Percy Smith approached the love seat just as I was about to go looking for Russ Claven to see what he could tell me about travel arrangements back to Colorado.

Percy smiled at Lauren, whose eyes were closed, her fingers laced across her belly. He said, "Jet lag? Me, too."

I didn't bother to correct him.

He and I introduced ourselves, and managed some small talk about how nice it would be to be working together, before he said, "Listen," in a tone that was unnecessarily abrupt.

"The three of us? We're traveling back home to Colorado together on Joey Franklin's jet. Just us. At the last break I phoned the people who coordinate the jet service. They can be ready to fly in about an hour. We'll get a cab from here out to Ronald Reagan. I assume that's okay with the two of you. The jet will drop me off in Steamboat and then take the two of you back down to Denver or wherever."

I glanced at Lauren for some sense of her inclination. Her eyes didn't open; I suspected she had actually fallen asleep. The alternative to accepting Percy Smith's invitation was finding a hotel room for the night, arranging a commercial trip back to DIA the next day, then getting a cab to Jefferson County Airport, where we'd left our car. Smith's plan sounded better.

"Sounds good. Chief Smith. My wife's pretty tired. She will probably just sack out on the sofa in the plane."

He exhaled in a short burst through his nostrils. A feral snort.

"Well, if there's two of them I got dibs on the other," he said. I was about to chuckle at the juvenile humor until I realized that the man was serious. He pointed at my chest and said, "How about you get the cab," then looked down at his watch.

"Say, twenty minutes."

The word echoing about inside my head was asshole. I tried to smile, but I couldn't. I did manage a nod to his departing back. I promised myself it was the last directive I would take from the man.

A. J. Simes appeared as tired as Lauren as she approached us to say good-bye.

She was leaning more heavily on her cane than she had been earlier in the day.

She couldn't miss the evidence of Lauren's decline, and smiled sympathetically at me.

"I think we may have asked too much of your wife today. Sorry. I will admit that I'm tempted to sack out next to her."

"She'll be fine. I think she's thrilled at the chance to be working with Mary Wright."

"She should be. Marys a prize. What about you? Are you comfortable with what you heard today, Alan?" I said, "Reasonably, A. J. I'll admit that I'm not too thrilled about interviewing Raymond Welle. The rest of the case seems interesting-fascinating, actually. But, given the expertise of this group, I feel like a total novice with all this-I'm counting on your guidance to help me through it."

She touched my arm. I couldn't tell whether it was an act of reassurance or whether it offered some protection against her losing her balance.

"Don't worry, I'll provide whatever guidance you need. But if I read you right last year, before this is over you'll probably be telling me to get my nose out of your face." I said, "I doubt that will happen. This work must be very satisfying for all of you in Locard. To be able to go back and offer consolation, or at least closure, to the victims' families on all these old cases."

"Not just old cases. What we revisit are cold cases. The way I look at our work is that our goal is to try to raise the dead. Or the presumed dead. Or the feared dead. If we do our work well, we bring them back long enough to help us solve the crime that took them away. When Kimber and I and a few others started all this a few years ago, I wanted to call the organization Lazarus. No one else liked the name though. But I thought it would be the most fitting label of all."

"I can see how it would be."

A. J. shifted her weight and tried to disguise a grimace.

"And it has been very satisfying. For someone like me who isn't able to participate professionally in the Bureau any longer, it provides an opportunity to satisfy a true need. For others on the team, it provides a sense of camaraderie, of collegiality, and a feeling of being able to directly impact justice in a way that their career paths often deny them." I said, "I don't actually know too much about Vidocq, your counterpart in Philadelphia, but what I saw today leaves me with the impression that you do things a bit differently than they do."

"We can't match them in reputation, but we have every bit as much expertise. Our profile is lower, by design. Our style is more proactive. Our membership is, well-how should I put it?-less mainstream. We're less hesitant to dive in and investigate where we need to. Lister calls the difference between Vidocq and Locard the difference between cogitation and investigation.

But Vidocq has certainly enjoyed its successes."

"What about Lister? Where does he fit?"

My question caused her to smile.

"That… is another story. A long one. One that will have to wait until a time when your wife and I aren't so tired. I'll phone you tomorrow or the next day in Colorado and we'll begin to map out an initial strategy for how to approach our particular piece of this puzzle. Then we'll get started filling in the holes. I'm grateful, Alan, that you agreed to help. I definitely wanted someone I could trust on this one. Please say good-bye to Lauren for me and express my gratitude to her as well." She turned to leave. I said, "Before you go, A. J.-the jet that we flew out on?

It belongs to Joey Franklin, isn't that right?"

She tightened her eyes.

"Yes, he owns a piece of the plane. Apparently, it's a time-share arrangement.

He buys an eighth or a quarter interest or something and then he gets to use so many hours a year to fly around to his golf tournaments and things. I recall that your ethical knife has a very sharp blade, so I think I know what you're concerned about. A possible conflict of interest, right? I've mentioned it to Kimber already. We'll have to keep an eye on it and see what develops with the young girl's brother. If money to aid the investigation continues to flow from the Franklin family, we may have something to be worried about."

"You probably already know this, but Lauren and I and Chief Smith are flying back on the jet in an hour."

She shrugged.

"My advice? Enjoy the flight. It'll be much easier on Lauren than going commercial." She touched my arm again and nodded at my wife.

"When is she due?"

Very little escaped A. J."s attention.

"Beginning of October. Thanks for asking.

The pregnancy has gone well so far."

"Is she stable?" From the slight alteration in tone, I discerned that she was asking about Lauren's MS, not her pregnancy.

"The pregnancy has been kind to her as far as her illness is concerned. It's after that has me concerned. You know? The stress of having a newborn?" Lauren s neurologist had told us that pregnancy was often a period of respite and remission for women with multiple sclerosis. Unfortunately, the protection often ended abruptly with delivery.

"I know," said A. J. "Her role on this case shouldn't be too difficult. If it gets to be too much for her, let me know. Mary and I are friends." She adjusted her weight on her cane.

"We'll talk soon."

She held out her hand. I responded by leaning in and giving her a quick hug.

Into her ear, I said, "You feeling okay? Honestly."

She pulled back.

"Honestly? I can't complain."

I watched her walk away and then went in search of a phone to call for a car to take us to the airport.

Lauren woke to an almost empty loft. She was embarrassed by her fatigue, as I figured she would be.

Kimber Lister saw us toward the elevator.

"The car is here. Downstairs, idling at the curb. Chief Smith does not endeavor to travel as lightly as the two of you. His luggage is, believe me, not insubstantial for such an abbreviated visit. He's downstairs now, loading his things." He placed a hand on the small of each of our backs.