Archer and Bey turned out to be phony.

Just a name on a business card. A call to an old contact at Interpol and a quick scan over the Internet for companies registered in South Africa determined that. Even the address and telephone number in Johannesburg were bogus.

Someone was trying to extort her, Hauck knew. Someone familiar with her husband’s dealings. Even his trustee, Lennick, whom Hauck had spoken with earlier and who appeared like a stand-up guy, agreed.

“Incoming, Lieutenant!”

The call rang out from the outside squad room, followed by the low, pretend whoosh of a mortar round exploding.

“Incoming” was how they referred to it when Hauck’s ex-wife was on the line.

Hauck paused a second, phone in hand, before picking up. “Hey, Beth, how’s it going?”

“I’m okay, Ty, fine. You?”

“How’s Rick?”

“He’s good. He just got an increase in territory. Now he’s got Pennsylvania and Maryland, too.” Beth’s new husband was a district manager in a mortgage firm.

“That’s real good. Congratulations. Jess mentioned something like that.”

“It’s sort of why I’m calling. We thought we’d take this long-overdue trip. You know how we’ve been promising Jessie we’d take her down to Orlando? The theme-park thing.”

Hauck straightened. “You know I was sort of hoping she and I could do that together, Beth.”

“Yeah, I know how you’ve always been saying that, Ty. But, um…this trip’s for real.”

The dig cut sharply into his ribs. But she was probably right. “So when are you planning on doing this, Beth?”

Another pause. “We were thinking about Thanksgiving, Ty.”

“Thanksgiving?” This time the cut dug all the way through his intestines. “I thought we agreed Thanksgiving’s mine this year, Beth. I was going to take Jess up to Boston to my sister’s. To see her cousins. She hasn’t been up there in a while.”

“I’m sure she’d like that, Ty. But this came up. And it’s Disney World.”

He sniffed, annoyed. “What, does Rick have a sales conference down there then or something?”

Beth didn’t answer. “It’s Disney World, Ty. You can take her Christmas.”

“No.” He tossed his pen on his desk. “I can’t take her Christmas, Beth. We discussed this. We had this planned. I’m going away Christmas.” He’d made these plans to go bonefishing with a group of school buddies off the Bahamas, the first time he’d been away in a long time. “We went over this, Beth.”

“Oh, yeah.” She sighed as if it had somehow slipped her mind. “You’re right. I remember now.”

“Why not ask Jess?”

“Ask Jess what, Ty?”

“Ask her where she’d like to go.”

“I don’t have to ask her, Ty. I’m her mother.”

He was about to snap back, Goddamn it, Beth, I’m her father, but he knew where that would lead.

“We actually sort of already booked the tickets, Ty. I’m sorry. I really didn’t call you to fight.”

He let out a long, frustrated exhale. “You know she likes it up there, Beth. With her cousins. They’re expecting us. It’s good for her now—for her to see them once or twice a year.”

“I know, Ty. You’re right. Next time, I promise, she will.” Another pause. “Listen, I’m glad you understand.”

They hung up. He swiveled around in his chair, his eyes settling on the picture of Jessie and Norah he kept on the credenza. Five and three. A year before the accident. All smiles.

It was hard to remember they had once been in love.

There was a knock against Hauck’s office door, startling him. “Hey, Loo!”

It was Steve Christofel, who handled bunko and fraud.

“What, Steve?”

The detective shrugged, apologetic, notepad in hand. “You want me to come back, boss? Maybe this isn’t a good time.”

“No, it’s fine. Come on in.” Hauck swiveled back around, mad at himself. “Sorry. You know the routine.”

“Always something, right? But, hey, Lieutenant, you mind if I see that case file you always keep in here?”

“Case file?”

“You know, the one you always keep hidden on your desk over there.” The detective grinned. “That old hit-and-run thing. Raymond.”

“Oh, that.” Hauck shrugged as if exposed. He always kept it buried under a stack of open cases. Not forgotten, not for a second. Just not solved. He lifted the stack and fished out the yellow case file from the bottom. “What’s going on?”

“My memory’s a little fuzzy, Lieutenant, but wasn’t there a name that was connected to it somewhere? Marty something?”

Hauck nodded.

The person who had called up AJ Raymond at the shop, just before he’d left to cross the street. Something like Marty, his boss had said. It had just never led anywhere.

“Why?”

“This wire just came in.” Christofel came around and placed his notepad on Hauck’s desk. “Some credit-card-fraud division has been trying to chase it down after all this time. An Amex card belonging to a Thomas Mardy—that’s M-A-R-D-Y—was used to pay for a limo ride up to Greenwich. Dropped him off at the Fairfield Diner at a little before noon, Lieutenant. April ninth.”

Hauck looked up, his blood starting to course.

April 9. That was the morning of the hit-and-run. Mardy, not Marty—that fit! A Thomas Mardy had been dropped off across the street from where AJ Raymond was killed.

Now every cell in Hauck’s body sprang alive.

“There’s just one catch, Lieutenant.” The detective scratched his head. “Get this…. The Thomas Mardy the Amex card belonged to was actually killed on April ninth. In the Grand Central bombing. On the tracks…”

Hauck stared.

“And that was three full hours,” the detective said, “before the Greenwich hit-and-run.”