"Good. Let's meet somewhere. I don't want you to have to come all the way back to the station and I know you're on your way home. Perhaps if we met half way, because to be honest with you, I'm also on my way home."

"Yes, that would be fine. Do you know the French café on Murray and Forbes?"

"Yes," he said, "a couple of blocks down from Fitzgerald and Bruborn?"

"That's the one. I'll get an outside table."

"I know it well. Give me a half an hour."

Natalie arrived at the French café well within a half an hour. She took an outside table and ordered herself a light tea. It was delivered to her with no particular promptness and she began drinking it with a similar attitude. To pass the time, she took out some papers from her job and glanced over them. Her mind wasn't on her work, though, and after fifteen minutes of staring blankly at the same three words, she gave up.

She set the folio down and saw that a peculiar man was sauntering down the street toward the café. He was tall and thin, his hair was dark and yet it shone in the evening sun. His suit was nice but looked more like the sort of suit you'd wear to a night club rather than to a police station, although his tie was undone and his collar opened.

The man approached Natalie's table and took out his wallet. He opened it and showed her a police badge. "Joseph Meyers. You're Miss Ferris-Brunet, I hope?"

Natalie nodded, so he took a seat across from her. She said, "You're officer Meyers?"

"Detective Meyers," he said.

"Are you an undercover officer?"

"No, I'm a detective."

"You don't look like any detective I've