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a pretzel.”
    “Didn’t say I wasn’t one too. Has he gained weight?”
    “The vet says he’s lost three pounds. I’m jealous of our dog.”
    “I’ll fix our dinner while you fix his second course.” Paul stopped to open his briefcase and get out the baby Connor summary so Ann could read it while he worked on the meal.

    Paul opened one eye as Ann’s elbow pressed into his rib cage from her side of the bed. Her light was still on.
    “‘Baby Connor Hewitt, three months old, was abducted from a stroller at the outdoor Lincoln Square shopping center,’” she read aloud, “‘when his mother stopped to assist a girl who had fallen and skinned her knees. It happened at 6:14 p.m. July twenty-first, a Saturday night, when the shopping center was crowded with foot traffic.’”
    She was rereading the summary file at . . . he tried to make out the time on the clock, then conceded reality and closed his eyes. He’d married a woman who was as much a night owl as he was a morning lark. For her it wasn’t the middle of the night.
    “‘Interviews with those in the shopping center and the parking lots produced no direct eyewitnesses to the abduction, but a consensus formed of two young men, one carrying a child, jackets, jeans, ball caps and gloves, getting into a white panel van.’” He heard the folder close. “Question.”
    “Okay,” he murmured, both eyes still closed, but listening.
    “Do we think two guys took baby Connor? Or were the witnesses giving us simply an innocent family out shopping? People try to be helpful when a cop asks them a question like ‘Did you see anyone walking toward the parking lot with an infant?’”
    They both knew the odds the consensus was wrong. “At least two people,” Paul replied. “One to hold the baby, one to drive. Not sure I’d take a baby, though, if I’m a guy. What do you do with it the next day? And the one after that? Better to grab achild who can sit at the table and eat a sandwich, follow directions, already be potty-trained.”
    “Someone took an infant and wasn’t worried about what the day-to-day details would be like.”
    “This probably wasn’t just two guys,” he noted. “And babies cry. Though that might explain why baby Connor was shaken to death within three days. I think we’re looking for a family with money problems. Brothers maybe, drag in a wife to handle the day-to-day of caring for a baby.”
    She thought about that. “Thanks.” She shut off the light. “I bet you get odd looks when guys ask what kind of gifts you give your wife, and you say old coins and cold cases.”
    “Only from those who don’t know my wife.” Whoever had taken baby Connor was enjoying their last months of freedom, they just didn’t know it yet.
    “You can sleep now.”
    “Going to.”
    The room grew quiet enough Paul could hear the dog breathing by the foot of the bed. He wrapped an arm around his wife. Life was good.

    Paul paused in the kitchen on his way to take Black for his morning walk. Ann was writing on a pad of paper and drinking coffee, and she wasn’t one to particularly like coffee. “You’re up early. What’s got you puzzled?”
    Ann handed him the coffee mug. “Listen to the baby Connor call again.” She cued up the recording.
    “This is not the ransom call you are expecting. Your son died yesterday. I got asked to bury the child and declined. The FBI is tracing this call so you know I’m at the Dublin Pub in Meadow Park. The bulletin board by the pay phones, on the back of aphoto of Mrs. Leary’s lost cat, you’ll find a map to where your son is buried. They did the job themselves after arguing with me for a bit. If the information is good, leave ten thousand with the bartender and I’ll consider calling back when I have more to say.”
    The tape went to static. Ann shut off the recording. “We’ll talk about the call itself another time. It’s not the call that’s got me puzzled. It’s the Mrs. Leary’s lost cat. It’s