"ONE DOESN'T CROSS PATHS WITH A WHOLE PASSEL OF UNIQUES in one's lifetime. Name like that stays to mind."

I felt a ripple of excitement. Two of Cruikshank's files contained only coded scribblings. One of those bore the name Unique something.

"What was Unique's surname?" I asked, voice neutral.

"The lady was not on my Christmas card list." Halsey's spine stiffened ever so slightly. "Unique was Cleo's friend. I suppose the two formed a bond, both loving the streets and all."

"What can you tell me about her?"

"Speaking frankly, which I always make it my habit to do, that kitty's brain was centered in her southern parts, if you take my meaning."

"I meant Unique."

"Of course you did. Let's just say our perspectives differed. Our life experiences."

"Oh?"

Halsey lowered her voice, a well-bred lady dissing one who is not of her class. "Poor thing pushed her belongings around in a supermarket cart, bless her heart."

Another Southernism. Hitch the phrase "bless her heart" to its bumper, and any slur becomes mannerly.

"Are you saying Unique was homeless?" I asked.

"Most likely. I never pried. That would be rude." Halsey grinned at Ryan. "Are you certain you wouldn't like a nice sweet tea? Maybe some Snapple?"

Ryan grinned back.

"No, thank you," I said. "When was the last time you saw Unique?"

Halsey tapped her chin with one finger. The joints were knobby, the skin nicotine yellow. "Been a while since I've noticed. These people do change neighborhoods like other folks change socks."

I didn't reply to that.

"Four, maybe six months? My sense of time's not what it once was."

"Did you ever speak with Unique?"

"Once in a blue moon. On occasion I gave the poor creature food."

"How did you learn Unique's name?"

"Asked a neighbor, seeing as the lady had my cat and all. Said he encountered her now and again over to the Catholic cathedral."

"How old was Unique?"

"Old enough she should have been cutting that hair. Long just doesn't work on women of a certain age. But there I go again, judging other folks." Halsey turned to Ryan. "But you know what? I'm eighty years old, and pretty damned good at it."

Ryan nodded understanding.

"A certain age?" I asked.

"Hard to tell for certain. The gal was a bit unkempt. But she wasn't a beneficiary of the youth charities, that's a sure fact."

"Is there anything else you remember?" I asked.

"She had no teeth, bless her heart."

My heart kicked into high gear as Halsey kept talking.

"To be honest, I probably resented Unique, Cleo being so fond of her and all." Halsey's shoulders slumped. "There's simply no telling the feline heart. Cleo could have lived in high cotton with me. Didn't matter a twit. Off she went."

"I have pets. I know that must have made you sad."

"Unique did give Cleo a lavish of love. Strapped that cat to her chest with one of those contraptions young mamas use for toting their babies."

Catching Ryan's attention I shifted my eyes toward the gate. Ryan nodded.

"Thank you so much for your time, Mrs. Halsey."

"It's Miss. Never married."

"Sorry," I said.

Halsey mistook my meaning. "Don't be. You can't imagine how little I care."

Ryan and I rose. Halsey pushed to her feet and accompanied us across the courtyard.

"If this dead woman is my Cleo's Unique, it truly grieves me. Isabella Halsey's not one for grudges." The wrinkled face broke into a smile. "Except for that ingrate cat."

Repeating my thanks, I exited the gate. Ryan followed. As I secured the latch, Halsey spoke again.

"Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it. Isn't that the loveliest thought?"

"It is," I said.

"Do you know who penned those words?"

I shook my head.

"Mark Twain," Ryan said.

Halsey smiled up at Ryan. "You must be a Southern boy."

"Canadian," I said.

Halsey's smile melted into puzzlement. We left her to ponder the wonders of cross-border literacy.

"What do you think?" Ryan asked when we were back in the Jeep.

"Privilege can be inordinately selfish."

"But graciously genteel. Especially here."

"We Southerners pride ourselves on manners."

"You think your barrel lady is this street woman Unique?"

"Cleo was with her. The unknown was edentulous. Unique was edentulous. But there's more." I told Ryan about Cruikshank's two files that contained nothing but notes.

"What was that Unique's last name?"

"I don't remember."

"What was the name on the other file?"

I shook my head. I was dialing my cell phone.

"Calling Macho Gazpacho?"

