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road.”
    â€œWe don’t want to attract too much attention. The press will probably beat us there as it is.”
    â€œYou mean after what happened last night with Redfield sticking it to Jacoby? I was going to ask if you saw that.”
    â€œOn the news this morning.”
    â€œThink we’ve got a leak in the department?”
    â€œEither that or Clarence Redfield is clairvoyant.”
    Baxter laughed. “Nobody I hear talking about it gives the asshole that much credit. Hey, what were you saying about your name?”
    â€œThat I prefer to be called Hannah.”
    â€œSorry. I thought I heard your dad call you Hank that day he stopped by.”
    â€œYeah, he did. But it’s a family nickname. Hannah’s for general consumption.”
    â€œGot it,” Baxter said as they reached Lark Street. “Are you sure we don’t want to use the siren? We’re hitting traffic.”
    â€œLet’s just beep the siren if we get stuck. We have officers at the scene.” McCabe reached for her ORB. “While you’re getting us there, I want to have a look at the terrain around the crime scene. The CO will decide how we deploy to search the area, but it’s always a good idea to be prepared for his questions. He tends to shoot them out and expect answers.” She pulled up the search engine. “And I’d better see what I can find about Vivian Jessup while I’m at it.”
    â€œVivian Jessup? That actress with the red hair? British accent? I saw her on one of the talk shows. What does she have to do with this?”
    â€œIt looks like she may be our victim.”
    â€œVivian Jessup? You’re kidding me, right?”
    â€œCompletely serious.”
    McCabe filled him in on what they’d seen on the crime-scene cam and about Vivian Jessup’s use of Albany as a setting for her play.
    â€œWhat’s this play about?” Baxter asked.
    â€œI didn’t catch it all. Something about John Wilkes Booth and an actress. They—the actress and Booth—performed here in Albany on the eve of the Civil War.”
    â€œSo she’s writing this play about the guy who assassinated Lincoln and she gets murdered.”
    â€œIf it is her. As Pete said, she could have a clone. A look-alike.”
    Baxter beeped the siren and went around a car waiting to turn. They beat the red light onto Delaware.
    â€œWould you ever do that?” he asked.
    â€œDo what?” McCabe said, looking up from her ORB.
    â€œGet yourself cloned?”
    McCabe was silent for a moment, scanning Vivian Jessup’s bio on her screen. “I’ve never really thought about it. I suppose if I were dying or something.”
    â€œYeah, it’d be really handy to have a spare organ or two then,” Baxter said.
    â€œExcept the clone would be another real person and you might have to kill him or her to harvest the organs.”
    â€œThought you said you hadn’t thought about it.”
    â€œI haven’t. I happened to see a science show where they were debating the ethical issues about approving the process.” She glanced over at him. “Why’d you ask about that anyway?”
    â€œI know this guy who has cancer. My age, but he’s dead if they don’t find him a lung. I went to visit him and he was joking about how convenient it would be if we all had a clone stashed in a room somewhere.”
    â€œI’m sorry about your friend. That’s tough.”
    â€œYeah. But he’s still hoping.” Baxter cleared his throat. “Not that I’m wishing Vivian Jessup dead, you understand. But if she is, this could be really big. Can you imagine the press we’ll get on this?”
    McCabe stared at him as what he had said began to sink in.
    Even with Jacoby, the public information officer, who was in charge of all police department communications, if the case went cosmic and New York City and national media covered