It was just 8:00 a.m. when Kurtz knocked on the hotel-room door, but when it opened, John Wellington Frears was dressed in a three-piece suit, tie knotted perfectly. Although Frears's expression did not change when he saw Kurtz, he took a surprised half step back into the room. "Mr. Kurtz."

Kurtz stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. "You were expecting someone else." It was not a question.

"No. Please sit down." Frears gestured to a chair by the window, but Kurtz remained standing.

"You were expecting James B. Hansen," continued Kurtz. "With a gun."

Frears said nothing. His brown eyes, so expressive in the publicity photos Kurtz had seen, now suppressed even more pain than Kurtz had seen the previous week at Blues Franklin. The man was dying.

"That's one way to flush him out," said Kurtz. "But you'll never know if he's brought to justice for his crimes. You'll be dead."

Frears sat on the hard chair by the desk. "What do you want, Mr. Kurtz?"

"I'm here to tell you that your plan won't work, Mr. Frears. Hansen's in Buffalo, all right. He's lived here for about eight months, moving here from Miami with his new family. But he can kill you today and he'll never be accused of the crime."

Frears's eyes literally came alive. "You know where he is? What his name is here?"

Kurtz handed the man the dental bill.

"Captain Robert G. Millworth," read the violinist. "A police officer?"

"Homicide. I checked."

Frears's hands were shaking as he set the bill on the desktop. "How do you know this man is James Hansen? What does the bill—however high—from a Cleveland dentist prove?"

"It proves nothing," said Kurtz. "But this is the dentist who's provided dental records to police around the country after a dozen murder-suicides identical to the one in your daughter's case. Always different names. Always different records. But always involved in murders that Hansen committed." He handed across the folder.

Frears went through the pages, slowly, tears forming. "So many children." Looking up at Kurtz, he said, "And you can tie this Captain Millworth to these other names? You have dental records for him?"

"No. I don't think Conway kept any other records or X-rays on file for this office visit. I think he was going to use the standard X-rays when Millworth's corpse—whatever corpse Millworth provided—would need identification."

Frears blinked. "But we can make the dentist testify?"

"The dentist is dead. As of yesterday."

Frears started to speak, stopped. Perhaps he wondered if Kurtz had killed Conway, but perhaps it was not important to him to know right now. "I can present this folder to the FBI. The bill ties Millworth to the dentist. The payment is obviously extortion. Conway was blackmailing James Hansen."

"Sure. You can try to make that case. But there's no official record of Millworth's payment, just of an office visit."

"But I don't understand how the dental X-rays matched the teeth of the bodies Mr. Hansen left behind in these various murder-suicides."

"It looks as if Dr. Conway, DDS, had a clientele mostly of corpses."

Frears looked at the forms again. "Conway's office was in Cleveland. Many of these murder-suicides occurred in cities far away from there. Even if Hansen somehow harvested these other men to be future burned bodies for him, how did he get them to go to Cleveland to have dental X-rays taken?"

Kurtz shrugged. "Hansen is one smart son of a bitch. Maybe he offered these poor bastards dental care as part of an employment package. My guess is that he had Conway fly to whatever city he was living in at the time, X-ray the fall guys' teeth—maybe when they were already dead—and then have the dentist send the X-rays from Cleveland. It doesn't really matter, does it? What matters right now is getting you out of here."

Frears blinked again and a stubborn look appeared on his pain-ravaged face. "Out of Buffalo? I won't go. I have to—"

"Not out of Buffalo, just out of this hotel. I have a better way for you to nail our Captain Millworth than becoming just another unsolved homicide in the good captain's case file."

"I don't have anyplace to—"

"I've got somewhere for you to stay for a couple of days," said Kurtz. "It's not one-hundred-percent safe, but then, nowhere in Buffalo is really safe for you right now." Or for me either, he could have added. "Get packed," said Kurtz. "You're checking out."

Brubaker and Myers trolled the downtown streets, watching for a glimpse of Kurtz's blue Volvo, checking the sidewalks for a glimpse of him, and driving by the Royal Delaware Arms every orbit.

"Hey," said Myers, "what about his secretary's house? Whatshername? Arlene DeMarco."

"What about it?" said Brubaker. He was on his fifth cigarette.

Myers flipped through his grubby little notebook. "She lives out in Cheektowaga. We've got the address here. Her car's not there today. If she didn't come in, maybe Kurtz went out to her."

Brubaker shrugged, but then turned the car and headed for the Expressway. "What the fuck," he said. "Worth a try."

"Mr. Frears," said Kurtz, "this is my secretary, Mrs. DeMarco. She won't mind if you stay here for a day or two."

Arlene glanced at Kurtz but extended her hand. "A pleasure, Mr. Frears. I'm Arlene."

"John," said Frears, taking her hand in his, putting his feet together and bowing slightly in a way that made him look as if he was going to kiss her hand. He did not, but Arlene blushed with pleasure as if he had.

They were in Arlene's kitchen. When Frears's back was turned, Kurtz said, "Arlene, you still have your…" He opened his peacoat slightly to expose the pistol on his belt.

She shook her head. "It's at work, Joe. I don't keep one here."

Kurtz said to Frears, "Excuse us a moment," and led Arlene into her living room. He handed her Angelina Farino's gun—not the Compact Witness she had a sentimental thing for, but the little.45 he'd taken away from her at the hockey arena. Arlene slid the magazine out of the grip, made sure it was loaded, slapped the magazine back in, checked to make sure the safety was on, and slipped the small but heavy pistol into the pocket of her cardigan sweater. She nodded, and the two of them went back to the kitchen.

"I'm afraid this is going to be a terrible imposition," began Frears. "I'm perfectly capable of finding—"

"We may find you another place after a day or two," said Kurtz. "But you saw the situation with Hansen/Millworth. Right now I think you'd be safer here."

Frears looked at Arlene. "Mrs. DeMarco… Arlene… this will bring danger into your home."

Arlene lit a cigarette. "Actually, John, it will bring a little much-needed excitement into my life."

"Call me if anything comes up," said Kurtz. He went out to his Volvo.

"Got him!" said Detective Myers. They had been headed down Union Road in Cheektowaga when they saw Kurtz's Volvo pull out of a side street and head north toward the Kensington Expressway.

Brubaker made a U-turn through a Dunkin' Donuts' parking lot and pulled the floral-delivery van into northbound traffic.

"Keep way back," said Myers.

"Don't fucking tell me how to tail someone, Tommy."

"Well, just don't fucking get made," whined Myers.

"Kurtz doesn't know this van. We stay back, we got him."

Brubaker stayed back. Kurtz got onto the Kensington headed into town and the van followed six vehicles back.

"We should wait until he's into the city to take him," said Myers.

Brubaker nodded.

"Maybe near that flophouse hotel of his, if he's headed there. It would make sense that we'd have probable cause to roust him near there."

"Yeah," said Brubaker. "If he's headed to the hotel."

Kurtz was headed to the hotel. He parked in the crappy neighborhood nearby, and Brubaker drove the van a block farther and doubled back along side streets in time to see Kurtz locking his car and walking toward the Royal Delaware Arms. Brubaker parked the van in front of a hydrant. They could intercept Kurtz on foot before he got to the hotel. "We've fucking got him. You got your club and the throwdown?"