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devised in coordination with Chief Blackwell. Item one, as you can see, is to identify the victims. We’ll call that the Tomlinson Plan.”
    Laughter again, even more unrestrained than before. What did the man want—his resignation?
    “Other action items involve creating a useful profile of the killer, defining his working environment, and setting a trap. But we’ll talk about those when the time comes.” He flipped to the back of his notebook. “On the last page, you’ll find orders informing you of your work assignment on the task force. A lot of thought has gone into these assignments, so I don’t want to hear any bitching about them. We’ve tried to distribute the work so as to make maximum use of our available talent. We expect each of you to perform your assigned tasks to the best of your abilities.”
    Tomlinson turned to the back of his notebook and read the order sheet. Under his name, the assignment name read: SWITCHBOARD/RADIO DUTY.
    Switchboard/radio? Tulsa was facing the most heinous crime wave in its history—and he was going to be the frigging telephone operator? Tomlinson slammed the notebook shut.
    Morelli heard the noise, but didn’t comment. He told everyone to “get their butts in gear” and dismissed the meeting.
    Tomlinson followed the crowd out of the room, then started down the hallway to—he could barely even think about it—the switchboard room. He wasn’t going to take this lying down. If Morelli didn’t have any faith in him— fine . He’d prove himself without Morelli’s help, and with any luck, he’d make Morelli look like a fool in the process.
    He checked the duty roster. He would be off the switchboard by midnight. No problem—he’d start then.
    Someone was going to have to make the first breakthrough. This time, it was going to be him.

5
    B EN SCANNED THE OUTER offices of the Apollo Consortium headquarters. The architecture was elegant and expensive—the general design was of spiraling glass columns and gold-plated panels. The glass glistened; the gold panels were polished and gleaming. The building was less than a year old; Apollo was probably the only business entity in all of Oklahoma that was ostentatiously spending money during the recession that had paralyzed so much of the Southwest.
    Howard Hamel stepped out of the elevator after Ben had waited less than a minute. I don’t get service this prompt when I visit my mother, Ben thought.
    “Ben! Great to see you again,” Hamel said, his hand extended. “I can’t tell you how pleased I am that you accepted our offer.”
    “Well, it was a difficult offer to refuse.”
    “Good. It was intended that way. In case you haven’t gotten the message yet, the Apollo Consortium wants you bad.”
    “I suppose I’ll need to fill out some forms. Insurance, direct deposit…”
    “Sure, sure, but later. Let me take you on a tour of the complex. Our first stop is at the top—Robert Crichton’s office.”
    “He’s the head of the legal department, right?”
    “Right. In fact, he’s general counsel for the entire Apollo Consortium.”
    “And he wants to see me?”
    “Damn straight. He told me to show you in the moment you arrived.”
    Hamel ushered Ben into a glass elevator that rose up the south side of the office building. Ben watched south Tulsa recede as the elevator rose toward the penthouse floor.
    “Great view, huh?” Hamel said. “Strictly speaking, these exposed elevators are illegal here, but we managed to pull a few strings with the city counsel and get a variance.” He winked. “Called in a few vouchers.”
    “I’ll bet.” Ben gazed out through the elevator glass. He could spot Southern Hills, the Sheraton Kensington, and the Oral Roberts campus, with its shimmering towers like something out of a Fifties science fiction movie. He felt a sudden clutching in his chest; Ben was not handy with heights. He turned away. “The view must be terrific at night.”
    “It is. But don’t take my word for