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Jessica had donned a pair of rubber dishwashing gloves from the kitchen and tied a T-shirt around her face as a mask against the asbestos fibers in the insulation. Over the course of the morning she set about breaking down the wall in earnest. The delirium resumed next door and the sounds were awful. Finally she had a hole big enough to use. She took the bookend with her as she climbed through and opened the door of the closet backing up to hers.

If Jessica couldn't see him in the darkness, she could certainly smell where the ill man lay.

"We're down to twenty-three names," Alexandra announced, striding into Cassy's office where the network president was sitting with Agent Kunsa and Detective Hepplewhite at the conference table.

"We've got seventeen Con Edison technicians visiting West End in the last three months, five freelance electricians and technicians, and three executives with electrical engineering backgrounds. We've also got four names from the studio audiences that are connected with the power business, but the dates don't jibe at all, so we've put them to the side. These guys, though," Alexandra said, placing a computer printout on the table and pulling out a chair to sit down, "these twenty-three are possible."

"We can check them the fastest," Detective Hepplewhite said.

"It's all yours," Kunsa said, gesturing.

Hepplewhite took the list and dashed out of the office, leaving Alexandra looking quizzically between Cassy and the FBI agent.

"What's wrong? Jessica's not" -- "No, no, nothing like that," Cassy said quickly.

"No, it's just that we've had some puzzling news." She looked to Agent Kunsa.

The FBI agent sat back in his chair, sliding his thumbs into the waistband of his slacks.

"Our lab says Leopold's notes are from two different computer printers. Same typeface, but definitely two different printers. They also say that the paper is the same, but from two different reams. And then the shrink's report says the syntax between the two sets of notes is inconsistent."

"Which means," Alexandra concluded, looking to Cassy, "that Leopold's notes are from two different people." She raised her eyebrows.

"So?

That would just confirm that more than one person is in on the kidnapping. "

"Or," Agent Kunsa said, "it means that the stalker, Leopold, and the kidnapper--who says he's Leopold-are two different entities altogether."

Alexandra thought about this.

"Which would mean," Cassy said, "that after the stalker started writing to Jessica, another party started to mimic him."

"But if that's true," Alexandra said, frowning, "who kidnapped Jessica? The stalker or the mimic?"

Jessica moved the bedroom lamp as close to the closet as she could in an effort to throw light into the room next door. She gingerly climbed back through the wall and made her way slowly in the dimness to the body that was curled up on the floor by the fireplace. Her heart skipped and her stomach lurched at what she found; a man whose face had literally been beaten to a pulp, a blood-congealed mess lying on his side by the fireplace, his hands and ankles bound behind him with razor-thin wire.

From the blood-caked Dockers and black rubber boots, Jessica knew that this was the man who had abducted her from Rockefeller Center. Live by the sword, die by the sword, she thought. Only she had to push those thoughts aside. No one deserved to die like this, and death, indeed, could have only been the intended outcome.

She needed more light. She couldn't see well enough to undo the wire.

And even if she did have enough light to see by, his flesh had swollen over the wire and so the only hope would be to cut the strand that bound his hands back to his ankles.

"What's going on?" Alexandra asked, arriving at her office and finding Wendy slumped over her secretary's desk.

Wearily, the private detective raised her head.

"That reporter is the biggest son of a bitch I've ever met in my life."

"Craig Scholer?"

"This guy is not only trouble, but a complete and total jackass. And he's angling to do a major hatchet job on Jessica."

"Leave him to me," Alexandra said, jaw flexing as she looked toward her office. She glanced back.

"Could you get Will? And Agent Cole? We might as well all hear what Craig has to say together."

"Sure." Wendy paused.

"He's got some pretty tough stuff. I'm not sure Will should hear it."

Alexandra sighed, thinking. Then she said, "Of course he should hear it. He has to hear it." It seemed she was talking more to herself than to Wendy.

The private investigator met her eyes.

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure. Go get him." Then Alexandra took a breath and went into her office.

"Hello, Craig. What's up?"

Craig Scholer gave a low whistle.

