Alex did.

"Got it," said Will, jotting in the small notebook he carried at all times. "Hey, where's Dr. Shepard?"

"The Cabot Lodge."

Kilmer's eyes asked a silent question.

She laid her hand on the detective's arm. "He's sick, Will. Bad. But it's not your fault, okay?"

"Bullshit, it ain't. Goddamn it. Sleeping at my post. They used to shoot us for that."

"You were drugged. All three of you. Now, let go of that and get your mind on the game. I need you."

Will rubbed his wrinkled face between both hands and sighed. "You taking your piece in with you?"

She shook her head. "Not this time."

"Shit." Will reached into the glove box and brought out a short-barreled.357 magnum. "I'm gonna be close, then."

"That's where I like you, partner."

The renovated Pullo's restaurant possessed little of its former personality. The only things Alex recognized were some curiously shaped light fixtures hanging above where the old buffet used to stand. Apart from these, the building had been gutted.

Just inside the door sat a receptionist, her coffee-colored elbows resting on a scarred metal desk. To her right was a large group of chairs, several of which were occupied by emaciated men who smelled of alcohol, cigarettes, and body odor. A narrow corridor led deeper into the building, but Alex learned nothing by glancing down it. An opaque window looked onto the waiting room from the back wall, and Alex got the feeling it was used to covertly study the patients.

"Can I help you?" asked the receptionist.

"I hope so. I was just speaking to Dr. Tarver over at the medical center. He asked me something I didn't know the answer to, but now I've found out for him. I wanted to tell him in person."

The receptionist eyed Alex up and down, trying to read her. Well-dressed Caucasian women were clearly not usual visitors at the clinic.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Alexandra Morse."

"Well, the doctor's not here. But let me go back and talk to somebody. He may be coming in soon."

"Thank you. I'd appreciate it."

The woman got up as though she were doing Alex a huge favor and walked slowly down the corridor. Alex stepped closer to the desk and read everything she could off its surface. There were bills addressed to the Tarver Free Clinic, and one to Eldon Tarver, MD. A half-hidden magazine lay open under the appointment book: Jet. Written on a lined pad in an almost illegible scrawl were the words Entergy bill late-Noel D. Traver, DVM. Beneath this was a number: 09365974. Alex was memorizing the number when the receptionist returned.

"He ain't coming in today," she said, giving Alex a territorial glare.

"Not at all?"

"That's what I said."

The receptionist sat down and opened her magazine, as though she had done her duty and now intended to forget that Alex existed. Alex started to ask her to take a message, then thought better of it. Turning to leave, Alex almost bumped into a man wearing what had to be a $2,000 business suit.

"Excuse me," she said. "I'm sorry."

The newcomer had close-cropped gray hair and steel-blue eyes. His face triggered something in her mind. But what? He reminded her of some senior Bureau agents who had entered the FBI after leaving the army CID or the navy JAG corps.

"Not a problem, miss," the man said with the slightest of smiles.

He stepped wide for her to pass, and Alex did, despite a desire to ask what the hell the guy was doing in a dump like this. Maybe he thought it was still a restaurant. In its heyday, Pullo's had drawn some very rich men for breakfast.

Outside, Alex looked back and saw the stranger in conversation with the receptionist. He seemed to be having about as much luck as she had. Scanning the street for Will, she walked past a dark sedan that had parked in front of the clinic, then strode down to Will's Explorer and got into the passenger seat. A moment later, Will climbed behind the wheel.

"Any luck?" he asked.

"Nothing good."

He nodded. "You see that guy who just went in?"

"Yeah. You know him?"

"I know his type. Soldier."

"That's the vibe I got, too."

"Good girl. And check this out." Will pulled into the street and let the Explorer idle forward. With the slightest inclination of his head, he prompted Alex to look to her left. When she did, she saw a young man wearing an army uniform sitting behind the wheel of the sedan she had just walked past. She registered sergeant's stripes on his shoulder, and then they were past him.

"He drove the sharp-dressed guy here?"

"Yep. Did you see the door?"

"The car door?"

"U.S. GOVERNMENT. Printed in black."

"What the hell?"

Will drove down the block and turned toward the spot where Alex's Corolla was parked. "They sure as shit ain't the IRS."

"Who are they?"

Will grinned. "I've got that same feeling you were talking about before."

Alex was thinking about the electric bill. "You ever hear of a vet named Noel Traver?"

"A military vet?"

"No, a veterinarian."

"Can't say I have. But Traver is pretty damn close to Tarver, ain't it?"

Alex pictured the notepad in her mind, substituting letters-"Shit! It's an anagram."

"Eldon Tarver and Noel Traver?"

"Noel D. Traver, I should have said. There was a note on a desk in there about a late electric bill."

"Now we're getting somewhere." Will's eyes flashed. "A cancer doctor with an alias. That make sense to you?"

"Not unless he's married to two women," Alex thought aloud. "Something like that."

"Or tax evasion," Will suggested with a laugh. "Maybe those guys were with the IRS."

"I think it's time to find out."

He grinned. "You want to go back and see how long that guy stays inside the clinic?"

"Yeah. Make the block. I wish I had my computer."

"If he's still there, maybe Tarver is inside with him."

Will hit the gas and made the block, not even stopping for a red light. The instant they turned back onto Jefferson Street, Alex saw that the dark sedan was gone.

"If I had to guess," said Will, "I'd say he's headed for the interstate."

"Let me out here. I'll jog to my car."

Will slammed on the brakes, and Alex jumped onto the pavement. When the detective floored it, the door slammed shut by itself.

"Describe her to me," said Dr. Tarver.

Edward Biddle pursed his lips and looked around the spartan office. Dr. Tarver knew Biddle was wondering if this was the place were the "groundbreaking" research had been done. "About five-eight," Biddle said. "Dark hair, pretty, scars on the right side of her face. Almost like shrapnel scars."

Dr. Tarver tried to keep his face impassive, but Biddle could not be deceived.

"Who is she, Eldon? Another of your obsessions?"

Dr. Tarver had almost forgotten what it was like to be in the company of someone who knew his private predilections. "She's an FBI agent. She's working alone, though, no support from the Bureau."

He expected to see anxiety in Biddle's eyes, but he saw only displeasure. "An FBI agent?"

"She's not a problem, Edward. That's an unrelated matter. Is your car still out there?"

Biddle waved his hand as though making the car vanish with his gesture. "Let's get down to brass tacks. What have you got?"

Five minutes ago, Dr. Tarver had been pumped and ready to make his pitch; then Alexandra Morse had walked through the front door. "I need to take care of something first. Give me just one minute."

Biddle wasn't accustomed to waiting, but he raised his hand in assent.

Eldon left the office and walked into his private restroom down the hall. The door said PHLEBOTOMIST. He wasn't about to share a toilet seat with the scuzziest 5 percent of the population of Jackson, Mississippi. Even excluding the viruses he had given them, many of the clinic's patients carried most of the nastiest bugs resident in the American population. He closed the door and leaned back against it, his heart thudding in his chest.