After a while she realized two things: one, Cliff was right, the other members of the task force had some pretty bad handwriting. Two, there were pieces of the puzzle hidden inside the notes. When originally written, they’d meant little or nothing. But now, in the light of what they’d recently learned, these scraps of information had taken on new importance.

Like the question, asked in writing by Tom Jorgen, if a Dremov rifle could possibly be the weapon that killed Steven Fletcher. Tom had asked, because he’d read that there were still hundreds of Dremovs in the states, brought in years ago as souvenirs by military men returning from Europe. He hadn’t followed up on it, however, because it was a long shot. Besides, there was no rifle to test.

There was also a note about a phone call from the witness who saw the blue sedan in the parking lot before Doug Wilson’s car exploded. The witness said she had remembered something about the car. While it wasn’t possible to see through the tinted windows, she had gotten a glimpse into the back seat of the car when the white male suspect opened the door and entered the vehicle. Louis Baker, who had spoken to the woman, quoted her as saying, “I know it sounds strange, but I could swear there was a baby seat in the back of the car.” Baker had noted beside the quote that she might have seen a package, or maybe a suitcase of some kind.

Finally, Alex came across the list of employees at the store the Baltimore rifle had been stolen from. Weeks ago, the name Ricky Wilford meant nothing to anyone.

Today, it meant a great deal.

She picked up the phone and dialed.

“David Wu.”

“It’s Alex. Where are you?”

“Baltimore. Near the Arena. Why?”

“Do you know where Riley’s Sporting Goods is?”

“Yes. It’s a long way from here, though.”

“Do any of the places you’re going take you near Riley’s?”

Alex heard the rustling of paper.

“Yeah, one of the businesses is close to there.”

“Well, make sure you stop in at Riley’s.”

“Why?”

“Because you might want to talk to one of their employees.”

There was mumbling on the other end of the line.

“Alex, Ben said he and Mark already interviewed the employees.”

“Did he? Ask him if he remembers one named Ricky.”

Again, muffled voices. “Yeah, he remembers.”

“Ask him if he remembers Ricky’s last name.”

She heard a yelp from Dave, and then Ben’s voice came on the line.

“Alex? You’re shittin’ me.”

“Nope. Checked it on the computer. Darryl was his older brother. Maybe you should let Ricky know we think his brother fried to a crisp in Philadelphia.”

“We’ll do it. I just hope the little prick is there today.”

“If I may suggest, since Ricky doesn’t know David, it might be good if he did the interview. He was there, so he can tell Ricky all the fiery details.”

“Yeah. Shit. Mark’s gonna be pissed.”

The line went dead, and Alex immediately started dialing again.

“Rick Price.”

“Rick, it’s Alex Reis. Why are you answering Ken’s phone?”

“Cause Ken’s mouth is full. We’re eating a late lunch. Anything I can do?”

“Maybe. Have you guys gone to see Brogan yet?”

“Not yet. Why?”

“Ask him where he was on the dates of the murders. Remember, there are at least two other reports of a blue sedan. And I just came across a note that said a witness in Atlanta thought there was a child’s seat in the car she saw.”

There was a pause.

“Rick?”

“Yeah, I’m here. I’m writing it down. Ask him about all the dates, or just the ones where the car was seen?”

“I’d ask him about all the dates. If he knows something, and we ask him about all of them, he’ll realize we’ve connected him somehow. With any luck, he’ll either go running scared, or talk.”

“Right. I’ll let Ken know. You still want to talk to him?”

“No, let him finish eating. Just tell him I haven’t had a chance to check on Gerlach and his friends. I should get to start on it today. I’m also going to look for computer records of Brogan traveling anywhere. If it was his car, that means he might have gone with them. If so, there could be gas receipts or something.”

“Hopefully.” There was a muffled voice. “Ken says hi, and thanks.”

“Tell him hi for me, and you two have fun. Play nice with Mr. Brogan.”

“Right. I have to. I’m the good cop.”

Alex laughed. “Bye, Rick.”

She hung up, and once more dialed again.

“Clarin.”

“Mikey, it’s Alex. Did you find that information on the Dremov?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“And I haven’t had time to check it against the shells we have. I’m aiming for sometime late this afternoon.”

“That’s fine, Mikey, I just wanted to check.”

“Yeah, sure. You field agents get all the fun jobs and then you expect us hard working guys to have stuff done right when you want it.”

“Fun jobs? Mikey, I’m doing case notes for the entire task force.”

“Hm. Okay, so you have to do a day of grunt work. I gotta go. Talk to you later, Alex.”

“Thanks, Mike.”

Alex put the phone down, and left it there. She leaned back in her chair, rather proud of herself.

Mark came into the control center where she was working and dropped into a chair beside her.

“Okay, Alex, what did you do to my partner? He called me, hopping mad. Told me we’d missed something and I should see you. What’d you do?”

She handed him the list of employees, and pointed at the name.

Mark blinked for a moment. “Shit. Goddamn son-of-a-bitch was right there.”

“There’s no proof, Mark.”

“Were they related?”

“Brothers.”

“Shit.”

Mark stood up, letting the sheet of paper fall back to the desk. “And here I thought I was gonna be the one with all the hot tips today.”

“Oh? What did you find out?”

“Well, I was finishing my phone calls on Wilford’s background. I called his college; they’re sending his transcripts. But I thought I was missing something obvious. You know, how you know something is right in front of you, and you can’t see it?”

“I spent the last few days feeling like that.”

He looked at her. “Yeah, I guess you did, huh? Anyway, I was just looking over my notes, and then the notes on the gun, and thought, shit, if he’s a rifleman, he’s probably NGA. So I checked. He was.”

“That’s great.”

“No, that’s not great. What was great, was that the National Gun Association is so proud of him that they faxed me a copy of his profile. The guy wasn’t good with a rifle, he was great. They rated him an expert marksman. They also sent a copy of an article they did on him for an edition of their newsletter. I pulled the original out of our files. You’ll never guess who’s in the picture with him.”

Alex’s eyes went wide. “He isn’t.”

“Yes, he is. And they’re each holding a rifle.”

“God, Mark, you’re a genius.”

He shrugged. “Naw, I just got lucky.” He tilted his head and grinned. “Wanna know how lucky?”

“Sure.”

“Okay. In that picture? The rifles they’re holding?” Alex nodded. “Well, the caption identifies them both as Colt carbines. But you can tell that they’re not the same. I kind of wondered if the rifle in Mather’s hands could be a Dremov.”

Alex could feel her jaw hit the table in front of her. She jerked it back up, and cleared her throat.

“May I suggest you take that to ballistics today?”

“Actually, I scanned the picture, enlarged it, and emailed it to Mikey. He emailed back something about all field agents having too much time on their hands, and said, yes, it is.”

Alex whooped and jumped up from her chair.

“That’s great!” She gave him a grin and a hug. “If I had your luck, I’d head for Atlantic City.”

“Yeah, I might do that.”

“Did you tell Cliff?”

“No, he was in a meeting. I left a message with Jodi that he should come in here as soon as possible.”