"Please don't tell me it's Michael or Jeremy," he said in a barely audible voice.

"I know Rachael is all right. She's in her room asleep.

I know my wife is fine, sound asleep, too. " He paused to compose himself.

"My sons are still a bit on the wild side, both working for me and rebellious about it. I know they play hard, too hard, frankly."

Hammer thought of her own sons and was suddenly dismayed that she might have caused this father a moment's concern.

"Sol, no, no, no," she quickly reassured him.

"This is not about your sons, or about anyone in your family."

"Thank God." He took another swallow of his drink.

"Thank you, thank you, God."

He would tithe more than usual to the synagogue next Friday. Maybe he would build another child care center somewhere, start another scholarship, give to the retirement center and the community school for troubled kids, or an orphanage. Damn it all.

Cahoon was sick and tired of unhappiness and people suffering, and he hated crime as if all of it were directed at him.

"What do you want me to do?" he said, leaning forward and ready to mobilize.

"Do?" Hammer was puzzled.

"About what?"

"I've had it," he said.

Now she was very confused. Was it possible he already knew what she had come here to tell him? He got up and began to pace in his Gucci leather slippers.

"Enough is enough," he went on with feeling.

"I agree with you, see it your way. People being killed, robbed, and raped out there. Houses burglarized, cars stolen, children molested. In this city. Same is true all over the world, except in this country, everybody's got a gun. A gun in every pot. People hurting others and themselves, sometimes not even meaning to. Impulse." He turned around, pacing the other way.

"Impaired by drugs and alcohol. Suicides that might not have happened Were there not a gun right there. Acci…" he caught himself, remembering what had happened to Hammer's husband.

"What do you want me want us at the bank to do?" He stopped and fixed impassioned eyes on her.

This wasn't what she'd had in mind when she'd rung his doorbell, but Hammer knew when to seize the day.

"You certainly could be a crusader, Sol," she thoughtfully replied.

Crusader. Cahoon liked that, and thought it time she saw he had some substance, too. He sat back down and remembered his bourbon.

"You want to help?" she went on.

"Then no more shellacking what really goes on around here. No more bullshit, like this one hundred and five percent clearance rate. People need to know the truth. They need someone like you to inspire them to come out swinging."

He nodded, deeply moved.

"Well, you know, that clearance rate crap wasn't my idea. It was the mayor's."

"Of course." She didn't care.

"By the way," he said, curious now.

"What is it really?"

"Not bad." The drink was working.

"Around seventy- five percent, which is nowhere near what it ought to be, but substantially higher than in a lot of cities. Now, if you want to count ten-year-old cases that are finally cleared, or jot down names from the cemetery, or decide that a drug dealer shot dead was the guy responsible for three uncleared cases…"

He held up his hand to stop her.

"I get it, Judy," he said.

"This won't happen again. Honestly, I didn't know the details. Mayor Search is an idiot. Maybe we should get someone else." He started drumming his fingers on the armrest, plotting.

"Sol." She waited until his eyes focused on her again.

"I'm afraid I do have unpleasant news, and I wanted you to know in person from me before the media gets on it."

He tensed again. He got up and refreshed their drinks as Hammer told him about Blair Mauney III and what had happened this night. She told him about the paperwork in Mauney's rental car. Cahoon listened, shocked, the blood draining from his face. He could not believe that Mauney was dead, murdered, his body spray-painted and dumped amid trash and brambles. It wasn't that Cahoon had ever particularly liked the man. Mauney, in Gaboon's experienced opinion, was a weak weasel with an entitlement attitude, and the suggestion of dishonesty did not surprise Cahoon in the least, the more it sank in. He was chagrined about US Choice cigarettes with their alchemy and little crowns. How could he have trusted any of it?

"Now it's my turn to ask," Hammer finally said.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Jesus," he said, his tireless brain racing through possibilities, liabilities, capabilities, impossibilities, and sensibilities.

"I'm not entirely sure. But I know I need time."

"How much?" She swirled her drink.

"Three or four days," he said.

"My guess is most of the money is still in Grand Cayman, in numerous accounts with numbers that aren't linked.

If this hits the news, I can guarantee that we'll never recover the cash, and no matter what anybody says, a loss like that hurts everybody, every kid with a savings account, every couple needing a loan, every retired citizen with a nest egg. "

"Of course it does," said Hammer, who also was a faithful client of Gaboon's bank.

"My eternal point, Sol. Everybody gets hurt. A crime victimizes all of us. Not to mention what it will do to your bank's image."

Cahoon looked pained.

"That's always the biggest loss. Reputation and whatever charges and fines the federal regulators will decide."

"This isn't your fault."

"Dominion Tobacco and its secret, Nobel-potential research always bothered me. I guess I just wanted to believe it was true," he reflected.

"But banks have a responsibility not to let something like this happen."

"Then how did it?" she asked.

"You have a senior vice president with access to all commercial loan activities, and trust him. So you don't always follow your own policies and procedures. You make exceptions, circumvent. And then you have trouble." He was getting more depressed.

"I should have watched the son of a bitch more closely, damn it."

"Could he have gotten away with it, had he lived?" Hammer asked.

"Sure," Cahoon said.

"All he had to do was make sure the loan was repaid. Of course, that would have been from drug money, unbeknownst to us. Meanwhile, he would have been getting maybe ten percent of all money laundered through the hotels, through the bank, and my guess is we would have become more and more of a major cash interstate for whoever these bad people are. Eventually, the truth would have come out. US Bank would have been ruined."

Hammer watched him thoughtfully, a new respect forming for this man, who prior to this early morning, she had not understood, and in truth had unfairly judged.

"Just tell me what I can do to help," she said again.

"If you could withhold his identification and everything about this situation so we salvage what we can and get up to speed on exactly what happened," he repeated.

"After that, we'll file a Suspicious Activity Report, and the public will know."

Hammer glanced at her watch. It was almost three a. m.

"We'll get the FBI on it immediately. It will be in their best interest to buy a little time, too. As for Mauney, as far as I'm concerned, we can't effect a positive identification just yet, and I'm sure Dr. Odom will want to withhold information until he can get hold of dental records, fingerprints, whatever, and you know how overworked he is." She paused, and promised, "It will take a while."

Cahoon thought of Mrs. Mauney III, whom he had met only superficially at parties.

"Someone's got to call Polly," he said.

"Mauney's wife.

I'd like to do that, if you have no objections. "

Hammer got up and smiled at him.

"You know some thing, Sol? You're nowhere near as rotten as I thought."

"That works both way, Judy." He got up.

"It certainly does."

"You hungry?"

"Starved."

"What's open at this hour," he wondered.

"You ever been to the Presto Grill?"

"Is that a club?" He grabbed his car keys.

"Yes," she said.

"And guess what, Sol? It's about time you became a member."