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“You got my attention. I’m headed back from my family’s place, and—”

“Hold one,” Tony interrupted. “I want to conference in Krowczyk.”

A minute later, Harris said, “Hey, Krow.”

“What’s up, Tony?” Danny Krowczyk, the Signals Intelligence analyst, said. “You get ahold of ol’ Wyatt Earp?”

Harris chuckled.

“Yeah, and he’s actually coming back from fighting evil criminals on the Main Line as we speak,” Harris said. “He’s on this conference call.”

There was silence.

Payne’s next mental image was of the gentle giant of a geek in his usual stance: hunched over his IBM i2 analyst notebook computer, his face aglow in its light, his eyeglasses reflecting a screenful of intel.

And, he thought, right now probably with a look of Oops! on his face.

“You’ve got the Marshal’s attention, Krow,” Payne said. “This better be good.”

“Oh, hey, Sarge. Yeah, I got something that I think is better than good. Then again, with all I’ve had to dig through, it could be nothing better than a WAG.”

“WAG?” Payne said.

“Yeah, that’s short for a highly technical HUMINT term.”

Human Intelligence WAG? Payne thought.

“Which is?” he said.

“Wild-ass guess.”

Payne snorted.

“So, you making progress or not?”

“Sarge,” Krowczyk said, “we can collect a shitload of data points round the clock till the cows come home, but unless they’re sorta close to what we’re looking for, there’s a real chance of instead getting what we refer to as analysis paralysis.” He paused, then added, “That said, I think this will help. There’s interesting stuff here, including a suicide. You swinging by the ECC anytime soon?”

“I’m on my way.”

Payne saw movement on the in-dash screen, the caller ID reading DAD’S OFFICE.

Oh, for chrissakes!

“I’ve got to take this incoming call, guys,” Payne announced.

“See you shortly,” Harris said, and the connection went dead.

Payne tapped the screen to accept the call, and said, his tone disgusted, “I really can’t believe they called you already, Dad. What the hell?”

“Hello, Matt,” Mrs. Irene Craig said, a certain tone of loving exasperation in her voice. She had served some twenty years as executive secretary to Brewster Payne, founding partner of Mawson, Payne, Stockton, McAdoo & Lester, arguably Philadelphia’s most prestigious law firm. “You don’t sound as if you’re having the best day. I’m sorry. Please hold for your father.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Craig. Nice to hear your voice. And you really don’t want to know.”

After enough time for Mrs. Craig to share what had just transpired, his father’s voice filled the car. “Who called, Matt? What’s this about?”

“I’m guessing my pain-in-the-ass sister.”

“I haven’t heard from Amy. Is it anything serious?”