"What in the world?" Geoff asked.

"Brilliant," she said, and scribbled a response. 'I'll be sports car, you be shoe.'

Geoff read over her shoulder before she fed it through. "What's going on?"

He kept his eyes on the machine. When it signaled, he read the one-word response out loud, "Checkmate."

"Ha, we won," she said.

"That is not chess." Geoff said.

"It's Monopoly," she said.

"Yeah,do not pass go . But, what does it mean?"

"The board is the world, and half way around is, what?"

"Jail. Go directly to jail?"

"He's almost there, like under house arrest. Like we figured. I'm not to pass Go-that's 'home' on the board. Don't collect money. The place you collect money-"

"At your job? You get money where you work."

"Right. Don't go home, or to work."

"His home, or your home?" Geoff asked.

"Definitely his. Anyway, I'm not going there. I'm going to see Bleetz-the sheep."

"Ride the Short Line to the Top Hat? Why Monopoly?"

"Because we played Monopoly while we were waiting for a story to break. The top hat was the 'alleged suspect'. Shane was the sports car. I always had to be the shoe, doing the legwork. It sounds goofy, but it helped us strategize having things laid out, three dimensional, where you can see them."

"What about the train?" Geoff asked.

"I'm to meet him there," Glenn said. "When I find out something." Her eyes slid toward Geoff. "Only Shane and I know where the railroads are. I have to investigate Bleetz first."

"The sheep? Because you're the sports car?" Geoff said.

"And, good old Shane has to be the shoe this time. I'd be enjoying this if I didn't have to see my old buddy Phil. I'm not looking forward to that."

"Can you use a ride?" Geoff asked.

"I wouldn't mind having you along. I might need you," she said.

"For protection? This Sheep is some dangerous character, huh?"

She shrugged. "You corner a rat, you gotta figure he's gonna bite."

"A rat? A sheep? Where're we going, Old MacDonald's farm?"

It was a run down section of Prince George's County where sex and narcotics were sold on every other street corner. Glenn turned her camera on several groups.

"Five'll get you ten they've been through the revolving door of justice more than once."

"Better not let anybody catch you doing that," Geoff said.

She lowered her lens. "Yeah, we got bigger fish to fry. Hang a right. There's a back lot. Phil has a studio downstairs. He lives upstairs."

They pulled up near the building. A large man in a topcoat turned his collar up against the cold, and held it there between his shoulders and ears. He crossed the parking lot, and got into the passenger seat of a dark sedan.

"Hey," Geoff said. "Maybe that was him."

"Hardly."

"How can you be so sure? Didn't even get a good look at his face."

"I'd know him anywhere. We were close once. Hey, we'd better park over there. I don't want to spook him."

Geoff backed into a spot on the opposite side of the building. "Now what do we do?"

"Wait," Glenn said. "You still don't get it, do you? Look, I have no choice but to see Bleetz. Believe me, if I did, I wouldn't be here."

"You said you were close?"

"Yeah, too close. You know what? There ought to be a vaccine girls are given at birth to protect us against guys like him. He's a great cure for innocence."

"Go on," Geoff said.

She sat back, and drew her knees up under her coat. "How can I explain this so it makes any sense to you? Can you imagine going to the World Series and your favorite ball player invites you to hang around and shag flies with him."

"Like if Cal Ripken had me come down to Camden Yard and share the same infield as him? Okay, I'm there. But, if he makes a pass at me, I'm gone."

"So, it's a little different between the sexes. But, you get my drift?"

"Unfortunately, you're coming through loud and clear."

"I was in awe of Phil. He was a great photographer once. He was also very sexy, and aloof. To be in the same room with him was incredible. And yet, in spite of his fame, from the moment we met, we had this connection. It was like a powerful drug. He has this way of looking at you, like you're the only thing in the universe. It goes right to your head. And, then, wow, he said he wanted to see my work. I was in heaven. I'd like to claim he seduced me, but I knew what I was doing. Of course, I was only 19 and he was 30, so in a way I guess I was a victim of my youth."

"Thirty? And you were a teenager? Who does he think he is, Hugh Hefner? Dirty old man."

"It didn't feel dirty. I fell for him, hard. We spent the first night we met together, like he was some rock star or something. I was sure it was a one-night stand, but I didn't care. He was full of surprises, though. Instead, of sending me on my way he asked me to move in with him. Just that fast. What was I supposed to say to that? Oh, my, it was that kind of passion that makes you feel like the rest of your life has been a dream." She cleared her throat. "But, I was in for a rude awakening. We were inseparable. Working together or making love: it was all the same, a colorful blur of images. I found the combination intoxicating."

"Is it me, or is it getting warm in here?"

She looked at him as he cranked the car window down. "Where was I?"

"Hot sex," he said.

"It was all hormones, of course. But, being inexperienced, I mistook it for true love. He became my whole world."

"Get to the dumpsite. Who dumped who?"

