"Like what?"

"I don't know. The police? Hospitals?"

"Not yet, I don't think. How long has it been? Am I the last one who talked to her?"

"So far."

"And what's that? Eighteen, twenty hours ago?" Though those numbers startled him in some way, Hunt kept up the optimistic front. "She's a big girl, Amy. She could be anywhere. She could just be hiding out."

"From what?"

"Fame. I don't know. Figuring out what she's going to do with Spencer. Or her law career. It really could be anything."

"You really think so?"

"I really don't know. But why don't I find her mother's number, and after that, if she's not there, I'll call around, the official places. Meanwhile, you wait and see if she calls you back. And when she does, you call me, right?"

"Okay."

"Okay, then. Later."

They hung up and within fifteen minutes, Hunt was talking to Deanne, one of Andrea's sisters in Berkeley, keeping his questions generic and low-key. Identifying himself as a private investigator, he said he was doing a background check on the résumé for someone who had given her sister as a reference at this number. Deanne certainly didn't sound as though she'd experienced any trauma recently in her life. She laughed and said her sister hadn't lived there for years, so whomever Hunt was checking up on wasn't very current. Deanne hadn't seen Andrea in a month or so, but she was fairly sure that her mother had talked to her last weekend. Hunt thanked her for her time and hung up.

So Andrea wasn't at her mother's house. Feet up on his desk, Hunt thought for another minute or so, then picked up the phone again and punched in some numbers he knew by heart.

"Juhle, homicide."

"Hunt, Chinatown."

"Wrong."

"How could I be wrong? I haven't said anything yet."

"Why do I have to explain everything, Wyatt? If I say, 'Juhle, homicide,' you don't say, 'Hunt, Chinatown.' You say something like 'Hunt, investigations.' It's the work, not where you do it. Try again later." And he hung up.

Hunt sometimes thought that the only thing worse than dealing with someone who had a personality was dealing with somebody who didn't. He punched up Devin's number again, got his deadpan, "Juhle, homicide," and this time said, "Hunt, investigations."

"Wyatt," Juhle boomed, "how've you been all this time?"

"I've been good, Devin, but I'm investigating right now even as we speak. I need you to find out something for me."

"That would be me investigating, not you. And I believe I've mentioned I do homicide. Are you calling about a homicide?"

"I hope not."

"Then I'm not your man. Shiu and I, we're out the door in about two minutes on a murder case, which is what we do. And it's all we do. So good luck."

"Don't hang up!" Hunt was surprised to note the sharper edge in his voice. In spite of his assurances to Amy Wu that everything probably was fine with Andrea Parisi, Hunt was aware that the knot in his stomach where the last pork bao had settled had not gone away. "You remember last night we talked a little about Andrea Parisi…"

Juhle's voice fell half an octave. "Yeah."

"I just got a call from Amy Wu."

"What about?"

"About Andrea not returning her calls since yesterday and not showing up at work this morning."

"Hey, I almost didn't come in myself. It happens. My arm was killing me. I had to drop a Vicodin."

"Not the same thing, really." Hunt tried to keep the impatience and worry out of his voice. "I wondered if you could make a few calls around and see if a thirty-something Jane Doe has turned up somewhere."

"She wouldn't be a Jane Doe if it's Parisi. Somebody would recognize her."

"That would depend on how she looks, wouldn't it? Say if she was beat up…"

"You're serious, aren't you?"

"Yep."

"Why can't you make those calls and look for her?"

"I'm tied up with clients for the next several hours. You could do it quicker through one of those magical networks you cops employ, where you can find out about anything. Besides, you answered your own phone, which indicates that you're in your office either doing paperwork or screwing around until something more important comes up. And this is it."

Juhle looked down at the first stack of Judge Palmer's bank records on his desk in front of him. "How long has she been gone?"

"Since before dinner last night."

"And you want me to check where?"

"Everywhere you'd look if you were looking for somebody. The morgue would be my last choice, but hospitals. Maybe she got herself drunk and arrested last night and isn't checking her messages."

"You want missing persons," Juhle said.

"They won't start looking until somebody's gone three days, Dev. You know this, and that's too long."

"Not really, since it gives the missing person time to show back up if they've had a change of heart and decided to come back to their spouse or boyfriend or mother and father."

"This isn't any of those."

"You checked her house, her work, her…?"

"Yes to all the above. Some of us-Wu, Tamara, me-we're going to be calling around, but you know you can cover more ground a lot easier."

Juhle hesitated for a couple of seconds. He said, "Now you mention it, I kind of wanted to talk to her myself about what you mentioned last night."

"What was that?"

"Palmer, basically. The prison guards. Lanier thinks there might be something there after all."

"So you're admitting you owe me?"

Juhle sighed into the line. "All right. I'll see what I can find out," he said.

Tamara opened the door before Hunt put the receiver down. "Do you really think she's in trouble?"

"You've been listening in on my calls."

"Just the last two, and only to save you the time it would take to brief me. Are you really worried?"

"Let's say I'd feel better if we heard from her."

"What are you going to do next?"

He consulted his watch. "I was going to be finishing this class on the Net and then getting some business done, but I'm due at McClelland's, and that's going to take most of the afternoon."

"Do you want me to call anybody else in the meanwhile?"

Hunt was up, gathering papers, snatching up his briefcase. "Try Andrea's office again and make friends with her secretary, try to avoid getting her all worked up. Find out the last clients she saw, what they talked about, where she was last night…"

"Whoa!" Tamara raised a palm, stopping him. "I'm trying to avoid getting her all worked up, right? I'll just talk to her and see what she gives me."

"Okay, you're right. Otherwise, stay near the phones in case Devin calls back. You can page me. Or if you hear from her, of course."

Marcel Lanier closed the door to his office in the homicide detail. He went behind his desk and sat, leaving his two inspectors to wonder if he wanted them to remain standing or to sit. Shiu had come in before Juhle and apparently didn't intend to move. He now blocked access to the two chairs in the small area facing Lanier's desk. So they stood, unnaturally close together, by the door.

"If it's not the wife, you understand," the lieutenant began in a low and brooding tone, "we're going to be having jurisdictional issues again." He meant the FBI and Homeland Security. "What do you suggest we do about that?"

Juhle, with a little sleep under his belt and a Vicodin easing his hand and shoulder pain this morning, cracked an easy grin. "The Feds? How about we don't tell 'em? Yesterday, they backed out of it, thinking it was local. Maybe it still is; there's just a few complications. So today we just leave it. If they don't ask, we don't tell."