Struck by the surprising sincerity in Harry's expression, Powell paused to consider him before closing his briefcase. "Come back in a couple of days. I need to talk with a few people. But I'm warning you, your fifteen minutes of fame didn't sit well around here. You made the entire department look bad and forgiveness is in short measure these days. We can't take another round of bad PR, and they'll be watching you closer than Maartens."

"May God defend me from my friends; I can defend myself from my enemies."

"Who are you quoting this time?"

"Voltaire."

"Ah," was all Powell said as he passed Harry on his way out.

Sitting in her car, Diane paused to slow her breathing and steel herself before opening the manila envelope on her lap. Her thoughts were everywhere and several worst case scenarios came to mind. Harry the kidnapper. Harry the drug pusher. And most of all, Harry the suicidal, possibly homicidal, psycho who played her like a fiddle. What revelations awaited in this little package?

She shook her head and said firmly,"Innocent until proven guilty", and opened the little metal prongs on the back flap. The contents slid out in a neat pile on the passenger seat. Out of habit, she instinctively inventoried the evidence before her; a newspaper clipping, two photographs, a sheet of NYPD notepaper and several spent lottery tickets with writing on them.

Snatching up the photos, she recognized the people in them immediately. The first captured Don Kirkendall on the steps of a small, run down house with Frankie next to him. Standing in the doorway, looking tired and disheveled was Lauren. The second photo showed Don making some sort of deal with a Dominican on the street. It was a different location from the first, and as she looked closer she could see Jill sitting in the driver's seat of the car he was leaning on. Both photos seemed to be taken from across the street...possibly from a car window.

Harry had a camera.

Next, Diane picked up the sheet of paper. It was personal stationary from Harry's desk at the Narcotics Division, and all it had was a single case number written on it. She folded it and tucked it into her pocket. Counting carefully, she stacked the nine lottery tickets. Each had an amount circled and an address and date written in the margins. Evidently, these were receipts that Harry was keeping on Don's dealings.

Diane grinned. Well, I never would have guessed that you were such a neat bookkeeper, Harry.