"Joe is crazy man," Gorovic admitted. "He cannot take pressure."

"Not like you, right? Tell me where you grew up."

"In Sarajevo."

"Exactly my point. Joe Norton, he came up soft and now he can't live with the disgrace. If he doesn't get shot, he's gonna cap himself. You know where that leaves you, right?" Foley fished out Gorovic's driver's license, checked the DOB. "Lemme put this in practical terms. First, there's no walking away from this. You're gonna do serious time. But that doesn't mean there's no difference between fifteen years and three consecutive life terms. You're twenty-eight, yes?"

"Yes,"

"Well, I'm forty-three, which means that if you had to do the full fifteen, you'd be my age when you got out. Now look at me, Nevin. I'm not an old man. I'm not falling apart. My d.i.c.k still gets hard. So ask yourself, when they finally open those prison gates do you wanna be my age, or Joe Norton's?"

"You are only city detective. How you are going to do this deal?"

"Good question. Shows you're using your head. But we're right back to the original problem. By the time you get a lawyer to negotiate an ironclad deal in return for your cooperation and testimony, there won't be anyone to testify against. On the other hand, if you name your bosses right now, tell me how you brought the girls over to this country, the NYPD, represented by yours truly, will arrest the bad guys before the night is over. That puts them in jail where I promise you they will stay. Tell me, are you the boss? Are you running the show at .. ." He glanced at the business card, cleared his throat, then looked up, eyes all innocence. "Pancevski and Markovic?"

"Hah, these peoples, they are Serbs." Gorovic spit the word out. His blue eyes in the moonlight were so pale Foley couldn't separate them from the surrounding whites.

"And you're not?"

"I am Bosnian."

"So much the better." From far away, a mere sharpening of the wind's oscillating hiss, Foley recognized, finally, the cry of approaching sirens. "You hear that?" he asked. "You hear the sirens? They belong to the local police. New Jersey police. Once they take you into custody, I'll be out of it, so you gotta make a decision. I know it's hard, asking you to trust a cop after what you been through. But sometimes fate puts a choice right in front of your face and you have to pick the direction you want your life to take. Nevin, this is definitely one of those times."

THIRTY-EIGHT.

JULIA WAITED a few minutes, until Foley was out of sight, then made her way to the kitchen door through which Nevin Gorovic had fled. There was a window in the door's upper half, divided into four small panes, and Julia approached without hesitation. Still at the kitchen table, still clutching her dish towel, Elizabeth Nicolson glanced up when Julia's face appeared in the window. Nicolson's own face was round, plump, and noticeably reddened. Her brown eyes were reddened as well, her makeup streaked by tears.

Julia flashed a rea.s.suring smile as she displayed her badge, then turned the door's handle and walked inside. She'd been counting on n.o.body having relocked it after Gorovic took off.

"Hi. How are you tonight?" With her left hand, Julia tucked her badge away. She was holding her automatic in her right hand and her eyes swept the rooms within her view as she pushed the door closed with the heel of her boot. Then, after taking a moment to enjoy the sudden warmth, she introduced herself. "I'm Lieutenant Brennan. Are you Mrs. Nicolson?"

"I am." Elizabeth Nicolson's mouth curled up beneath her rather flat nose, a bulldog expression that Julia was unable to interpret.

"Do you know why I'm here?"

"I'm sure I don't."

"Do you know why those other men were here?"

The question took Elizabeth by surprise. Her expression softened as her eyes dropped to the towel in her hands, but she did not respond.

"Do you know why they shot at my partner when he drove up?" Julia persisted. "Do you know why they had guns in the first place? Do you know what's going on here, Elizabeth Nicolson?"

Elizabeth responded without looking up. "I got a call from Joe last week. He said he needed to stay with me for a while, but he wouldn't tell me why." One of her braids had come loose and now hung by the side of her face. She flicked it away impatiently. "Joe and Carla arrived on Monday. The others came on Wednesday. They've been coming back every day since then. I complained to Joe, but you can't tell him anything. He's always been a bully."

