard for the truth he's going to have. I wonder what he's going to tell us about who did what in that apartment."

I was trying not to look involved, but I couldn't help but notice that Jerod was beginning to look a little nervous, the muscles of his face slackening.

"This is what we want," Hadley said. "We want your friend's name, his address, all the information you have that'll help us bring him in. If we get that, maybe we can help you some. But if you wait too long, and he commits another crime, maybe someone else gets hurt"- Hadley leaned back as if withdrawing his interest in Jerod's welfare-"then that's gonna be on you. Because you could have prevented it, and you didn't."

Jerod said nothing.

"What about it, Jerod?" Hadley pressed.

Jerod looked at the floor. It was time for me to enter the action.

"Forget it," I said to Hadley.

Hadley looked at me irritably, as if we were partners who really didn't get along, even outside the interrogation room. He said, "Do you think you could give me more than five minutes to-"

"No, I can't," I said, my voice rising. "Because we'll catch that other kid. He'll do something stupid, because he's got all the impulse control of a G.o.dd.a.m.n leaf in the wind, and we'll catch him and then we'll have both of them."

Hadley lifted his hands and let them fall. "When you're right, you're right," he said simply. "Okay, let's call and have a corrections officer take him over to the jail." He stood up and we headed for the door.

"Wait," Jerod said.

Perfect.

"It was Marc," he said. "It was Marc's idea to go see this guy, and it was Marc who hit him with the weight, afterward. Like, four times. I said, 'What the h.e.l.l are you doing?' but he didn't listen to me."

Whether it was true or not, who could tell? It didn't matter anymore to Cicero, and not much more to me.

Hadley set the notepad down in front of Jerod. "Give us Marc's full name and other information first," he said. "Then I'm going to have you write down a statement about what happened in Mr. Ruiz's apartment."

"Dr. Ruiz," I said.

"What?" Hadley looked at me blankly.

"Dr. Ruiz. He was a doctor," I said.

Jerod was writing. When he finished, and Hadley had torn off the top sheet with Marc's information, we were technically ready to go, to put the information out on the radio. Hadley turned to the door, but I didn't. I was following the train of thought Hadley had interrupted at the crime scene.

There were only three people in the world who'd known that Cicero had a prescription pad in his apartment. One of them was dead, and one of them was me. That left only one other person.

I sat on my heels next to Jerod's chair. It was an intimate, rapport-building position. "Jerod," I said, in a quieter voice from the one I'd been using, "how'd you know to target Dr. Ruiz?"

"I told you, it was Marc's idea," Jerod said.

"How did Marc know?"

"He hangs out with this girl, they're from the same town in Michigan," he said. "She said she knew where there was a guy who had cash and a prescription pad in his apartment."

I tried to keep my voice level. "Marc's from Dearborn, is that it?"

Jerod blinked, surprised. "Yeah, how'd you know?"

"Do you know the girl's name?" I asked, ignoring his question.

Jerod thought. "Something French, kind of like Charmaine, but that's not it. She thinks she's his girlfriend, but she's not. Marc's just letting her wax his stick."

"Thanks, Jerod," I said, unsmiling. "Put all of that in your statement."