Detective Barber translated. “He says we’re just in time.”

From the looks of things, Alicia would have guessed they were too late. The autopsy was well under way. Two deep incisions ran laterally from shoulder to shoulder, across the breasts at a downward angle meeting at the sternum. A long, deeper cut ran from the breastbone to the groin, forming the stem in the coroner’s classic “Y” incision. The liver, spleen, kidneys, and intestines were laid out neatly beside a slab of ribs on the large dissection table. The cadaver was literally a shell of a human being, and just the sight of it was making her a little queasy. Or was it the sweet, sterile odor that was getting to her?

“Are you okay?” asked Dr. Petrak.

“I’m fine,” said Alicia.

The doctor was examining the victim’s battered right cheekbone, working beneath an intense white spotlight. His powers of concentration were such that his bushy gray eyebrows had pinched together and formed one continuous caterpillar that stretched across his brow. He laid his tweezers aside and snapped a digital photograph.

Alicia’s gaze drifted across the lifeless body. Lifeless-that was a very fitting word. Whoever she was, she had been without a life for a long time. The fingernails were jagged, several of them bitten back to the quick. The toes were deformed, presumably from shoes that didn’t fit. The calluses on her knees were thick and discolored. They told of a woman who’d spent day after day on Miami’s sidewalks, looking up to passing strangers, begging for spare change. They might never ascertain her true identity. Alicia felt sorry for her, then she felt embarrassed for herself. It seemed that people always felt compassion after it was too late to help.

“Interesting,” said Dr. Petrak. “Verrrry interesting.”

Alicia was suddenly reminded of an old episode of Laugh-In that she’d seen on cable. Dr. Petrak sounded like that comedian with the cigarette and wire-frame glasses who used to dress up like a German soldier from the Second World War. Vaht vahs his name?

“What’s very interesting?” said Detective Barber.

Arte Johnson. That was the guy. Alicia wasn’t trying to check out, but little mental journeys helped take her mind off the odor and bring the blood back to her head.

The doctor said, “Officer Mendoza, what do you think when you see a woman with an Adam’s apple?”

Alicia suddenly felt as though she’d been caught daydreaming in ninth-grade science. “A woman with an Adam’s apple?”

She had stated her question as if it were an answer. It worked.

“Exactly,” said Dr. Petrak. “It can’t be, right?”

“Unless she used to be a man,” said Detective Barber.

Dr. Petrak looked up, his expression deadpan. “Don’t get crazy on me, okay, detective?” He refocused on his work and carefully opened the victim’s mouth with a long, probing instrument. “What this bump tells us is that there is something lodged in her throat.”

Alicia took a half-step closer. Dr. Petrak was right: This was getting interesting.

“Of course, the X-ray didn’t hurt my diagnosis much, either.” The doctor shined a laser of light deep into the victim’s gaping mouth. The front teeth were missing, though it was difficult to tell if that was a result of the beating or of simple neglect over the years. The shattered molars, though, were clearly the work of the same lead pipe that had demolished her cheekbone. Dr. Petrak probed with his forceps, his hand as steady as a heart surgeon’s. The bulge in her throat was due mostly to the missing molars, but Dr. Petrak seemed to be searching for something else. Finally, with a turn of the wrist, he had it. He carefully removed the object and placed it on the dissection tray.

“What is it?” Alicia asked.

He held the tray before them for a closer look. “What does it look like?” he asked.

Alicia studied it for a moment. “A metal bead,” she said. “Like those add-a-bead necklaces that preppy girls used to wear.”

“Except that this one is lead, not gold,” said Dr. Petrak. “I found six others just like it inside the victim’s stomach.”

“You mean she swallowed them?” said Detective Barber.

“Apparently so,” said the doctor.

“Why would she do that?” said Alicia.

“You can answer that as well as I,” said the doctor. “Think in very simple terms. To do this work, you must constantly remind yourself not to skip over the obvious. So, she swallowed them because…”

Alicia wished otherwise, but she had no idea where the doctor was headed.

“Think in the most basic sense,” he said. “Why do we do anything in life?”

“Because we want to?” she said.

“Very good,” said Dr. Petrak. “Or?”

Alicia considered the possibilities. “Because someone forces us?”

“Excellent,” said the doctor.

“But why would anyone force her to swallow metal beads?” said Alicia.

“Ah,” said Dr. Petrak as he switched off the spotlight. “That’s where my job ends. And yours begins.”

F alcon was on the run. Or, perhaps, “in flight” was a better way to put it.

One foot in front of the other. That was his mantra. Had to keep moving. The night air was cold, but he didn’t feel it. In fact, he was sweating heavily beneath his layers of clothing. He was wearing everything he owned-two T-shirts, a sweatshirt, a windbreaker, and his winter coat. The layers did more than fight the cold. He was a veritable walking suitcase, packed up and moving on to a more hospitable corner of the uncivilized world. He knew he would never see his car again. Going back to the river was not an option. Standing still was a luxury that he could ill afford. He had to keep moving farther and farther away, until his legs gave out and he could travel no more. What was that saying-just because you’re paranoid, doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you? Maybe it was time to leave Miami. Maybe even the country. But how?

The money. His Bahamian safe deposit box held more than enough to take him anywhere he wanted to go. True, he had vowed never to touch it. Many times over the past several months, he had even tried to give it to the rightful owner. The fact that Swyteck had been able to withdraw ten thousand dollars for his bail, however, told Falcon that his offer had been rejected and that the money was still sitting there. Unless Swyteck stole it. He wouldn’t do that, would he? Ha! Who could resist that temptation? There was absolutely no risk of ever being caught.

Where’s my money, Swyteck?

What money?

The cash in the safe deposit box.

There was no cash in that box.

I had two hundred grand in there!

Yeah, right. Tell it to the police, pal.

“Damn you, Swyteck! You stole my money!”

Falcon was cutting through a parking lot behind an all-night restaurant, and he noticed a woman headed toward her car. The expression on her face told him that his little tirade directed toward his lawyer had indeed been audible. The woman quickly found her keys-probably some pepper spray, too-and jumped inside her car.

Gotta get off the streets, he told himself. Go someplace they can’t find me.

The alley led him behind another restaurant, past a noisy tavern. The Dumpster looked like a good place to relieve his bulging bladder, but someone had beat him to it minutes earlier.

“Son of a bitch,” he said, stepping out of it.

He continued down the dark alley, though he was suddenly thinking about her again. He didn’t dare say her name, not even to himself. Even with all his extra clothing, he felt naked without his necklace of metal beads. He was without any protection whatever. Part of him realized that he didn’t need it; she was gone. The other part-the loudest part, the part that was speaking to him now-told him that she would never leave, that he could never have enough protection.