In the computer lab, Archie Johnson looked up from his workstation as Catherine walked in. “Catherine, great timing. I just cracked that laptop you gave me.”

“Yeah? Find anything interesting?”

“Not as much as you might think. The usual gack-some games, music, downloaded movies. The oddest thing was probably all the files on vul-canology.”

“You’re talking about the study of volcanoes and not Mr. Spock, right?”

Archie grinned. “This guy had a serious jones for the subject. Not just the geological stuff, but the mythological, too. All kinds of Hawaiian folklore, especially about Pele-and no, I don’t mean the soccer player. She’s the Hawaiian volcano goddess.”

“Let’s skip the fairy tales, Archie. How about an address book?”

He handed her a flash drive. “Figured you’d ask. Dumped everything that looked interesting in there.”

“Thanks.” Catharine hesitated. “So, you read some of those files on the volcano goddess?”

“I skimmed them, yeah. Pretty interesting, actually.”

“Anything in there a bout… virgin sacrifices?”

Archie studied her for a second before answering. “Not that I can recall. Why?”

Catherine shook her head. “Never mind. I should know better than to take everything Greg says seriously…”

Back at her own desk, Catherine checked through the data on the flash drive. Many of the names in the contacts list were just e-mail addys, but a few had brick-and-mortar addresses or phone numbers. She cross-referenced them with the information the Hawaiian PD had sent her, coming up with two names that matched both known associates and Kanamu’s contact list: Lester Akiliano and Jill Leilani. Both had addresses in Vegas, and Akiliano had been arrested for possession of narcotics only two weeks ago, though he’d made bail and was out awaiting trial.

She made the necessary arrangements to see him, then found herself looking over the files on Hawaiian mythology. Archie was right; it was interesting.

The goddess Pele didn’t seem to be interested in virgins. In fact, she seemed to go out of her way to seduce any young chief or god around. Most of her lovers met an unhappy end, though, one eerily reminiscent of Kanamu’s fate; they were sealed inside the pillars of hardened lava that sprouted on a volcano’s slopes. Hawaiian women used to tease their hair until it stood out, redden their eyes, then extort goods or services from fellow villagers by claiming to be Pele’s kahu, or living incarnation. Anyone who didn’t comply was threatened with fiery retribution.

“One hot-tempered mama,” Catherine murmured.

Unlike that of many mythological figures, Pele’s influence had survived to the present day; drivers on the islands told stories of picking up an old woman in Hawaii Volcanoes National Park, all dressed in white and accompanied by a small dog, both of whom vanished from the back seat. Catherine had heard that particular tale before, though she knew it as the Vanishing Hitchhiker-an urban legend almost as old as that of the escaped lunatic with a hook for a hand.

Interesting angle with the little dog, though, she thought. Wonder what his name is-Lava? Rocky? Volcanine?

She powered down her computer, then went out to find Jill Leilani.

RILEY EYED PROFESSOR VANDERHOFF, sitting on the other side of the interview table. “Professor Vanderhoff, can you tell me where you were on the day Keenan Harribold was killed?”

Vanderhoff studied her for a moment before answering. “I spent most of it at the conference, though I took a nap in the evening.”

“Alone?”

“Yes. Jet lag.”

“Not a very ex citing way to spend time in Vegas.”

Vanderhoff smiled. “I’m not really a very exciting person. But I did meet with Jake Soames and your boss later for drinks.”

“Did you know Keenan Harribold?”

“No. Unless he posted anonymously on one of the entomology boards I frequent-which I doubt-I’d never heard of h im until he was killed.”

“Have you ever heard of anyone else being killed in this manner?”

“Never. I’m not a criminologist, but I have to admit it’s a fascinating case.”

“So you’ve never consulted on a criminal case before?”

“No. I’m afraid my exposure to this world has been strictly through film and novels. I will say I’m something of a mystery buff, though.”

“Then you probably know why I’m asking you these questions.”

“Of course. Someone with my expertise would naturally be considered a suspect.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

“I haven’t done anything wrong. Unless someone’s trying to frame me, I don’t think I’m in any trouble-and so far, the only inconvenience has been being forced to sit and talk to an attractive woman.”

Riley didn’t sm ile. “I don’t think Keenan Harribold would agree.”

“I’m sorry. Have I offended you? I may be an academic, but I grew up in the slums of Johannesburg; my childhood took place under apartheid. I have seen much brutality in my life, and sometimes I feel somewhat desensitized. But a young man’s death is still a tragedy.”

Riley glanced down at her notes. “No, it’s fine. You didn’t know him, after all…”

In Interview Room Two, Roberto Quadros was on his feet and pointing an accusing finger at Nick Stokes. “This is an outrage!” Quadros exclaimed. “I am a respected researcher! Dr. Grissom will have your job when I tell him about this!”

Nick put his hands up in a slow-down-and-let’s-talk-about-this gesture. “Dr. Quadros, I’m sorry if you feel singled out. But we’re not targeting you; we’re talking to everyone and gathering data. You’re a man of science; you understand the principle of exclusion-this isn’t an accusation. It’s part of the process to eliminate you as a suspect.”

Quadros simmered for a moment, then took a deep breath and retook his seat. “Very well. But at the very least Dr. Grissom could have talked to me himself.”

I’m beginning to understand why he didn’t, Nick thought. “Grissom’s busy at the moment. Now, Dr. Quadros-you’re not staying at the same hotel the others are, correct?”

“No. They charge absurd rates. I found a much more reasonable establishment a few blocks away.”

You mean a run-down dump with no security cameras. “Right. And you were there all evening.”

“Yes. There were some fascinating presentations at the conference the next day, and I wanted to be fresh.”

“You know, some visitors to Vegas would take the opportunity to enjoy themselves. Go see the sights, take in a show-”

“I didn’t come here for the hedonism, Mr. Stokes. There’s plenty of that in Brazil, believe me. I came for the intellectual stimulation provided by an exchange of ideas between men and women like myself. The last thing I wanted was to be drawn into some sort of sordid affair involving dead bodies in seedy motel rooms!”

Funny. You seemed a lot more eager when you thought you were going to help break a big case. “I understand that. So nobody saw you during the evening-the desk clerk, maybe?”

“No. I had dinner early and retired early. Would you like to know what I had for supper, as well?”

“No, that won’t be necessary-”

“Perhaps you’d like a detailed itinerary of my trips to the bathroom? Or a list of the television channels I watched before turning in? I know-a record of my dreams! Perhaps I can persuade a talking dog or flying pig to provide me with an alibi!”

Nick sighed.

Jill Leilani worked at the Shoremont Hotel as a maid. Her supervisor pointed Catherine at floors nineteen through twenty-two; she found Leilani in the hall on the twentieth, trundling a cart loaded with laundry and cleaning supplies between rooms.

Leilani was a thin, sallow-faced woman with nervous eyes. She wasn’t happy to see Catherine but didn’t seem surprised, either.