'Nowhere in the entire district? The President should do something about that.'

We were inside my kitchen, and the sun was gold on windows facing it, while the southern exposure caught the river glinting through trees. I had slept better last night, although I had no idea why, unless my brain had been so overloaded it simply had died. I remembered no dreams, and was grateful.

'I got a couple of VIP parking passes from the last time Clinton was in town,' Marino said, helping himself to coffee. 'Issued by the mayor's office.'

He poured coffee for me, too, and slid the mug my way, like a mug of beer on the bar.

'I figured with your Benz and those, maybe the cops would think we have diplomatic immunity or something,' he went on.

'I'm supposing you've seen the boots they put on cars up there.'

I sliced a poppyseed bagel, then opened the refrigerator door to take an inventory.

'I've got Swiss, Vermont cheddar, prosciutto.'

I opened another plastic drawer.

'And Parmesan reggiano - that wouldn't be very good. No cream cheese. Sorry. But I think I've got honey, if you'd rather have that.'

'What about a Vidalia onion?' he asked, looking over my shoulder.

'That I have.'

'Swiss, prosciutto, and a slice of onion is just what the doctor ordered,' Marino said happily. 'Now that's what I call a breakfast.'

'No butter,' I told him. 'I have to draw the line somewhere so I don't feel responsible for your sudden death.'

'Deli mustard would be good,' he said.

I spread spicy yellow mustard, then added prosciutto and onion with the cheese on top, and by the time the toaster oven had heated up, I was consumed by cravings. I fixed the same concoction for myself and poured my granola back into its tin. We sat at my kitchen table and drank Columbian coffee and ate while sunlight painted the flowers in my yard in vibrant hues, and the sky turned a brilliant blue. We were on I-95 North by nine-thirty, and fought little traffic until Quantico.

As I drove past the exit for the FBI Academy and Marine Corps base, I was tugged by days that no longer were, by memories of my relationship with Benton when it was new, and my anxious pride over Lucy's accomplishments in a law enforcement agency that remained as much a politically correct all boys club as it had been during the reign of Hoover. Only now, the Bureau's prejudices and power-mongering were more covert as it marched forward like an army in the night, capturing jurisdictions and credits wherever it could as it pushed closer to becoming the official federal police force of America.

Such realizations had been devastating to me and were largely left unspoken, because I did not want to hurt the individual agent in the field who worked hard and had given his heart to what he believed was a noble calling. I could feel Marino looking at me as he tapped an ash out his window.

'You know, Doc,' he said. 'Maybe you should resign.'

He referred to my long-held position as the consulting forensic pathologist for the Bureau.

'I know they're using other medical examiners these days,' he went on. 'Bringing them in on cases instead of calling you. Let's face it, you haven't been to the Academy in over a year, and that's not an accident. They don't want to deal with you because of what they did to Lucy.'

'I can't resign,' I said, 'because I don't work for them, Marino. I work for cops who need help with their cases and turn to the Bureau. There's no way I'll be the one who quits. And things go in cycles. Directors and attorneys general come and go, and maybe someday things will be better again. Besides, you are still a consultant for them, and they don't seem to call you, either.'

'Yo. Well, I guess I feel the same way you do.'

He pitched his cigarette butt and it sailed behind us on the wind of my speeding car.

'It sucks, don't it? Going up there and working with good people and drinking beer in the Boardroom. It all gets to me, if you want to know. People hating cops and cops hating 'em back. When I was getting started, old folks, kids, parents - they was happy to see me. I was proud to put on the uniform and shined my shoes every day. Now, after twenty years, I get bricks throwed at me in the projects and citizens don't even answer if I say good morning. I work my ass off for twenty-six years, and they promote me to captain and put me in charge of the training bureau.'

'That's probably the place where you can do the most good,' I reminded him.

'Yeah, but that's not why I got stuck there.'

He stared out his side window, watching green highway signs fly by.

'They're putting me out to pasture, hoping I'll hurry up and retire or die. And I gotta tell you, Doc, I think about it a lot. Taking the boat out, fishing, taking the RV on the road and maybe going out west to see the Grand Canyon, Yosemite, Lake Tahoe, all those places I've always heard about. But then when it gets right down to it, I wouldn't know what to do with myself. So I just think I'll croak in the saddle.'

'Not anytime soon,' I said. 'And should you retire, Marino, you can do like Benton.'

'With all due respect, I ain't the consultant type,' he said. 'The Institute of Justice and IBM ain't gonna hire a slob like me. Doesn't matter what I know.'

I didn't disagree or offer another word, because, with rare exception, what he had said was true. Benton was handsome and polished and commanded respect when he walked into a room, and that was really the only difference between him and Pete Marino. Both were honest and compassionate and experts in their fields.

'All right, we need to pick up 395 and head over to Constitution,' I thought out loud as I watched signs and ignored urgent drivers riding my bumper and darting around me because going the speed limit wasn't fast enough. 'What we don't want to do is go too far and end up on Maine Avenue. I've done that before.'

I flicked on my right turn signal.

'On a Friday night when I was coming up to see Lucy.'

'A good way to get carjacked,' Marino said.

'Almost did.'

'No shit?' He looked over at me. 'What'd you do?'

'They started circling my car, so I floored it.'

'Run anybody over?'

'Almost.'

'Would you have kept on going, Doc? I mean, if you had run one of them over?'

'With at least a dozen of his buddies left, you bet your boots.'

'Well, I'll tell you one thing,' he said, looking down at his feet. 'They ain't worth much.'

Fifteen minutes later we were on Constitution, passing the Department of the Interior while the Washington Monument watched over the Mall, where tents had been set up to celebrate African American art, and venders sold Eastern Shore crabs and T-shirts from the backs of small trucks. The grass between kiosks was depressingly layered with yesterday's trash, and every other minute another ambulance screamed past. We had driven in circles several times, the Smithsonian coiled in the distance like a dark red dragon. There was not a parking place to be found and, typically, streets were one way or abruptly stopped in the middle of a block, while others were barricaded, and harried commuters did not yield even if it meant your running into the back of a parked bus.

'I tell you what I think we should do,' I said, turning on Virginia Avenue. 'We'll valet park at the Watergate and take a cab.'

'Who the hell would want to live in a city like this?' Marino griped.

'Unfortunately, a lot of people.'

'Talk about a place that's screwed up,' he went on. 'Welcome to America.'

The uniformed valet at the Watergate was very gracious and did not seem to think it odd when I gave him my car and asked him to hail a cab. My precious cargo was in the backseat, packed in a sturdy cardboard box filled with Styrofoam peanuts. Marino and I were let out at Twelfth and Constitution at not quite noon, and climbed the crowded steps of the National Museum of Natural History. Security had been intensified since the Oklahoma bombing, and the guard let us know that Dr Vessey would have to come down and escort us upstairs.