ABOUT SEVEN, I was back at my desk. My teams scattered all around the area, chasing the leads we had. Cindy had got-ten me a copy of this book, Vampire Capitalism. She said it would give me an idea of the new radicalism that was starting to take hold.

I flipped through the chapter headings: "The Failure of Capitalism." "Economic Apartheid." "Vampire Economics." "The Armageddon of Greed."

I didn't even notice Jill standing at my door. She knocked, making me jump. "If only John Ashcroft could see you. The linchpin of the city's law-enforcement machine... Vampire Capitalism?"

"Required reading," I said, smiling, embarrassed, "for the serial killer with a bang."

She was dressed in a stylish red pantsuit and a Burberry summer raincoat, a pile of briefs squeezed into her leather satchel. "I figured you could use a drink."

"I could," I said, tapping the book against the desk, "but I'm still on duty." I offered her a bag of Szechuan soybeans instead.

"What are you doing," she snickered, "heading up the department's new Subversive Authors wing?"

"Very cute," I said. "Here's a fact I bet you didn't know. Bill Gates, Paul Allen, and Warren Buffet made more money last year than the thirty poorest countries, a quarter of the world's population."

Jill smiled. "It's good to see you developing a social con-sciousness, given your line of work."

"There's some............