"Oh, we borrowed a hook and ladder from the Bethesda Fire Department. The SWAT team and I climbed in through your upstairs window."

Just then Parker Kincaid walked through the front door. Lukas nodded toward him and explained to Fielding, "The fire truck was his idea."

Fielding didn't doubt that it was.

Parker sat down in a chair opposite Fielding and crossed his arms. The detective-Parker couldn't help but think of him that way still-looked older now and diminished. Parker remembered wishing earlier that the unsub were still alive so that he could see how the man's mind worked. One puzzle master to another. It seemed he'd gotten his wish. But now he felt no professional curiosity at all, only revulsion.

Puzzles are always easy when you know the answer.

They become boring too.

Lukas asked him, "How's it feel to know you're going to be in an eight-by-eight cell for the next ten years-until they give you that needle?"

Cage explained, "You wouldn't last very long in general population. Hope you like your own company."

"I prefer it to most people's," Fielding said.

Cage continued, as if Fielding hadn't spoken. "They're also going to want you in Boston and White Plains and Philadelphia too. I guess Hartford as well."

Fielding lifted a surprised eyebrow.

Parker asked, "The Digger was the patient in your hospital, right? The hospital for the criminally insane? David Hughes?"

Fielding didn't want to seem impressed but he was. "That's right. Funny guy, wasn't he?" He smiled at Parker. "Sort of the boogeyman incarnate."

Then Parker suddenly understood something else and his heart froze.

Boogeyman…

"In the command post… I was talking about my son. And not long after that… Jesus, not long after that Robby saw somebody in the garage. That was the Digger!… You called him, you sent him to my house! To scare my son!"

Fielding shrugged. "You were too good, Kincaid. I had to get you off the case for a while. When you went off to raid my safe house-finding that was very good, by the way-I stepped outside to make a call and left a message that my friend should go visit your little fella. I thought about killing them-well, and you too, of course-but I needed you to be at headquarters around midnight. To make my deductions about the site of the last shooting more credible."

Parker lunged forward and drew back his fist. Lukas caught his arm just before it crashed into Fielding's cringing face.

She whispered, "I understand. But it won't do anybody any good."

Trembling with rage, Parker lowered his hand, stepped to the window, watching the snow. Forced himself to calm. He believed if he'd been alone with Fielding now he could kill the man. Not because of the host of deaths tonight but because he could still hear the hollow fear in Robby's voice. Daddy… Daddy…

Lukas touched his arm. He looked at her. She was holding a notebook. She said to Parker, "For what it's worth, he did the same thing to me." She flipped through the pages, tapped several entries. "My house was broken into a few months ago. He's the one who did it. He took notes about my life."

Fielding said nothing.

Lukas continued, speaking directly to the killer. "You found out all about me. You found out about Tom… "

Tom? Parker wondered.

"You cut your hair the same way as his. You said you were from outside Chicago, just like him. You read his letters to me…" She closed her eyes and shook her head. "'Right as rain.' You stole his expression! And then you told me about having a wife in a coma. Why? So I'd keep you on the team-when everybody else-me included-didn't want you interfering with the case."

"I needed to get inside your defenses, Margaret. I knew what kind of adversary you'd be."

"You stole my past, Fielding."

"What's the past for but to use?" he asked evenly.

"But how could you kill so many people?" Lukas asked in a whisper.

"Appalled?" Fielding asked. He seemed exasperated. "But why not? I mean, Jesus Christ, why not? Why is one death less horrifying than a million? Either you kill or you don't. If you do, then death is just a matter of degree and if it makes sense, if it's efficient, then you kill whom you have to kill. Anyone who doesn't accept that is a naive fool."

"Who's the guy in the morgue?" Cage asked.

"His name is Gil Havel."

"Ah, the mysterious Gilbert Jones," Parker said. "He rented the helicopter, right?"

"I had to make you believe that I was really going to try to get away with the money from the drop on Gallows Road."

"Where did you find him?"

"In a bar in Baltimore."

"Who was he? Havel."

"He's just some loser. A bum, more or less. I promised him a hundred thousand dollars to deliver a note to City Hall and help me with the helicopter and rent the safe house. I made him think he was my partner."

Parker said, "And you had him walk back to the Metro or bus stop along a particular route. Where you were waiting with the van to run him down."

"You had to believe that the mastermind was dead. So you'd bring the money back to the evidence room…"

"What about Kennedy? You sent him to the Ritz."

"The mayor?" Fielding asked. "That was a surprise-when he called me. And a risk. But it worked out well." He nodded analytically. "For one thing, I had to keep you focused on the Ritz-Carlton, not the Ritzy Lady. And then my penance for the betrayal was bringing you the bone about the Digger's name… You know, you really are something, Kincaid. How'd you figure it out?"

Parker continued, "How did I find out you were the unsub? Because of your handwriting. I had a sample-when I dictated to you from the yellow sheets Tobe saved."

"I was worried about that," Fielding said. "But I couldn't very well balk when you asked me to take notes, could I? But I tried to improvise-I tried to disguise my writing."

"The dot on your lowercase i gave you away."

Fielding nodded. "Oh, that's right. The devils teardrop. I didn't think about that… What did you say? That it's always the little things."

"Not always. But usually."

Lukas asked, "The information about the Digger-you had that all along, didn't you? You didn't go to the library."

"Nope. Hell, that's why I named Hughes the Digger. So you'd think he had some ridiculous revenge scheme against the government. But…" He looked around the room, "How'd you get here?"

"To this house?" Parker couldn't resist. "Perfection," he said and watched the arrogant smile slide off the killer's face. He continued. "To escape after the perfect crime you'd want the perfect passports. You'd find the best forger in the business. He happens to be a friend of mine. Well, let's just say we're close; I put him in prison once."

For a moment Fielding was flustered. "But he didn't know my real name or address."

"No, but you called him," Parker countered.

"Not from here," Fielding said, argumentative, whiny.

Lukas too wanted part of deconstructing the man. "From the phone booth up the street." She nodded toward the corner. "We ran the pen register numbers through Bell Atlantic security." Then she held up a computer picture of Fielding. "We lifted it from the tape in the FBI headquarters security camera. Just showed it to a half-dozen people in the neighborhood tonight and got a beeline to your front door."

"Shit." He closed his eyes.

The little things…

Parker said, "There's this saying among forgers that the expression 'You can't think of everything' doesn't count. You have to think of everything."

Fielding said, "I knew you were the strong link, Parker. The biggest risk. I should've had the Digger take care of you right up front."

Cage asked, "You didn't have any problem sacrificing your friend?"

"The Digger? Wouldn't exactly call him a friend." Fielding added, "He was a dangerous person to keep alive. Anyway, you may've guessed, this was going to be my last job. I didn't need him anymore."