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By Root 1394 0

connections with the extreme right in the United States. We were far from the only ones the Israeli had talked with, and I personally think he was there because he’d pissed off his boss. But it had happened. The fact that I didn’t even remember his name, let alone have a way to reach him, had nothing to do with it. Volont wouldn’t be able to confirm that, and confirmation is the key word in the intelligence business.

That also got Hester, by the way. I’d only seen her look that surprised once before.

‘‘I really want to keep this in the family,’’ I said. I held up my thumb and forefinger, in a pinching motion. ‘‘But I want to solve these killings just a little, tiny bit more.’’

Volont pursed his lips. ‘‘Thanks for the dessert,’’ he said. ‘‘I’ll be in touch.’’

For the record, I felt a little angry with myself for having become angry at Volont. This was balanced, I felt, by my being delighted with the Mossad bit. If you threw in a meal that was excellent until dessert, the evening had been a plus. Hell, even the dessert wasn’t that bad.

I got to Maitland about 2300. Long, tired drive. I waited to use my radio until I pulled my unmarked into our garage, just so they wouldn’t be tempted to give me anything to do. I picked up the mike, and went 10-42, giving my ending mileage to the office, as required.

Sally was working. She acknowledged my transmission, and requested I phone her at the office ASAP.

Wonderful.

I walked in the door, and met Sue, who was bringing her popcorn dish to the kitchen sink. We kissed, and I said, ‘‘I’m supposed to call the office.’’

A short hug later, and I was on the phone.

‘‘Nation County Sheriff’s Department.’’

‘‘I hope you know what you’re asking, here,’’ I said.

‘‘ME!!!’’ She nearly took my ear off. ‘‘ME! Holy shit, Houseman. You should talk. You gave me some son of a bitch that doesn’t exist. I can’t get anywhere with this Connie Wittman. I mean it, I can’t get shit.’’

She was talking so fast I couldn’t get a word in.

‘‘What do you want, for shit’s sake? You want me to start running women with that last name, and then call ’em up and ask where their son Connie is? Huh?’’

She ran out of breath. I really liked that about Sally. She gave that job everything she had, and would drive herself harder than any boss ever could.

‘‘No. That’s okay,’’ I said blandly. On purpose, just to slow her down.

Silence. Then: ‘‘What?’’

‘‘Yeah, that’s okay. You can’t get ’em all.’’ I waited a beat. ‘‘Just go home and get a good sleep. It’s okay.’’

‘‘Well . . .’’

‘‘Sure. Good night, Sally.’’

‘‘Well . . . night.’’ As I put the phone down, I heard an increasingly faint ‘‘I’ll try again tomorrow . . .’’

Twenty-one

THE NEXT DAY was Sunday. I got to the office just after lunch. There was an envelope waiting in my box, sealed with red evidence tape. It just had ‘‘Houseman’’ written on it, in Sally’s hand.

Inside was this:

A handwritten note that said, ‘‘Don’t EVER ask me to do this again, ’cause I can’t. Sally.’’

Stapled to the note were two sheets of teletype paper.

The first one looked like this:

TCAM

CANCELED SSN 933 99 9901 OLN 933 99 9901 WITTMAN, JULIUS CONSTANTINE

HWY 220

CLOSTOWN, IA 52933 COUNTY: HOMER PROCDAT: 02-12-91 DOB: 02-10-47 SEX: M RAC: W EYS: BLU HT: 510 WT: 225

It was followed by three traffic entries in ’93.

The second sheet looked like this:

NCIC FEDERAL OFFENDER CRIMINAL HISTORY

NAME FBI NO. INQUIRY DATE WITTMAN, JULIUS CONSTANTINE 995622441AQ 07/28/96 SEX RACE BIRTHDATE HEIGHT WEIGHT EYES HAIR POB M W 02/10/47 509 235 BLU GRY IA

ARREST-1 06/11/86

AGENCY—US MARSHAL’S SERVICE CEDAR RAPIDS IA (IAUSM0002) CHARGE 1—PASS COUNTERFEITED SECURITIES

COURT—IA CEDAR RAPIDS

09-22-86 DISPOSITION—CONVICTED OFFENSE—PASS COUNTERFEITED SECURITIES SENTENCE—6M CONFINEMENT, 30M SUSPENDED, 3Y PROBATION

She’d got him from his middle name. I didn’t want to think how many DLs she’d had to run . . . and Julius Constantine, for God’s sake? What was his mother, a Roman?

It was the same dude, all right. Right up to the tiny discrepancies in the height and weight fields. (The Feds measured