"This is some chickee-poo, your Jessica Wright. Jessica Wrong is more like it." The fifty-plus investigative reporter sitting on her couch looked like a pile of rumpled laundry. He was smoking a cigarette and using an empty Coke can as an ashtray.

Alexandra took her time sorting papers on her desk before she looked up at him.

"Do you have any leads on the kidnapper?"

"Have I got leads," he said.

There was a knock on the door and Will appeared. Behind him was Agent Cole and Wendy.

"Come in, you guys, sit down," Alexandra said.

"Close the door behind you. Craig was just going to give me his report."

Will pulled a chair over for Agent Cole and then took one for himself.

Alexandra came around her desk to sit on the front of it, crossing her legs and leaning forward, resting her hands on the edge.

Craig's eyes traveled the length of Alexandra's legs before he licked his lips and opened his notebook.

"Well, I've narrowed it down for you," he announced. He looked up.

"How much of that reward money do I get?"

"We'll see, Craig," Alexandra said.

"What do you have?"

"What I have is a slew of guys this Jessica's fucked and dumped over the years."

"Watch the mouth," Will said.

Craig looked at him, chuckled to himself, and started again.

"Okay, let's put it this way, Jessica has had many, many intimate friends and colleagues such as yourself. Will Rafferty."

Will did not blink.

"What do you have?"

"I've got a Ronnie Perry," Craig said.

Will glanced down to the clipboard in his lap and started looking though the papers.

"She screwed this guy when she got here," Scholer said, "when she came up from Tucson. He's an electrician and was working on Studio B and she fucked him in the property room. Then she wouldn't have anything to do with him, and friends say he never got over it."

"I don't remember his name on the list of twenty- three," Alexandra said.

"What list of twenty-three?" Craig wanted to know.

"He's on the master list," Will said.

"You're right, Craig, he was a master electrician, worked on West End hookups. The only problem is," he said, looking up, "he's dead. Cerebral hemorrhage last year. What kind of friends of his did you talk to that they didn't know he's dead?"

Craig grunted and turned a page in his notebook.

"Then there's this black guy," he said.

"Sam Wyatt. He's a married guy she'd been seeing on and off for" "He's her AA sponsor," Will said.

"Next."

Craig looked at him.

"Well, she's certainly not going to tell you if she's screwing some black guy."

"Craig," Alexandra said sharply.

"We all know Sam. Jessica's not involved with him except in the way Will said."

"We checked him out, too," Agent Cole added.

"What else, Craig?" Alexandra said.

"You mean, who else? How about the pill-popping doctor ex-boyfriend?

Jessica dumped the guy, he starts hounding her, starts popping pills left and right, has a psychotic episode at his practice, ends up spending three months in a rehab under the threat of losing his license to practice"-- " We know all that," Alexandra said.

"Gets out six months ago to face nearly one million dollars in debts," Craig finished.

"What's that?" Alexandra said.

"The only person to lose his shirt in the biggest bull market in history," Craig continued.

"Let me tell ya, this guy's headed for hell in a handbasket. Hasn't paid child support in nine months, lost his apartment, his car, his boat, tried filing for bankruptcy but still has over three hundred thousand dollars in unpaid taxes. He's a mess.

On the other hand, he's been to West End many times and the guy did get a degree from Columbia Medical School. Brainy. You know? He could figure out this electricity shit. "

Alexandra nodded.

"I see your point. I don't think Matt's capable of this, though."

"Would the fact that he seems to have disappeared change your mind?"

Craig asked.

"He's in Hazleton rehab in Minnesota," Agent Cole said.

Craig turned to her, looking irritated.

"Oh yeah? How do ya know?"

"Insurance claim."

"Aw, that's not even fair. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because we haven't known where to find you," Alexandra told him.

"Okay, so Mart's definitely off the list."

"What about Eric, Jessica's ex-husband?" Wendy asked.

"He's in jail," Agent Cole said.

"That's the guy in L.A. County, right?" Craig asked, making a note.

"Yes," Agent Cole said. She looked up at Alexandra.

"Hit-and-run before this started."

