One of the video cameras-in a print of Seurat's famous Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte, which was a complicated painting that every interviewee tended to look at frequently-was locked onto Czisman's eyes and was performing retinal scans for "veracity probability analysis"-that is, lie detection. Geller was also doing voice stress analysis for the same reason.

Lukas now directed Cage and Kincaid into the observation room.

"Anything yet?" Lukas asked Geller.

"It's prioritized," he said, typing madly.

A moment later his phone rang and Lukas slapped the speakerphone.

"Tobe?" a woman's voice asked.

"Go ahead," he said. "The task force is here."

"Hi, Susan," Lukas said. "Its Margaret. Go ahead. Give us the deets. What've you got?"

"Okay, prints came back negative on warrants, arrests, convictions. Name Henry Czisman is legit, address in Hartford, Connecticut. Bought his house twelve years ago. Property taxes are up to date and he paid off the mortgage last year. The image you beamed up matches his Connecticut driver's license photo ninety-five percent likely."

"Is that good?" Kincaid interrupted.

"My present picture matches ninety-two percent," Nance responded. "I've got longer hair now." She continued. "Employment record through Social Security Administration and IRS shows him working as a journalist since 1971 but some years he had virtually no income. Listed his job those years as free-lance writer. So he's taken plenty of time off. Not living on his wife's salary either; he used to be married but his filing status is single now. Paid no quarterly estimated this year, which he's done in the past. And that suggests he's got no reportable income at all this year. Ten years ago he had very high medical deductions. Looks like it was treatment for alcohol abuse. Became self-employed a year ago, quit a fifty-one-thousand-dollar-a-year job at the Hartford paper and is apparently living off savings."

"Quit, fired or took a leave of absence?" Kincaid asked.

"Not sure." Nance paused. She continued. "We couldn't get as many credit card records as we wanted, because of the holiday, but he's staying at the Renaissance under his name. And he checked in after a noon flight from Hartford. United Express. No advanced purchase. Made the reservation at ten A.M. this morning."

"So he left just after the first shooting," Lukas mused.

"One-way ticket?" Kincaid's question anticipated her own.

"Yes."

"What do we think?" Lukas asked.

"Goddamn journalist is all, I'd say," Cage offered.

"And you?" She glanced at Kincaid.

He said, "What do I think? I say we deal with him. When I analyze documents I need every bit of information I can get about the writer."

"If you know it's really the writer," Lukas said skeptically. She paused. Then said, "He seems like a crank to me. Are we that desperate?"

"Yes," Kincaid said, glancing at the digital clock above Tobe Geller's computer monitor, "I think we are."

In the stuffy interrogation room once more, Lukas said to Czisman, "If we talk off the record now… and if we can bring this to a successful resolution…"

Czisman laughed at the euphemism, motioned for the agent to continue.

"If we can do that then we'll give you access to materials and witnesses for your book. I'm not sure how much yet. But you'll have some exclusivity."

"Ah, my favorite word. Exclusivity. Yes, that's all I'm asking for."

"But everything we tell you now," Lukas continued, "will be completely confidential."

"Agreed," Czisman said.

Lukas nodded at Parker, who asked, "Does the name Digger mean anything to you?"

"Digger?" Czisman shook his head. "No. As in gravedigger?"

"We don't know. It's the name of the shooter-the one you call the Butcher," Lukas said.

"I only call him the Butcher because the Boston papers did. The New York Post called him the Devil. In Philadelphia he was the Widow Maker."

"New York? Philly too?" Lukas asked. Parker noticed that she was troubled by this news.

"Jesus," Cage muttered. "A pattern criminal."

Czisman said, "They've been working their way down the coast. Headed where, don't we wonder? To Florida for retirement? More likely the islands somewhere."

"What happened in the other cities?" Parker asked.

"The International Beverage case?" Czisman responded. "Ever hear of it?"

Lukas was certainly current on her criminal history. "The president of the company, right? He was kidnapped."

"Details?" Parker asked her, impressed at her knowledge.

Czisman looked at Lukas, who nodded for him to continue. "The police had to piece it together but it looks like-nobody's exactly sure-but it looks like the Butcher took the president's family hostage. The wife told her husband to get some money together. He agreed-"

"Was there a letter?" Parker asked, thinking there might be another document he could examine. "A note?"

"No. It was all done by phone. Well, the president tells the kidnapper he'd pay. Then he calls the police and hostage rescue surrounds the house, yada yada yada, the whole nine yards, while the president goes to his bank to get the ransom. But as soon as they opened up the vault a customer pulls out a gun and begins shooting. Killed everyone in the bank: the International Beverage president, two guards, three customers, three tellers, two vice presidents on duty. The video camera shows another man, with him, walking into the vault and walking out with a bag of money."

"So there was nobody in the house?" Lukas asked, understanding the scheme.

"Nobody alive. The Butcher-the Digger-had already killed the family. Looks like he did it after she called her husband."

Parker said, "He hit them at the weakest point in the kidnapping process. The police would have the advantage in a negotiation or in an exchange of the money. He preempted them." He didn't say aloud what he was thinking: that it was a perfect solution to a difficult puzzle-if you don't mind killing.

"Anything in the bank's security video that'd help us?" Cage asked.

"You mean, what color were their ski masks?"

Cage's shrug meant, I had to ask anyway.

"What about Philly?" Lukas asked.

Czisman said cynically, "Oh, this was very good. The Digger starts taking the bus. He'd get on, sit next to someone and fire one silenced shot. He killed three people, then his accomplice made the ransom demand. The city agreed to pay the ransom but set up surveillance to nail him. But the accomplice knew which bank the city had its accounts in. As soon as the rookies escorting the cash stepped outside the door of the bank the Digger shot them in the back of the head and they escaped."

"I never heard about that one," Lukas said.

"No, they wanted it kept quiet. Six people dead."

Parker said, "Massachusetts, New York, Pennsylvania, Washington. You're right-he was on his way south."

Czisman frowned. "Was?"

Parker glanced at Lukas. She told Czisman, "He's dead."

"What?" Czisman seemed truly shocked.

"The partner-not the Digger."

"What happened?" Czisman whispered.

"Hit-and-run after he dropped the extortion note off. And before he could collect his extortion money."

Czisman's face grew still for a long moment. Parker supposed he was thinking: There goes the exclusive interview with the perp. The huge man's eyes darted around the room. He shifted in his chair. "What was his scheme this time?"

Lukas was reluctant to say but Czisman guessed. "The Butcher shoots people until the city pays the ransom… But now there's nobody to pay the money to and so the Butchers going to keep right on shooting. Sounds just like their MO. You have any leads to where his lair might be?"

"The investigation is continuing," Lukas said warily.