"She only knows those three by name," said Tommy.

Camille didn't speak for long moments while she finished what she was writing. There already were 25 pages of notes on the yellow legal pad in front of her, most of which was information Tommy had provided from a source in Chicago.

"Let's back up just a few minutes," she said to the phone sitting on her desk. "So, the leader's name is Summerall?" She repeated the man's general description, and the names and descriptions of two of his subordinates. Tommy previously had described these two men and one woman as being "special," which she had taken to mean Gifted. They were on an open line, so their conversation at times had been elliptical.

"Spot on," he said. "Sadly, my source didn't have any photos. And she only had a single name for each. Summerall sounds like a family name, and since Vincent is a woman that probably is, too. But she wasn't sure whether Dupuis was a first or last name."

"How about addresses?"

"Uh, none," said Tommy. "All of them seem just to come and go. She said Dupuis talked about Los Angeles a lot, and she knows Summerall spends most of his time out east, mostly New York and D.C. I reckon that means something. Sorry she didn't have more.

"Oh, Jesus, don't worry about it," she said. "This is fabulous. Though it would be great if I could have a sit-down with your source sometime soon." There was a moment of silence. Camille suspected the 'source' about whom Tommy spoke was the young woman, Paloma Zielinski, whose name he'd had her run several days before, but she didn't press the issue.

"I'll talk to her about it, Camille," he said. "She's skittish. These folks terrify her ... and I suspect she's worried about her own exposure. But let's get back to Weliver and Finch. Sam says those two and some other guys from that crew are in Cook County lockup right now. Any chance you could pull some strings and get us access?"

Camille cringed.

"Tommy, buddy, I'll make some calls, but I don't think I have the juice with the CPD to make that happen. The whole reason I had you out poking around is because of the shitty traction we've gotten with the department there. Doesn't Sam have any wasta with the Chicago cops?"

There was more silence at the other end of the phone.

"Uhhh ... Sam's relationship with the Chicago police is, um ... complicated ...."

"They hate me," came Sam's booming voice from the background.

"No, it's not that," said Tommy. "He does have a small handful of officers with whom he is ... uh ... cordial." It was clear Tommy was choosing his words with care. "But Sam has helped investigate two or three ... or six excessive force complaints against Chicago officers in the last few years. He doesn't exactly have a fan club there."

"They hate me," came Sam again.

"Well," replied Camille, "they just don't know the real you, Sam. But either way, there's not much I can do right now to get you access. Eric is running Finch and Weliver through NCIC, as we speak. The pictures you sent will be useful, so we'll let you know what he comes up with. In the meantime, any hook your source might have provided regarding this group's activity in New York City would make my day."

"She knows the group does business in at least seven cities—Chicago, L.A., Seattle, Vegas, Dallas, Miami, and New York. There might be others ... or so she thinks. But she has no sense on what specific activity is going on in New York, only that Summerall spends a significant amount of time there."

"Alright," murmured Camille, writing down a few stray ideas. "Hey, how about your friend at the DoD? Might she have a sense of the identities of these people?"

"Yeah," replied Tommy. He sounded distracted. "I've been playing phone tag with her for the last few days. I'm not sure she'll have much. If she did, she'd probably have shared it already." There was a slight pause on the other end of the line. "But ... maybe she can shop the names around. I'll see."

In the background on the other end of the line, Camille heard a door open and close and two female voices call greetings to Sam. One of the voices, which had to be Celia's, called out "Hi, Tommy." The second, more-mature voice cooed a lovely, "ooohh... my hero." Both female voices, now laughing, faded into the distance.

"I'm never going to hear the end of that ... am I?" came Tommy's quiet and deflated voice from the other end of the phoneline.

"Nope," said Sam.

There was something around the edges of her conversations with Tommy during the past day or two she knew she was missing.

"So, what's going on there?" she pressed.

"I'll let you know when I get back," Tommy replied. She could hear sudden humor in his voice. "which should be in four or five days ... and I haven't forgotten that you want to talk about something as well, Camille."

"Yeah," she said, taking the phone off intercom. "Thanks for being patient. That thing is important, but sort of ... well, not the kind of thing I want to share over the phone. I think it can wait a few days."

"Okay," said Tommy in a light voice, "I'll contact Max, and I'll run those questions you had past my source and let you know what's up."

"Alright," she said, "I'm going. Sam ... kiss the girls for me."

"I will, baby." She could almost hear his smile.

"And bring them to visit, soon."

"I think I'm gonna have to," he rumbled.

After she finished her goodbyes and hung up the phone, Camille leafed through the thick pile of notes she'd made. She needed to put those in order and begin drawing up a list of possible ways she might answer all the questions they had raised.

Mostly, she realized, she needed to figure out a way to find this Summerall character. The last thing she wanted or needed was to have a Gifted desperado walking her turf. That shit was just not going to fly.