QUARTER TO NINE the next morning, I was rapping at the fogged window of Lieutenant Roth's office at the Hall. Roth likes me- like another daughter, he says. He has no idea how condescending he can be. I'm tempted to tell Roth that I like him- like a grandfather. I was expecting a crowd- at least a couple of suits from Internal Affairs, or maybe Captain Welting, who oversaw the Bureau of Inspectors- but, as he motioned me in, I saw that there was only one other person in the room. A nice-looking type dressed in a chambray shirt and striped tie, with short, dark hair and strong shoulders. He had a handsome, intelligent face that seemed to come to life as I walked in, but it only meant one thing to me: Polished brass. Someone from the department's press corps, or City Hall. I had the blunt, uneasy feeling they'd been talking about me. On the way over, I had rehearsed a convincing rebuttal about the breach in press security- how I'd arrived late on the scene myself, and the real issue was the crime. But Roth surprised me. ""Wedding Bell Blues," they're calling it," he said tossing the morning's Chronicle in my face. "I saw it," I replied, relieved to focus back on the case. He looked at Mr. City Hall. "We'll be reading about this one every step of the way. Both kids were rich, Ivy League, popular. Sort of like young Kennedy and that blond wife of his- their tragedy." "Who they were doesn't matter to me," I answered. "Listen, Sam, about yesterday…" He stopped me with his hand. "Forget about yesterday. Chief Mercer's already been on the line with me. This case has his full attention." He glanced at the smartly dressed political type in the corner. "Anyway, he wants there to be close reins on this case. What happened on other high-profile investigations can't happen here." Then he said to me, "We're changing the rules on this one." Suddenly, the air in the room got thick with the uneasy feel of a setup. Then Mr. City Hall stepped forward. I noticed his eyes bore the experienced lines of someone who had put in his time. "The mayor and Chief Mercer thought we might handle this investigation as an interdepartmental alliance. That is, if you were up for working with someone new," he said. "New?" My eyes bounced back and forth between the two, ultimately settling on Roth. "Meet your new partner," Roth announced. I'm getting royally screwed, a voice inside me declared. They wouldn't do this to a man. "Chris Raleigh," Mr. City Hall Hotshot said, extending his hand. I didn't reach out to take it. "For the past few years," Roth went on, "Captain Raleigh has worked as a Community Action liaison with the mayor's office. He specializes in managing potentially sensitive cases." "Managing?" Raleigh rolled his eyes at me. He was trying to be self effacing. "Containing… controlling the damage… healing any wounds in the community afterwards." "Oh," I shot back, "you're a marketing man." He smiled. Every part of him oozed a practiced, confident air I associated with the kind of men who sat around large tables at City Hall. "Before that," Roth went on, "Chris was a district captain over in Northern." "That's Embassy Row." I sniffed. Everybody joked about the blue-blooded Northern district, which ranged from Nob Hill to Pacific Heights. Hot crimes there were society women who heard noises outside their town houses and late-arriving tourists locked out of their bed-and-breakfasts. "We also handled traffic around the Presidio," Raleigh countered with another smile. I ignored him. I turned to Roth. "What about Warren?" He and I had shared every case for the past two years. "Jacobi'll be reassigned. I've got a plum job for him and his big mouth." I didn't like leaving my partner behind, dumb-ass wisecracks and all. But Jacobi was his own worst enemy. To my surprise, Raleigh asked, "You okay with this, Inspector?"

I didn't really have a choice. I nodded yes. "If you don't get in the way. Besides, you wear nicer ties than Jacobi." "Father's Day present." He beamed. I couldn't believe I felt a tremor of disappointment shooting through me. Jesus, Lindsay. I didn't see a ring. Lindsay! "I'm taking you off all other assignments," Roth announced. "No conflicting obligations. Jacobi can handle the back end, if he wants to stay on the case." "So who's in charge?" I asked Cheery. I was senior partner to Jacobi; I was used to running my own cases. Roth chortled. "He works with the mayor. He's an ex district captain. Who do you think's in charge?" "How about, in the field you lead?" Raleigh suggested. "What we do with what we find is mine." I hesitated, giving him an evaluating stare. God, he was so smooth. Roth looked at me. "You want me to ask Jacobi if he's got similar reservations?" Raleigh met my eyes. "Look, I'll let you know when we can't work it out." It was as good a negotiation as I was going to get. The deal had changed. But at least I kept my case. "So what do I call you? Captain?" With a casual ease, Raleigh tossed a light brown sport coat over his shoulder and reached for the door. "Try my name. I've been a civilian now for five years." "Okay, Raleigh," I said with a faint smile. "You ever get to see a dead body while you were in Northern?"

THE JOKE IN HOMICIDE about the morgue was that in spite of the lousy climate, the place was good for business. There's nothing like the sharp smell of formaldehyde or the depressing sheen of hospital-tiled halls to make the drudgery of chasing down dead leads seem like inspired work. But as they say, that's where the bodies are. That, and I got to see my buddy Claire. There wasn't much to say about Claire Washburn, except that she was brilliant, totally accomplished, and absolutely my best friend in the world. For six years, she had been the city's chief medical examiner, which everyone in Homicide knew was as under deserving a title as there was, since she virtually ran the office for Anthony Righetti. Righetti is her overbearing, power-thumping, credit-stealing boss, but Claire rarely complains. In our book, Claire is the Office of the Coroner. But maybe the idea of a female M.E. still didn't cut it, even in San Francisco. Female, and black. When Raleigh and I arrived, we were ushered into Claire's office. She was wearing her white doctor's coat with the nickname "Butterfly" embroidered on the upper-left pocket. The first thing you noticed about Claire was that she was carrying fifty pounds she didn't need. "I'm in shape," she always joked. "Round's a shape." The second was her bright, confident demeanor. You knew she couldn't give a damn. She had the body of a Brahman, the mind of a hawk, and the gentle soul of a butterfly. As we walked in, she gave me a weary but satisfied smile, as if she'd been up working most of the night. I introduced Raleigh, and Claire flashed me an impressed wag of the eyes. Whatever I had accumulated over the years in street smarts, she threw off in natural wisdom. How she balanced the demands of her job, and placating her credit-seeking boss, with raising two teenage kids was a marvel. And her marriage to Edmund, who played bass drum for the San Francisco Symphony Orchestra, gave me faith that there was still some hope for the institution. "I've been expecting you," she said as we hugged. "I called you last night from here. Didn't you get the message?" With her comforting arms around me, a flood of emotion welled up. I wanted to tell her everything. If it weren't for Raleigh, I think I would've spilled it all- Orenthaler, Negli's -right there. "I was beat," I answered. "And beat up. Long, tough day." "Don't tell me." Raleigh chuckled. "You guys have met." "Standard autopsy preparation." Claire grinned as we pulled apart. "Don't they teach you that stuff down at City Hall?" He playfully spread his arms. "Uh-uh," said Claire, squeezing my shoulder. "This you gotta earn. Anyway," she regained a tone of seriousness, "I finished the preliminaries just this morning. You want to see the bodies?" 1 nodded yes. "Just be prepared: these two don't make much of an advertisement for Modern Bride." She led us through a series of closed compression doors toward the Vault, the large, refrigerated room where the bodies were stored. I walked ahead with Claire, who pulled me close and whispered, "Let me guess. You gave Jacobi a kiss on the nose, and all of a sudden there was this charming prince." "He works for the mayor, Claire." I smiled back. "They sent him here to make sure I don't faint at the first sign of blood." "In that case," she replied, pushing the heavy door to the Vault open, "you better hold on to that man tight."