And yet, she didn’t feel horrible. No shortness of breath that would indicate an oncoming anxiety attack. No bunched muscles or pounding headache. In all honesty, she actually felt the lightest she had in weeks. Maybe, beneath her sleep-deprived haze, she was even a little giddy.

What that meant, she didn’t want to know.

They made good time getting to Richmond. Mac handed her a printed-out e-mail, and she navigated to the offices of the U.S. Geological Survey team, which were located in an office park north of the city. First glance wasn’t what Kimberly had expected. The office park, for one thing, was plunked down in the middle of suburban sprawl. They passed a community college, a housing development, and a local school. There were lovely sidewalks shaded by graceful trees, wide expanses of deep green yards, and brightly flowering pink and white crepe myrtle trees.

The USGS office building, too, was different from what she had pictured. One story of brick and glass. Newer. Lots of windows. Nicely landscaped with more crepe myrtle trees and God knows what kind of bushes. Definitely a far cry from the usual government décor of monochromatic malaise.

So a nice building in a nice place. Kimberly wondered if Mac knew that the FBI Richmond field office was literally right down the street.

She and Mac got out of the car, pushed their way through the heavy glass door and were immediately greeted by the waiting receptionist.

“Ray Lee Chee,” Mac said. The receptionist smiled at them brightly, then led the way.

“He’s a botanist?” Kimberly asked as she followed Mac down the wide, sunny hall.

“Geographer, actually.”

“What’s a geographer?”

“I think he works on maps.”

“You’re bringing our leaf to a mapmaker?”

“Genny knows him. He went to school with her brother or something like that. Apparently he has a background in botany and he said he could help.” Mac shrugged. “I have no jurisdiction; it’s not like I can order up any expert I want in the state.”

The receptionist had arrived at an interior office. She gestured to the partially opened door, then turned back down the hall, leaving Kimberly alone with Mac, already wondering if this wasn’t some kind of fool’s errand.

“Mr. Chee?” Mac asked, poking his head through the doorway. A short, well-built Asian man promptly fired back his desk chair and popped up to greet them.

“Oh God, don’t call me that. Ray, by all means, or I’ll keep looking around for my father.”

Ray pumped Mac’s hand vigorously, then greeted Kimberly with the same enthusiasm. The geographer was younger than Kimberly would’ve thought, and definitely not a dried-out academic. He sported khaki shorts and a short-sleeved shirt made out of one of those micro-fibers favored by hikers for wicking the sweat from their bodies.

Now, he gestured them into his paper-jammed office, then bounced back into his chair with about four times the necessary energy. His biceps bulged even when sitting and his hands were moving a mile a minute around his desk, looking for God knows what.

“So Genny said you needed my help,” Ray stated brightly.

“We’re trying to identify a leaf. I understand you have some experience in that sort of thing.”

“Spent my undergrad days studying botany,” Ray said, “before I moved into geography. For that matter, I also studied zoology and for a brief stint in time, auto mechanics. Seemed kind of funky at the time. On the other hand, when our truck gets stuck out in the field, everyone’s happy to have me along.” He turned toward Kimberly. “Do you talk?”

“Not before coffee.”

“You need some java? I brewed the world’s strongest batch in the kitchenette just half an hour ago. Stuff will knock the ZZZs right out of you, while putting some hair on your chest.” He held up both of his hands, which were trembling with caffeine jitters. “Want some?”

“Mmmm, I think I’ll wait.”

“Well, suit yourself, but after the first sixteen ounces or so, I’m telling you, it’s not so bad.” His dark gaze rebounded to Mac. “So where’s the leaf?”

“Actually, we brought you a picture.” Mac dug into his folder and pulled out the piece of paper.

“That’s all you got? A picture?”

“It’s a scanned image. Actual size. Front and back.” Ray kept staring at him and finally Mac shrugged ruefully. “Sorry, man. It’s all we got.”

“A real leaf would be better, you know. I mean, much better. What’s this for again?”

“It’s a piece of evidence in a case.”

“Like from a crime scene?” Ray’s face brightened. “If I ID this, can it be used to catch the bad guy or locate a corpse? Like they do on CSI?”

“Absolutely,” Mac assured him.

“Groovy.” Ray accepted the paper with more enthusiasm. “A picture is definitely tougher, but I like a challenge. Let’s see what you got.”

He took out a magnifying glass and studied the image for a second. “Well, let’s start with the basics. It’s an angiosperm-to you, a broadleaf tree. Given the oval shape with pointed tip and coarse-tooth margins, it’s most likely from the Betula family-some kind of birch.” He looked up. “Where did you find this again?”

“I’m afraid I can’t comment further on that subject.”

Ray resumed staring at the picture. He frowned. “This is really all you’ve got? No bark, no flowers, no twig?”

“That’s it.”

“Well, then you also like a challenge.” Ray’s desk chair shot back. He jerked to a stop in front of the bookshelf across the way and rapidly skimmed titles. His fingers settled on a big volume labeled Gray’s Manual of Botany. “In the good news/bad news department, birch is one of the larger tree families, with a number of species commonly found here in Virginia. If you’re into history, the old Appalachian mountaineers used to make birch beer from the sap of black birch trees, which tastes a bit like wintergreen. They came close to harvesting all of the black birches in the mountains to make the stuff, then synthetic wintergreen oil was developed, and the mountaineers moved on to making moonshine. All’s well that ends well, you know.”

He shot back to his desk, propelling his chair as easily as a small automobile, while his fingers rapidly flipped through the thick index guide. Peering over his shoulder, Kimberly saw page after page of tree leaves, all richly photographed and documented with lists of words that appeared to be in Latin. Definitely not a light summer read.

“Okay, for starters we have Betula lenta, otherwise known as black birch, sweet birch, or cherry birch. Its leaves are approximately three to four inches long. Your picture is closer to two and a half inches long, but maybe our leaf isn’t mature yet, so that’s a possibility.”

“Where are black birches found?” Mac asked.

“Oh, a little bit of everywhere. You can find them in the mountains of the western half of the state, or around parts of Chesapeake Bay close to streams. Does that work?”

“I don’t know yet,” Mac said. Now, he was also frowning. “Other options?”

“The Betula lutea, or yellow birch, which is found generally higher up in the mountains than the black birch. It’s a significantly larger tree, however, growing up to eighty feet with five-inch leaves, so I’m going to guess that it’s too big to be our suspect here. Let’s see…” Ray rapidly flipped through the book.

“Okay, consider Betula papyrifera, or paper birch. Leaves also grow three inches in length, which is closer in size. It’s also found in the mountains, generally in clear-cut or burned-out areas. Then there’s Betula nigra, or river birch, which is found in low elevations along waterways or around streams, ponds, lakes, etc. It’s also a smaller birch with leaves two to three inches long. So that’s a possibility.” He looked up at them sharply. “You don’t have any catkins?”

“Cat what?”