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ustment。 Jurors raised in the television age thought prosecutors should have a movie of every ten…dollar back…alley deal。 At last technology had delivered。 The government's shysters could show each greedy； grubby； loving little moment in living color on the courtroom Zenith…and play it over and over again until even the stupidest juror was firmly convinced…while the defendants writhed and the defense shysters planned their appeals。
〃Subject paying for his grub。〃
Camacho swiveled his eyes again； looking at no one in particular； seeing everyone…
〃Windbreaker paying； just dropped a coin。 Kid retrieving it for him。 He's nervous； looking around。。。 Now he's following subject。。。 They're gonna share a table。 That's our man。 That's him！〃
He moved for the stairs； climbing slowly； listening to the running mentary from the observer。 Pausing with his eyes just at the level of the second…story floor； Camacho scanned to his left； toward the taco stand。 The observer said they were near there at a two…person table。 He climbed carefully； watching； peering through moving legs and around bodies。 He glimpsed Judy's face。 Another step。 He was at the top of the stairs。 He moved left； keeping a fat woman between himself and Judy。 Against the far wall he saw a man from the power pany up on a step ladder； bending over a toolbox on the ladder's little platform。 The video camera was in the toolbox。 Judy's face was panning again； examining the crowd…
Camacho turned his back。 A pretzel stand was right in front of him。 He pointed one out to the girl and asked for a soft drink。 As she thumbed the dispenser he checked the mirror on the back wall。 There was Judy again。 And there was the man across from him。
Luis Camacho studied the face in the mirror。 Fleshy； clean…shaven； pale。
He paid the girl and turned to his right； back toward the stairs； as he sipped the drink through a straw。 Descending the stairs he kept his eyes glued on the back of the teenager in front of him in a conscious effort to avoid any possibility of eye contact with a nervous Smoke Judy。 He threw the pretzel and nearly full cup in a trash hamper by the main door and pushed on through； out into the rain。
The wind threatened to blow his cap off。 He held it with his hand as the wind whipped his trouser legs。
〃So？〃 said Dreyfus as Camacho wiped the water off his face with a handkerchief when he had gained the shelter of the van。
Luis Camacho shrugged。 〃They'll probably bus their own table。 Put their trash in a receptacle。 Have one of the guys take the whole bag。〃
〃Fingerprints？〃
〃Uh…huh。〃
〃Think it's the Minotaur？〃
〃What in hell would the Minotaur have to say to Smoke Judy？〃
〃How're they hanging down in your shop？ How'd you like to ski Moscow？ Quit fucking my wife。 The possibilities…〃 The radio speaker squawked to life with another report from the food court and Dreyfus closed his eyes to listen。
Camacho took off the radio he was wearing and handed it to one of the technicians。 〃See you tomorrow at the office；〃 he said to Dreyfus during a silent moment； then let himself out of the van and walked through the drizzling rain toward his car。
Harlan Albright came over to Camacho's house after supper。 He accepted a cup of coffee and the two of them went to the basement。 The boy was there； and he got up with a wounded look on his face and took the stairs two at a time。 His father watched him go； then settled onto the couch and picked up the television remote control and began flipping channels。
〃I see in the paper that Matilda Jackson is dead。〃
Camacho grunted。 Two of the channels had those damned game shows； people answering trivial questions to win flashy； useless consumer goods。
〃Who killed her？〃
〃Someone who knew exactly what he was about。〃 Camacho stared at the sex goddess nipping answer cards on Channer4。
〃Too bad。 Had you had a chance to show her Franklin's picture？〃
〃No。〃
〃Well； she was an old woman； had lived a long life。 It would have e soon anyhow。〃
Camacho jabbed the remote savagely。 The television settled on the educational channel。 Some Englishman was talking about cathedrals。 〃Listen； asshole。 I'm not in the mood for that shit tonight。 It's been a long goddamn weekend。〃
〃Sorry。 I read about that shooting incident in front of Jackson's house。 That must have been touch and go。〃
He examined the Russian's face。 〃I know you probably dropped a dime on her； so don't waste the hot air on me。 You don't give a damn about that old woman or anybody else。〃
〃Sometime…〃
〃Shut up！〃
The Englishman was explaining about flying buttresses。 He used a puter model to graphically depict the forces transferred through the stone。
Albright stood up。 〃I'll drop over some night this week when you're in a better mood。〃
〃Ummm。〃
Camacho listened to the footsteps climbing the stairs and the noises of Sally letting him out the front door。 He stared at the television without seeing it； lost in thought。
When Luis Camacho returned to his office from his usual Monday…morning conference with his boss； he was in a foul mood。 The boss had made several candid remarks about Camacho's conduct Friday night。
〃Look at this shit；〃 he roared； waving a section of the Sunday Washington Post； 〃the special agent in charge of counterespionage standing on a street corner with two punk dopers； in front of a fucking crack house； for Christ's sake！ What in hell has busting dopers got to do with catching spies？〃
Camacho remarked that he had asked the newspaper photographer not to take his picture。
〃Apparently you haven't read the Constitution lately； mister。〃
〃That's what he said。〃
〃And I'm saying it too。 I don't ever want to see your sweet little puss in the public press again； mister； or you're going to wind up in Pocatello chasing Nazis through cow shit up to your armpits。 Those crackpots are probably the only nut cases around who never read the goddamned paper！〃 The boss had been irked for months by press coverage of the FBI investigation of the Aryan Nations white supremacy fanatics； and ridiculed it and them every chance he got。 Sometimes he made up chances。 〃If you wanta be famous； get a lobotomy and bee a rock star。〃
After he'd calmed down； he wanted a plete oral report on Matilda Jackson and Smoke Judy。 That had taken an hour。 Then the boss had asked questions for a half hour and discussed tactics and strategy for another thirty minutes。 When he signaled the discussion was over； Luis Camacho was tired and needed to go to the rest room。
Now Camacho slumped in his office chair and shuffled through the paper in his in basket。 He was rereading a new administrative procedure for the third time when Dreyfus tapped on his door； then stuck his head in。 Pipe smoke swirled into the room。 〃Wanta watch the tape of Smoke Judy we made yesterday？〃
〃Sure。〃
〃Got it on the VCR。〃
The two men went to the little conference room next door and Dreyfus pushed buttons。 〃The plates and glasses they used are at the lab。 Should have some good prints。〃
〃Terrific。〃
〃The lab wizards synched up the sound from one of the mikes with the video。〃 Judy and the beefy man in the windbreaker appeared on the television screen。 Dreyfus twidd