The hotel was on Connecticut Avenue near Dupont Circle. I walked toward the circle and stopped into Mystery Books to buy a book called Multiple Wounds by Alan Russell. I'd read a good review of it somewhere and figured reading would take my mind off things.

Before going back into the Hilton I spent a few minutes walking around the outside of the hotel looking for the spot where Hinckley had waited with a gun for Reagan. I remembered the pictures of the chaos vividly but I couldn't find the spot. It made me think the hotel had made some renovations, maybe so that the spot didn't become a tourist destination.

As a police reporter I was a tourist of the macabre. I moved from murder to murder, horror to horror without blinking an eye. Supposedly. As I walked back in through the lobby toward the bank of elevators I thought about what this said about me. Maybe something was wrong with me.

Why was the spot where Hinckley waited important to me?

"Jack?"

I turned around at the elevators. It was Michael Warren.

"Hey."

"I called your room… I thought you might be around."

"I was just taking a walk. I was beginning to give up on you."

I said it with a smile and a lot of hope. This moment would determine a lot of things for me. He was no longer in the suit he had on at his office. It was blue jeans and a sweater. He had a long tweed coat over his arm. He was following the pattern of a confidential source, coming in person rather than leaving a possible phone record.

"You want to go up to the room or talk down here?"

He moved toward the elevator saying, "Your room."

We didn't speak in the elevator of anything of consequence. I looked at his clothes again and said, "You've already been home."

"I live off Connecticut on the other side of the beltway. Maryland. Wasn't that far."

I knew that was a toll call and that was why he hadn't called first. I also figured that the hotel was on the way from his house to the foundation. I was beginning to feel the small tick of excitement in my chest. Warren was going to turn.

There was a damp smell in the hallway that seemed to be the same in every hotel I had ever been in. I got out my card key and let him into my room. My computer was still open on the little desk and my long coat and the one tie I had brought with me were thrown across the bed. Otherwise, the room was neat. He threw his coat on the bed and we took the only chairs in the room.

"So what's going on?" I asked.

"I did a search."

He started to take a folded paper out of his back pocket.

"I have access to main computer files," he said. "Before I left for the day, I went in and searched the field reports for victims who were homicide detectives. There were only thirteen. I have names, departments and dates of death here on a printout."

He offered me the unfolded page and I took it from him as gently as if it were a sheet of gold.

"Thank you," I said. "Will there be a record of your search?"

"I don't really know. But I don't think so. It's a pretty wide-open system. I don't know if there's a security trace option or not."

"Thank you," I said again. I didn't know what else to say.

"Anyway, that was the easy part," he said. "Going through the protocols in file storage, that's going to take some time… I wanted to know if you'd want to help. You'd probably know better than me which ones were important."

"When?"

"Tonight. It's the only time. The place will be closed up but I have a key to file storage because sometimes I have to dig out old things for media requests. If we don't do it tonight the hard-copy files may be gone tomorrow. I have a feeling the FBI isn't going to like them sitting up here, especially knowing you asked for them. They'll come and grab them first thing tomorrow."

"Is that what Ford said?"

"Not exactly. I heard it through Oline. He talked to Rachel Walling, not Backus. He said she's-"

"Wait a minute. Rachel Walling?"

I knew the name. I took a moment but then I remembered she was the profiler who had signed the VICAP survey Sean had submitted on Theresa Lofton.

"Yes, Rachel Walling. She's a profiler down there. Why?"

"Nothing. The name's familiar."

"She works for Backus. Sort of the liaison between the center and the foundation on the suicide project. Anyway, Oline says she told Ford she's going to take a look at all of this. She might even want to talk to you."

"If I don't talk to her first." I stood up. "Let's go."

"Listen, one thing." He stood up. "I didn't do this, okay? You use these files as an investigative tool only. You never publish a story that says you had access to foundation files. You never admit that you even saw a file. It could be my job. Do you agree?"

"Absolutely."

"Then say it."

"I agree. To all of it."

We headed toward the door.

"It's funny," he said. "All those years procuring sources. I never really realized what they were risking for me. Now I do. It's kind of scary."

I just looked at him and nodded. I was afraid if I said anything he'd change his mind and go home.

On the way to the foundation in his car, he added a few more ground rules.

"I am not to be a named source in your story, okay?"

"Okay."

"And any information from me cannot be attributed to a 'foundation source,' either. Just a 'source familiar with the investigation,' okay? That gives me some cover."

"Okay."

"What you're looking for here are names that might be connected to your guy. If you find them, fine, but later on you don't have to report on how you got them. Do you understand?"

"Yeah, we've been over this. You're safe, Mike, I don't give up sources. Ever. All I'll do is use what we get here to get other confirmation. It'll be the blueprint. It's no problem."

He was quiet for a few moments before doubts must have crept into his mind.

"He's going to know it's me, anyway."

"Then why don't we stop? I don't want to jeopardize your job. I'll just wait for the bureau."

I didn't want to do that but I had to give him the option. I wasn't that far gone yet that I'd talk a guy into losing his job just to get information for a story. I didn't want that on my conscience. There was enough there already.

"You can forget the FBI as long as it's Walling's case."

"You know her? She tough?"

"Yeah, one of those as hard as nails with fingernail polish on. I tried shooting the shit with her once. She just shut me down. From what I hear from Oline, she got divorced or something a while back. I guess she's still in her 'men are pigs' mode and it's looking permanent to me."

I held up saying anything. Warren had to make a decision and I couldn't help.

"Don't worry about Ford," he finally said. "He may think it's me but he won't be able to do anything about it. I'll deny. So, unless you break the agreement, he'll have nothing but his suspicions."

"You've got nothing to worry about with me."

He found a spot on Constitution a half block from the foundation and parked. Our breath was coming out in thick clouds when we got out. I was nervous, whether or not he thought his job was in danger. I think we both were.

There was no guard to be fooled. No staff members working overtime to surprise us. We got in the front door with Warren's key and he knew right where we were going.

The file storage room was about the size of a double-wide garage and was taken up by rows of eight-foot steel shelves stacked with manila files with different colored tabs.

"How're we going to do this?" I whispered.

He took the folded printout from his pocket.

"There's a section on the suicide study. We look up these names, take the protocols to my office and copy the pages we need. I left the copier on when I left. Won't even have to warm it up. And you don't have to whisper. There's nobody here."