"No doubt that comes in handy in such a line of work."
    "There's times when we have to clear obsession aside and look at things with a focused eye," he informed her with jovial condescension.
    "Under what circumstances was Mr. Constantine killed?"
    "Well, according to Daniel's notes it looks like he was struck in the face and then several times in the abdomen, Daniel's placing the abdomen shots as being post-mortem, claiming the single blow to the head killed him. The body was left in front of an auto junkyard out in Queens. I really don't think there's anything to this, you're probably just wasting your time," he announced.
    "Thank you, Mr. Gold," she replied precisely.
    "But, if you would like to come in, I'd be happy to familiarize myself with the notes and give you a full interview when you're here?"
    "Perhaps later this afternoon?" Something useful might come out of it.
    "That would be wonderful. Assuming that I have the time available, just come by and the secretary will point you in my direction," he oozed.
    "I'll come by about three-o'clock?"
    "Excellent. Thank you very much."
    "See you later, Mr. Gold."
    "Doctor," he corrected.
    The newspaper morgue had a file on Drake, and his phone number.
    
    No one ever called Drake. It was probably Gold wanting him to work overtime so he could play golf.
    "Good morning?"
    "Good morning. I'd like to speak to Dr. Drake please?"
    "Speaking."
    "Hi, this is Angie Miller with the Times." She repeated the summary she'd given Gold. "I spoke to Mr.—Dr. Gold, sorry, he didn't seem to think there was much to it, I'll be seeing him at the office later but I thought I would get your impressions before I meet with him."
    "If you have a little time I suppose I could meet with you at some point."
    "I'm going by the morgue at 3. Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot it was your day off. Where would be convenient for you?"
    "Most anyplace as long as it's on a subway line."
    They arranged a meeting at a coffee-shop. By the time they got there, Drake had heard that Astro-Man was looking for him, but Gravedigger worked at night; the Californian would have to wait.
    They made an unlikely pair for conversation, a large man with a limp and hunched shoulder talking to a trim, spectacled, conservatively dressed woman of about thirty.
    "Thank you for agreeing to speak with me, Dr. Drake."
    "It seems a bit superfluous, seeing as how somebody's going through my files anyway," he shrugged.
    After a moment of tactful silence, she asked, "So, apparently you believe that Mr. Constantine was killed with a single blow to the head?"
    "That is what the evidence indicates, yes."
    "I see." Talkative sort, isn't he?
    "Anything in particular you're looking for?"
    "Well, I was told there was some connection here with Gravedigger, I was a little curious as to why he would be interested in the case, I was trying to see if there was anything unusual about the case."
    "Well, it was a murder," he pointed out with a faint, dark gleam in his eye.
    "Yes, but there are lots of murders." Curious, she tried picking up his surface thoughts, only to encounter a finely honed will that rebuffed her without any sign of effort.
    "Is there anything specific you're looking for?"
    "Just trying to find out more about it, really, there's a potential tie-in to some other odd things that have been going on, that I'm trying to build up a story about. Nobody knows where he was killed, do they?" She'd looked up the story on his previous crimes.
    "At present, no; he was found dumped on the street at the base of an auto graveyard."
    "Doesn't make any sense," she muttered.
    "What doesn't make any sense?"
    The ten-year gap, but she didn't say so. The waiter came by and filled their coffee cups.
    It was not a terribly informative meeting, alas; secret identities create difficulties on occasion. She kept her appointment with Dr. Gold as well, forewarned by Dr. Drake that she would no doubt be oozed at, being both female and more importantly, press. This turned out to be the case, but sometimes one has to endure these things.
    Later, at her desk, a runner from the clippings room trotted up. "You still interested in this? We found another one."
    It was the arson report from the first Constantine case. The building had been a historical structure the city didn't want touched, in a prime location; after the fire, the land plot had been sold for a tidy sum and then a new building erected, currently housing a bank. The owner of the business had been one Belle Barry, with Harold Sullivan listed as an employee. Harold Sullivan had owned the building.
    Angela tapped her pencil on the desk, thoughtful, and called down to see if anyone could find out what Mr. Sullivan did these days; no club memberships or traces at all other than his appearances at antiques auctions. Every couple of months he sold a piece he had picked up in his travels, usually for a good bit of money.
    
    Now that he had her full name, Drake tried to run down more information on Belle. There were three women of that name in the city; one of them had a minor conviction eleven years before. Eight years before she had appeared as the owner of record at the antique store burned down in Constantine's burglary. There had been a partner, a man named Harold Sullivan on whom he could find nothing. The insurance settlement for the destroyed building and its contents had set her up quite well, and she had been living well since the fire. Probably slightly better than she could afford to, he calculated.
    Evening rolled around. He returned to the auto graveyard and handed Stevie the simple domino mask he'd made. Several phone calls later, New York's resident vigilantes finally met with each other and their visitor. w
    "Gravedigger, nice to meet you," Astro-Man said. "And this is?" he asked as Horus appeared with his usual puff of smoke (having been there all along, merely dropping the illusion of invisibility).
    Stevie jumped a foot at the abrupt appearance. "Ah! Shov-um-shov-stevil-shovel-Stevie-Shovels Stevie."
    "Horus." Gravedigger nodded, politely but not warmly. Quite aside from their vastly different operating styles and a few philosophical differences, something about the man just didn't seem quite right, and bothered him on a subconscious level.
     "Good to meet you," Astro-Man said to the nervous teen.
    "He's young," Gravedigger said.
    "I hadn't noticed," the Gray Mage remarked, watching with some amusement as the boy collected himself and assumed a stern expression and a position behind his newly acquired mentor. "I am increasingly of the opinion that the Ray has next to nothing to do with any of this."
    "Depends on who the Ray would be. You were looking for me?" the large man looked at Astro-Man.
    

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