He carried his scotch over and stuck his head through the curtain. "Peekaboo," he said.

Jube jumped like someone had given him a hotfoot and looked nervous until he saw who it was. Charles Dutton seemed unperturbed. "Have a seat, Mr. Ackroyd," he said calmly.

Jay slid into the booth and let the curtain fall closed behind him, shutting them into a soft red womb. It felt good to sit down.

Dutton was nursing a cognac. The Walrus had a huge pifia colada with a pineapple ring floating on top, but he pushed it away and maneuvered his bulk out of the booth. "I got to sell some papers," he said. "Catch you later."

Jay waited till he was gone. "Picking up the pieces?"

Deep-sunk cold eyes regarded him frankly. "You might say that. I've decided to keep the business going."

"Great," Jay said. "I'll be your first customer."

"What would you like to know? If the price is right, I'm sure we can do business."

"I get my usual generous discount, right?" Jay said. He went on quickly, before Dutton could say no. "I'm looking for the Oddity. Know where they live?"

"No," Dutton said.

Jay made a tsking sound. "Chrysalis would have," he said. "See, if you're going to be an information broker, you got to know things like that."

Give me time to consult her informants," Dutton said. "Sascha might know," Jay told him. "You pick up all kinds of things when you can read minds. Where is Sascha anyway?

"I would like to know that myself. He hasn't returned to his room since the murder. His mother hasn't seen him either. She's quite worried."

"He's probably with his girlfriend," Jay said. "Trust me, she's not the kind of girl you bring home to Mom." He finished his drink. "Guess you haven't found those secret files yet."

"No, more's the pity," Dutton told him. "I can assure you, however, that they're nowhere in this building." Dutton pulled his hood over his face and stood up.

"Don't tell me you're tired of my company already?" Jay said.

"I'm afraid I have business to attend to."

"Me too." Jay got to his feet. He was thinking about Sascha. The last time he'd paid a call, he'd gotten laid and lied to. Maybe it was time they had another chat.

It was a cinch to follow the Oddity, no matter how crowded or how empty the streets. The joker didn't move very fast, and he certainly had a conspicuous silhouette.

Things got a little trickier when the Oddity took to the deserted back alleys where there were no other pedestrians to blend in with. But the alleys were also darker than the streets and allowed Brennan to move from shadow to shadow with the stealth of a stalking cat.

The Oddity finally stopped before a back service entrance of a dark brick building and let himself in with a key. Brennan followed him as closely as he dared. He stopped before the metal door, pausing to read the legend stenciled on it:

Brennan frowned, wondering what connection the Oddity could have with the wild card museum. He went to work on the door, knowing that he wouldn't find any answers out there in the alley.

Inside, the museum was dimly lit by security lights that threw the various exhibits into shadowy relief. Brennan felt a touch of strangeness as he moved by the silent, dimly lit replicas of aces and jokers and aliens. It was a relief finally to hear the sound of clumping feet that put him back on the Oddity's trail.

He caught up to the Oddity as the joker was disappearing down a flight of stairs that led to the bowels of the museum. Brennan followed him down the stairs and caught up with him again as he entered what looked like a basement workroom. The joker had flicked on all the lights, so Brennan cautiously hid behind a tarp-covered something that was being stored in the wide hallway. From his vantage point he could peer around the doorjamb and see into most of the room, which was largely filled with half-completed wax replicas.

The Oddity was pacing before one of the wax sculptures. Brennan leaned further into the light and saw that it was a nude study of Chrysalis. Her torso was just starting to take form with bones and organs gleaming under wispy musculature. Her head was still a formless blob.

The Oddity suddenly took off his fencing mask and hurled it across the room with an anguished howl. It made a loud clatter as it smashed into a pile of pots and pails that was sitting near the wall. The Oddity, now wearing the sensitive features of a handsome black man whose face was twisted by intense emotion, continued to pace before the sculpture.

Brennan was so engrossed in watching the joker that he almost didn't hear the footsteps on the stairs. He managed to jerk back into the darkness just as Charles Dutton came down the hallway and went into the workroom where the Oddity was pacing.

"I thought it was you," Brennan heard Dutton say. There was a long silence, then Dutton added, "There's no sense brooding over it, Evan."

Brennan heard the Oddity suck in a long, angry breath. "She's dead, Charles, beaten to a pulp by some lousy ace. I'll never finish it now" There was the sound of more angry pacing, then the Oddity-Evan-said, "I'd love to get my hands on the neck of the son of a bitch who did it to her. I would! I really would!"

"Now, Evan," Dutton said placatingly, "That's not like you at all. Sounds more like John. We have plenty of other things to worry about. The police are on the case, and so is Ackroyd. Someone will find the murderer. Let's concentrate on the files."

"I know, Charles," Evan said as Brennan silently backed away down the hall. "I know. But why Chrysalis? Who could have done such a thing?"

Brennan went back up the stairs, through the museum, and out into the alley by the back door.

There'd been no mistaking the pain and anguish in the Oddity's voice, though Brennan was unsure if he was more upset about Chrysalis's death or his unfinished waxwork. In any case, unless the Oddity was even more schizoid than Brennan figured, it was obvious that he hadn't killed Chrysalis. The Oddity was innocent, Brennan thought. So was Bludgeon. The Shadow Fists were looking better and better. He checked his wristwatch as he moved off into the night.

Time to call a man, he thought, about a visit to a graveyard.

This time Jay decided not to ring the doorbell. Just thinking of Ezili gave him a hard-on, but last visit things had gotten entirely too messy for his taste.

He pushed an empty dumpster down the alley and climbed on top. From there his fingers could brush the lowest rung of the ladder that hung down from the old cast-iron fire escape. He stretched, grabbed the metal with one hand, and tried to yank it down. It didn't want to come. Meanwhile the dumpster rolled out from under him, leaving him dangling from the ladder by one hand. Jay grunted, caught the rung with his other hand, chinned himself up, and began to climb. It was at times like this he wished he could teleport himself as easily as he did his targets. But no, he had to do it the hard way. He hunkered down on the fire escape to catch his breath, sniffing dubiously at the air. Something smelled bad.

All the lights were out in Sascha's loft. Jay moved stealthily along the fire escape toward the window. Climbing he could live without, but sneaking was his middle name. It was even easier when you didn't have to juggle a camera.

The window opened on a bedroom. Jay took a quick peek, saw no one. He took out a glass cutter, carefully removed a section of the upper pane, and reached through to open the lock. When the glass came out, the smell got stronger. Jay eased open the window and climbed in, avoiding a window box where odd-looking herbs and flowers fought for space with weeds. It smelled foul inside the room.