"Did he molest you when you were a little girl?"

For just an instant, Elizabeth Nicolson's face collapsed. Then she drew herself erect and raised her eyes to stare at the wall in front of her. "That's what this is about?"

"In a general sense."

"Well, my brother ran upstairs after Mr. Grebo was shot. He forced his wife to go with him."

"She's a hostage?"

"He forced her up the stairs." Nicolson somehow managed to shake and nod her head at the same time. "Joe's room is at the end of the hall, but I don't know if that's where they went."

Julia approached Elizabeth Nicolson from behind, then dropped a hand to the older woman's shoulder. "I need you to stand up, Mrs. Nicolson. I'm going to have to handcuff you."

"What?"

Though Nicolson made no move to escape, Julia tightened her grip. "It's not that I don't believe you, or that I don't think you're a victim in all this, but I can't leave my back exposed. C'mon, get up."

When Julia lifted, Elizabeth followed, her movements near robotic as she tried to a.s.similate what was now happening to her. A moment later, she was handcuffed to the handle on the oven. Not the most secure spot, but Julia was in a hurry and didn't have time to drag the woman, even a.s.suming she'd cooperate, from room to room in search of a better one.

"I've called for backup," Julia explained, "and when it arrives, you'll be let go. Until then .. . Well, like I already said, I'm sorry."

Julia shrugged off her coat and crossed the living room swiftly, only to pause at the foot of the stairs to collect her thoughts. What, she asked herself, do I hope to accomplish here? Norton's surrender? That would be all for the best, though there isn't much chance of that, not in the few minutes until the locals arrive.

On the other hand, there was the possibility, if she fanned the flames of his rage, that he'd make some sort of an admission that would lead her to the next rung on the ladder. There was also the possibility, rather more likely, that if she pushed his b.u.t.tons, he'd turn his anger on his wife, Carla, or on Julia Brennan. And there was another potential outcome as well, one that could not be ignored. Given his age and the evidence against him, Joe Norton would spend the rest of his life in jail, an elderly middle-cla.s.s short-eyes, prey to each and every prison predator.

Would he decide that death was the preferable alternative? Would he take his wife with him? Or would he find himself unable to turn the gun on himself or his beloved? Would he decide the only way out was to die at the hands of a police officer? "Suicide by cop" was a time-honored tradition among hostage-takers.

Julia left it there as she climbed to a landing two steps from the top where the stairway made an abrupt left turn. Time to focus now. In front of her, a finely wrought gilt mirror on the wall blocking the western end of the corridor provided a view of the hallway, past a series of open doors, to a closed door at the very end. The presence of the mirror was the first break, as far as Julia was concerned, that she'd gotten all day.

"Yo," she shouted without exposing the merest inch of her flesh, "Joe Norton. It's Lieutenant Brennan. We spoke on the phone."

A fusillade of gunshots, fired through the door, shattered the mirror into small fragments. "Don't try to come in here." The voice, a man's, was thin, barely carrying the length of the hall.

"Trust me on this, Joe, I'm staying right where I am." Julia brushed gla.s.s from her shoulders, shook out her hair. "You okay in there?"

Norton's responding laughter was pitched at the edge of madness.

"How about your wife? Is Carla okay?"

"She will be as long as you stay where your are."

"But she's alright?"

After a long hesitation, a woman's voice declared, "I'm not hurt. Please don't try to come in here."

"Why does everybody think I'm about to storm the gates?" Julia asked. "Joe's the one running this show. It's all up to him."

As if to prove her point, Julia lapsed into one of those pregnant silences beloved of cop interrogators. Her major goal had already been accomplished. Joe Norton was too old to climb out the window, even with the porch roof so conveniently close. He was trapped, and when the truth finally sank in he'd make his move.

The silence continued for several minutes, until Norton's frail voice again traveled the length of the hallway. "You told me you were in New York," he accused.

"I lied. But, you know, I'm a cop. What'd you expect?"

"You said you just wanted to talk."