"Easy, there, big fella. This is really getting to you, isn't it?" She smiled. "Okay, I'll cut to the chase. Technically, I dumped him, but he broke faith first. We were doing boudoir portraits between assignments. I'm used to grit work, but this was artistic. I'd set up the shoot, hold the girls' hands, housewives mostly. We'd pick out lingerie, talk about poses. I was in such a blissful state of pure joy, I really was insufferable in those days. A big old foolish, sugary sweet blob of optimism. Not myself, at all. Then, one day, when I was cleaning up around the studio, I ran across some videos. I popped one in to see if it was one we could tape over it."

"I see where you're going. It was porn."

"Home-grown filth, filmed in our own bedroom," she said.

"Nice guy. He filmed you two in bed? I'd pay real money to rent that one."

"That was my first thought. Until I saw a strange woman in my bed. I was so angry. Then, I was relieved. As I watched, Phil started getting rough with her, pushing her around. She wanted to leave, but the more she fought, the more excited he got. He used a necktie to fasten her wrists to the bedpost. There's no nice way to put this. That terrified woman was raped by my boyfriend."

"My God," Geoff whispered.

"I don't know how long I sat there. My first instinct was to erase it, to make it go away. Then, I realized it was forensic evidence. I stumbled around the studio, searching for other tapes, hoping it was an aberration, you know, an isolated incident. But, there was a collection of nude photos taken by a hidden camera in the dressing room. It was so sordid. I had to get out of there, but I wasn't ready for a confrontation. I left a note saying I was going on assignment. And then, I just never went back to him. That part always bothered me, that I ran away."

"I'd have beat him like a bongo drum."

"That was one option. But, I went another way. After I calmed down, I knew what I had to do. One day, while he was away, I let myself back in to get my stuff, and while I was there grabbed all the photos and videos I could find. I returned them to their owners, telling them that they could destroy them or use it to prosecute the s.o.b."

"So? Did he get arrested?"

"It's interesting. Shortly after that, Phil was mugged in his studio. Whoever it was, beat the crap out of him, then piled his stuff in the middle of the room, and torched the place. The noxious fumes almost did him in."

"He could have been killed."

"Oh, well. Better luck next time."

"How'd you get taken in by someone like that?" he asked.

"Are you kidding? I was the luckiest girl in the world. He was a legend. I think that's really what I fell in love with." She felt the truth of it settle around her like a blanket.

"A key," Geoff said. "You used to live here. Do you have a key?"

"Isn't that breaking and entering?" she asked.

"If you have a key it would be opening and entering. Would you at least check?"

"I used to keep it in my camera bag." She rifled through the zippered pockets of her bag, and found a single door key. "Well, what do you know?"

They got out of the car, and crossed the parking lot.

"That's odd," Glenn said. "From this angle that looks like his car over in the corner, behind that bush."

"Maybe it is."

"He always parks here by the door." She looked up at the second story window. "Lights aren't on. I suppose he could be in the darkroom."

"Don't worry. I won't let anything happen to you. Let me go first."

"No. If he sees you he'll be hostile," Glenn said.

Geoff laughed. "What's he going to do when he sees you, greet you with open arms?"

"That's exactly what he'll do," she said. "He can't help himself. He's got to cop a cheap feel first." She shrugged. "All right, don't believe me."

Glenn rang the doorbell, and then the brass buzzer to the darkroom. There was no response to either. The key still worked. She crept through the studio calling his name softly to the steady hum of electricity.

"I'll check the darkroom," she said.

"I'll look over this way."

"That's his film library."

The darkroom was empty. Glenn made her way back across the studio, growing accustomed to the darkness.

"What a mess," Geoff said. "This guy's a slob."

"What do you mean? His workspace is very organized. Whoa. It looks like somebody was searching for something."

Videotapes were strewn around like dominoes. Papers and strips of negatives littered the floor; film canisters were flung like dice. Geoff picked up some booklets, flipped through them and put them on a shelf.

"Another jealous husband?"

Glenn whispered, "You don't think somebody's here, do you?" She moved toward the front of the house. "Let's look upstairs."

"Upstairs?" Geoff asked. "That seems kind of private. Like trespassing."

"What do you call this?"

"I know. This doesn't seem as bad, though."

"Come on." She led the way up a wooden staircase. "Uh-oh. A camera." She bent, and picked it up.

"Kind of a strange place to keep it."

"His Nikon F. This is the first real photojournalist camera. Phil considers it his good luck charm. Got his first cover credit with it." She turned it over in her hand, lifted it to her eye. "He changed the focusing screen. Used to have a microprism, but this is a clear screen."

"What's the difference?" Geoff asked.

"The microprism has a jagged pattern when the image isn't in focus. The clear screen offers a brighter image in low light."

"I don't mean, what's-the-difference, as in, I want a course in cameras. I mean, what's-the-difference, as in, who-the-hell-cares?"

They continued up the steps. "The bathroom's that way. I'll check the bedroom," she said.

"Jeez, what's that stench?"