'"I'd like to see this morning's visitor sheet." The woman slid a clipboard across the table. Gerry scanned through the names, picking out the female ones. If he saw it, he'd know it. No doubt. It would click.

He slid past one and jumped back to it.

Regzna Panzella.

Regina Panzella . . . why did that ring a bell? Panzella sounded familiar, but not with that first name. Not Regina . . . not Gin .

. .

What went with Panzella?

Pasta.

Oh, Christ! Pasta Panzella. It couldn't be. Absolutely no way Pasta had been . . . well . . . fat. That was how she got the name. A real chubette. This gal was anything but fat.

And yet . . .

Something about her face . . . slim down the rounded cheeks he remembered, do something with Pasta's wild tangle of hair, and it could be. It had been ten years or more since he'd last seen her, but yes, it could damn well be Pasta.

Gerry glanced at his watch. He was supposed to be back at the office soon to meet with Ketter on the Schulz case, but they hadn't set a definite time for the meeting. Maybe he'd hang around here for a while and see if he could get another look.

Pasta Panzella . . . it was almost too much to believe.

'"Okay, " said Joe Blair, Senator Marsden's chief of staff. "Enough about the officer. Let's talk about you." Really? Gin thought.

You're finally going to stop talking about yourself and actually interview me? Can you stand it?

Blair was about her age, with thinning brown hair, brown eyes, pale skin, and a wispy mustache. He wore a short-sleeve white shirt, a nondescript tie, and dark blue slacks. He looked too young to be a U.S. senator's chief of staff, but from the stories he'd been telling her, all starring a certain Joseph Biair, he'd been on the Hill for the entire eight years since his graduation from Cornell with a poli-sci degree. This was the third senator he'd worked for, and to hear Joe tell it, he'd written more legislation than any of the members he'd staffed for.