scowled at them. "Yeah? What's the third one about?"
"Burning books."
Conte looked uncomfortable and opened his mouth to say something, but he was interrupted by the arrival of Jheri Moorkith and the Green Police.
"Bureaucracy," said Moorkith, shaking his head. "Would you believe it? I never received your memo announcing this raid."
Arteria shrugged. Okay, let's play head games. First you dribble crane around the floor; then I'll dribble yours. "It's probably lost somewhere in the interdepartmental mail. The courier will find it stuck in the bottom of his pouch tomorrow."
"Well, no matter." Moorkith dismissed the breach of protocol with a wave of the hand. "I'm here now. What's going down?"
Arteria hated civilians who tried to talk like cops. They always got it wrong anyway. Conte flashed a sympathetic smirk. I'm glad he's your problem.
"We're checking on a possible lead. The details were in the memo-—"
Arteria was interrupted by the return of the state trooper with the photograph. "Good news, Captain," he said, reporting to Conte. "We've got a definite make on Hartley. Neighbor lady on the west says the fellow in the picture with her is an ex-boyfriend named Robert Needle-—or something like that. A university prof. Get this: he's a materialist scientist. He used to hang out with her a lot. We're running a make on him now. But, get this, the neighbor says he drives a maroon van. And he showed up here about two in the morning the night the air thieves went down."
Moorkith sucked in his breath and traded triumphant looks with Conte and Arteria. "I think we're onto something here." He took the photograph from the trooper and studied it.
We? "How can the witness be sure about that early morning business?" Arteria asked.
"She says she sleeps light and the noise of the van woke her up. Me, I think she's a nosy old biddy who likes to spy on her neighbors. But what the hell, a lead's a lead, night?"
Right. And the University said Hartley called in later that morning and took an unscheduled week's vacation. She's supposed to be back tomorrow. When she does, we'll be waiting for her. And then what do I do?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
"The Sister of Misfortune . . ."
"We'll get him,"