"Joe, who started shooting when we drove up to the house, you or me?"

Another, briefer silence, then, "You weren't in the car. There was only one cop in the car and he was a man."

"I was around the back. Watching the door."

Norton laughed again, a choppy cackle that ended in a phlegmy cough. "You're all f.u.c.king liars," he called.

Julia shook her head, though n.o.body was there to see.

"Uh-uh, Joey, we've already established that fact. What you need to think about now is what's gonna happen next. I mean, how many times have you read about somebody or other taking a hostage, or even a group of hostages? A hundred? Two hundred? How many times you read about someone getting away? Even if we gave you a plane, which won't happen, no country will accept you. Not one country in the whole world."

Julia stopped abruptly. She knew nothing of hostage negotiations, how these things were supposed to work. Maybe stressing the hopeless nature of Joe Norton's predicament would drive him to commit some desperate act for which she would hold herself responsible. Not a happy thought.

G.o.d, she told herself, not for the first time, how I'd like to have this jerk alone in a bas.e.m.e.nt somewhere.

"But that," she shouted, "does not and I emphasize the not mean you can't help yourself by cooperating. Remember, you haven't killed anybody."

"No, that's true. Although I tried my best, I didn't kill anybody. Say, when would this cooperation begin? Should I just pour my heart out right this minute? Or should I wait for a larger audience?"

"Well, first thing, I haven't informed you of your right to avoid self-incrimination, which means everything we say is off the record. Second, if you want, I could probably get a lawyer down here. Just give me a name."

Norton responded with another choppy laugh. No doubt about it, the man was enjoying himself. "Hey, Brennan, you wanna hear something funny? There's nothing hotter on this planet than a ten-year-old virgin if you treat her right. I'm talking about on fire, Brennan. They love it."

Surprised by the change in Norton's tone, Julia recalled Elizabeth Nicolson declaring that her brother had always been a bully. Then she flashed to Foley's little tour of his website. What was it Poobear had said of the seventeen-year-old girl he wanted to be rid of? Ah, yes, Julia remembered, the child, according to Poobear, was hairy as a goat.

"Hey, Brennan, you have a daughter?"

Beneath Norton's voice, like an accompanying cello, Julia heard Carla Norton begin to sob.

"No, I don't," Julia returned, careful to maintain her bantering tone. "I don't have children. I'm a d.y.k.e."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Well, we could have had some fun together, me and you. Old Carla, here, was a bit too inhibited. Knew how to keep her mouth shut, though. I'll give her that."

"Christ, Joe, it sounds like you've been at it for a long time."

"I was one of the lucky ones, Brennan. I found my vocation early."

"Then you must've thought you'd died and gone to heaven when you stumbled on the adoption scam. Innocent young girls, straight from the farm, never knew anything but their families. I'll bet you don't find 'em like that in Thailand."

"Or anywhere else. It was a miracle. I can still see them, at night when I try to go to sleep. Especially the one they call Little Girl Blue. What a beauty. Those doe eyes looking up at me. A mouth that was made to be kissed. I tell ya, Brennan, it brings a tear to my eye." Outside, the rise and fall of onrushing police sirens was now clearly audible, the potential for an imminent crisis rising with each decibel. What do I do, Julia asked herself, if shots are fired from within the bedroom. What do I do if Norton comes out? How do I protect the hostage and still protect myself? One thing sure, I can't just wait for the situation to unfold.

"What I said about the lawyer," she called as she mulled the various possibilities, "it's not a joke. You get a lawyer down here, let him negotiate a protective custody arrangement, see where the evidence leads. Because what you're doing now, you're overreacting, just like you did when my partner drove up to the house."

"Brennan," Norton finally said, "you're a d.a.m.n good liar. I have to admit it. But you and I, we both know what's gonna happen when those kids start talking about how they're emotionally scarred for life and they'll never be able to trust anybody ever again. Who's gonna want to hear the truth? That they begged for it. That they couldn't get enough."

