“FBI,” the big guy said, flashing me an ID, then returning it to his pocket. “Can we come in?”

“No,” I told him.

“But we’re the FBI.”

“Maybe,” I said to the big guy. “Maybe not. I didn’t catch your name.”

“Lance Lancer.” He gestured at his partner. “This is agent Sly Slasher.”

“Lance Lancer and Sly Slasher? Are you kidding me? Those can’t be real names.”

“It’s right here on our badges,” Lancer said. “We’re looking for an envelope you might have inadvertently picked up.”

“What kind of envelope?”

“A large yellow envelope. It contained a photograph of a man we’re looking for in conjunction with a murder.”

“Wouldn’t that be a job for the local police?”

“It was an international murder. And there was a kidnapping involved. Do you have the envelope?”

“No.” And that was the truth. I suspected they were looking for the envelope I’d thrown away at my parents’ house.

“I think you’re fibbing,” Lancer said. “We have it on good authority you were given the envelope.”

“If I find it, I’ll give it to the FBI,” I said.

I closed and locked my door, and put my eye to the peephole. Lancer and Slasher were standing, hands on hips, looking mildly pissed, not sure what to do next.

I went to the kitchen and dialed Morelli’s cell phone. “Where are you?” I asked him.

“I’m home. I just got in.”

“I need to check on two guys who claim they’re FBI. Lance Lancer and Sly Slasher.”

“I’ll be a laughingstock if I plug those names into the system. This is a joke, right?”

“Those are the names they gave. They had badges and everything.”

“How fast do you need this?”

“How fast can you get it?”

Morelli grunted and hung up.

I imagined Morelli staring down at his shoe, shaking his head, wishing he hadn’t answered his phone.