"Hit-and-run?"

"Hit an off-duty cop crossing a bar parking lot."

"Oh, brother," Alexandra muttered, making a note.

"What about these guys around here? The delivery guy?"

"Clean."

"The maintenance guy?"

"Clean. At least of this."

Alexandra looked at her.

"There was an outstanding warrant for check kiting."

Alexandra raised her eyebrows, looking back at her notes.

"Seems our security is a wee bit lacking around here. I'm going to have to talk to Dirk." She looked up.

"Okay, Craig, what else do you have?"

Craig was riffling through his pad.

"Okay, there's this piece of shit.

A charmer they call Keller 'the Snake' Johnson. Jessica was fucking this guy in Mexico some years back"-- " I told you before to clean it up," Will said quietly.

"What's that?"

"I said, clean up your language."

Craig frowned.

"Look, boy-toy, I know you've been the one screwing her lately, but what makes you think you're so special?"

"Craig," Alexandra said.

"Get on with it." She looked I at Will, who only sat there staring at Craig, his face turning red.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, all right." Craig looked down at his notes.

"So anyway, this guy Snake Johnson's work- in' for the Dunez cartel now and they're in deep shit with the feds."

Agent Cole's ears had perked up.

"The way I see it," Craig said, "they might have made the snatch to make a trade with the feds for one of their guys."

"Long shot, but I'll check it out," promised Agent Cole.

"Give me what you've got." She stood up and held out her hand, which Craig looked at as though it had slime on it.

"No way," he said.

"Give her your notes, Craig," Alexandra said.

"Uh-uh. No fucking way."

"Oh yes you will," Alexandra said, leaning backward over her desk to pick up her phone.

"We really appreciate the work you've done, Craig," she continued, punching in some numbers, "and when we get Jessica home we'll give you the story." She put the phone up to her ear.

"But for now it's best you get on a plane back to Washington and keep your mouth shut. Oh, hello--it's Alexandra Waring calling. Is this Helen?"

Craig's eyes narrowed.

"Yes, hi, we haven't met. I hope to meet you very soon. Listen, I was wondering if Craig was there... No? Oh, he is? Yes, of course. All right, well, I'll just call his office and leave a message." Pause.

Smile.

"Thank you, that's very nice of you. Great. Thanks a lot, Helen. Byebye." She hung up the phone and looked at Craig.

"Nice lady, your wife."

He glared at her.

"You bitch."

Alexandra smiled sweetly.

"Keep your mouth shut, Craig. Give Debbie your notebook and then get the hell out of here."

"Maybe I don't care," he challenged her.

She shrugged.

"I've got nothing to lose by finding out."

"You fucking bitch," he said, struggling to his feet and heaving his notebook across the room. Then he tried to walk out, throwing the door open so hard it bounced off the wall and came back to hit him. He let out a string of oaths and stormed out.

When all was quiet again. Agent Cole looked at Alexandra.

"What was that all about?"

"Oh, nothing," Alexandra said lightly, sliding off the desk.

"Well done," Wendy murmured admiringly.

Jessica went into the bathroom with the brass bookend and smashed a safety razor until she could extract the tiny blades. Then she went into the kitchen, searching around for a source of light. Nothing. She searched the parlor. Nothing. Then she had an idea.

She went back into the bedroom and with the stainless-steel knife, unscrewed the hardware holding the mirror in place on the bureau. Once it was removed, she was able to work the mahogany mirror up off the metal rod that held it and carry the mirror into the room next door.

She propped it up against the closet door and angled it to reflect the lamplight on the man's body.

She hurried to his side, no longer able to stand the idea of what that wire was doing to him. She worked with one of the tiny blades over and over until, finally,

the wire strapping his wrists to his ankles snapped and his whole body straightened out.

Mercifully, he was unconscious. She worked quickly, trying to unwind the wire off one wrist. She got it off, and then started on the other.

When that was unwound, she moved down to his ankles and gently pulled that wire out from the folds of his swollen flesh. Then she went back up to gently pat his arms, trying to get the circulation going again.