Julia thought of Anja Dascalescu as she'd appeared on that Sunday morning, naked and alone, in Central Park. Did Joe Norton really believe what he was saying? Or was he simply regurgitating the party line? Again, she remembered Poobear's description: Hairy as a goat.

The police sirens, now loud enough to overwhelm the howl of the wind, were no longer advancing. One by one, as Julia nursed her rage, they shut down. Then, a moment later, the radio in her pocket clicked twice.

"What about the money?" she asked Norton as she keyed the radio three times in response. "I mean, you put it all together, the girls in New York and the others, we're talkin' about serious revenue. Were you getting a piece of that?"

"You think I'm a pimp?"

Julia nodded to herself. Norton hadn't denied the existence of "the others." There was more to be done. She thought of Foley and his prisoner. Maybe Nevin Gorovic had turned. She couldn't be sure, but she could hope.

"I'm just asking, Joe."

Another laugh. "Well, your comment about the money is right on the money. Which I ran out of some time ago. Not that filthy lucre was my primary object."

"Maybe not, but bringing those children into the United States, that had to be a lot of work to set up."

"It wasn't all that hard. Remember, as a foster dad, I knew how to manipulate bureaucracies."

"Manipulating is one thing. Having your own man on the inside, Christopher Inman, that's something else. But tell me, does it hurt to know your partners are gonna get away clean? While your little life, one way or the other, is over and done with?"

"Oh, psychology now. How pitiful. Say, are your feet flat, too? Are you the traditional dumb flatfoot? Because it seems to me that if I were to reveal the names of the .. . ah, yes, the higher ups, that lawyer you promised won't be of much use."

"That's not entirely true, Joe. A lawyer can still get you into protective custody. As for the other part, look at what we have here. We have a dead body in the living room, shots fired at cops, a hostage situation, and pedophilia leading back to Little Girl Blue. Once the news gets out, your partners, they're gonna take off for Bosnia or Serbia or wherever they're from. That leaves you holding a very large bag." Julia thought about Foley, wondered if he'd run the same line on Nevin Gorovic. Given the time pressure, it was the only line available. "Moving fast is your only hope, Joe."

"Hope? Forget hope. Right from the outset I knew that one of those kids would eventually escape. Sooner or later, it had to happen. Hey, I'm an old man. but I'm still a player, and I intend to play this particular game to the very end."

"That was then, this is ..."

The squeak of a revolving doork.n.o.b, followed by the creak of an opening door, shut Julia down in mid-sentence. She was looking at the wreckage of the mirror, at a long triangular shard. In it she could see, as if from a great distance, a pair of figures emerge from the bedroom, a woman in front, a man following. Julia could not make out the man's features, but she could see the gun in his hand. He was pointing it, not at his wife, but along the hallway. In search, apparently, of Julia Brennan's head.

"Where are you, Lieutenant Brennan?" Joe Norton called as he and his wife inched forward. His arm was around her chest, pinning her close. "I think it's time we became better acquainted."

Julia backed down the stairs, then crossed the living and dining rooms into the kitchen. Pausing long enough to gather her coat, she opened and slammed the back door as Elizabeth Nicolson watched silently, her eyes now dry, her gaze speculative.

"Up to you, Elizabeth," Julia whispered as she took a position alongside a breakfast bar cut into the wall between the kitchen and the dining room. a.s.suming a two-handed grip, she brought her weapon to her chest, pointed the barrel at the ceiling, then fought to slow her breathing. With her back to the wall, she told herself, you can spin, aim, fire through the opening in less than a second. Norton will release his wife on the steps or somewhere in the living room. And Elizabeth is definitely going to help you. Even if ... "Brennan?"

Julia looked across the room at Elizabeth Nicolson. The woman's eyes were blazing as she returned Julia's gaze. Norton was coming down the stairs. It was decision time for all concerned.

"Brennan?"

"She's gone." Elizabeth's voice was little more than a rasp. Nostrils flared, she closed her mouth, swallowed, turned her head to look out through the kitchen door.