"Mother Katherine?"

He checked the sheet. "That's her name."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Nope. She called in a favor. Requested you by name."

Loren shook her head.

"You know her, I assume?"

"Mother Katherine? Only because I was constantly being sent to her office."

"Wait, you weren't an easy kid?" Steinberg put his hand to his heart. "Tattoo me shocked."

"I still don't see why she'd want me."

"Maybe she thought you'd be discreet."

"I hated that place."

"Why?"

"You didn't go to Catholic school, did you?"

He lifted his nameplate on his desk and pointed to the letters one at a time. "Steinberg," he read to her slowly. "Note the Stein. Note the Berg. See those names much in church?"

Loren nodded. "Right, then it'd be like explaining music to the deaf. What prosecutor will I be reporting to?"

"Me."

That surprised her. "Directly?"

"Directly and only. Nobody else is on this, understood?"

She nodded. "Understood."

"You ready then?"

"Ready for what?"

"Mother Katherine."

"What about her?"

Steinberg stood and sauntered around his desk. "She's in the next room. She wants to talk to you privately."

When Loren Muse was a student at St. Margaret's School for Girls, Mother Katherine was twelve feet tall and approximately one hundred years old. The years had shrunk her down and reversed the aging process- but not by a lot. Mother Katherine had worn the full habit when Loren was at St. Margaret's. Now she was decked out in something undeniably pious, though far more casual. The clerical answer to Banana Republic, Loren guessed.

Steinberg said, "I'll leave you two alone."

Mother Katherine was standing, her hands folded in preprayer position. The door closed. Neither of them said anything. Loren knew this technique. She would not talk first.