Eye roll.

Pete answered on the third ring.

"Sugar br—"

"Are you still at Anne's house?"

"I'm great, thanks for asking. The workout was terrific. Boyd says to say hi."

"I want you to find something in Cruikshank's files."

"Am I allowed to know why?"

I outlined what we'd learned from Isabella Halsey, and described what to look for among Cruikshank's folders. Pete said he'd check and call back. Minutes later my cell rang.

"Unique Montague and Willie Helms."

"Thanks, Pete."

I clicked off and gave Ryan the names.

"Worth a visit to the cathedral?" he asked.

"It's just up at Broad."

Leaving the Jeep on Legare, Ryan and I crossed to the church. As we climbed the steps, Ryan indicated one of two stained glass windows above the front entrance.

"The papal coat of arms."

I indicated the other window. "The seal of the great state of South Carolina."

"High cotton." Ryan held the i at least four beats.

"You just learned that phrase from Halsey."

"It's a good one."

"Don't abuse it."

John the B's was quintessential cathedral. Carved oak pews and white marble altar. Windows depicting the life of Christ. Organ the size of the international space station.

Air that smelled of flowers and incense.

Flashback. Sunday Masses. Gran and Mama in chapel veils. Harry and I thumbing mother-of-pearl First Communion missals.

"—try the good father over there."

Ryan's voice brought me back. I trailed him toward the altar.

The priest was small, with high cheekbones, almond eyes, and softly accented speech that employed no contractions. Though he identified himself as Father Ricker, I suspected an Asian connection somewhere up the family tree.

After introductions, I inquired about Unique Montague.

Ricker asked the reason for my interest.

I told him that a woman's body had been found, and that it might be that of Unique Montague.

"Oh, dear, dear me. I am so sorry." Ricker crossed himself. "I am parochial vicar here at St. John the Baptist. Unfortunately, my knowledge of individual parishioners is limited. But I did occasionally speak with Miss Montague."

"Why was that?"

Embarrassed grin. "Miss Montague had a cat. I, too, am a lover of cats. But then, perhaps our brief meetings were part of God's greater plan."

Ryan and I must have looked confused.

"Perhaps the good Lord directed me to Miss Montague so I could later help with her mortal remains."

"Can you describe Miss Montague?"

Kicker's description fit.

"When did you last see her?" I asked.

"It has been awhile. This past winter sometime."

"Do you know if Miss Montague has family in Charleston?"

"I believe she has a brother." Kicker's eyes went from me to Ryan, then back to me. "I am sorry. We spoke only infrequently, when I was on the grounds and she needed water for her cat."

Kicker was friendly enough, but cautious, always taking a few seconds before responding.

"Would the church have records?" I asked. "An address? Next of kin?"

Kicker shook his head. "Miss Montague was not an official member of this congregation. I am sorry."

"Thank you, Father." Digging a card from my purse, I jotted my cell phone number and handed it to him. "Please call if you think of anything."

"Yes. Of course. So sad. I am so sorry. So sorry. I will pray for her soul."

"Think Kicker's sorry?" Ryan asked as we walked toward Broad.

"Fivefold. Though I may have missed a few before starting my tally."

"What's a parochial vicar?"

"A provincial parson?"

"The Vicar Ricker."

Ryan unlocked the Jeep. I got in and buckled up. The inside temperature was at least seven thousand degrees.

"What next?" Ryan slid behind the wheel.

"AC."

"Yes, ma'am." Ryan cranked the knob. "I jus' love driving Miz Tempe."

"How about this? We buy take-out and have an early lunch with Emma. I shoot the names Unique Montague and Willie Helms to Gullet. While the sheriff works that angle, you and I take another look at Cruikshank's files."

"Sounds like a plan."

Only things didn't go that way.

Gullet was out. I left a message with his switchboard.

Emma didn't answer her home phone. After tracking her down at the coroner's office, I went into my now familiar harangue about stress and rest.

"Relax. I'm limiting myself to non-life-threatening paperwork. Lee Ann filled me in on your encounter with Ramon the Reptile."

"Did she mention Cleopatra the Cat?"

"She did. Lead go anywhere?"

I told Emma about the trail from Dinh to Isabella Halsey to the homeless woman named Unique, and described Cruikshank's unsolicited missing persons files.

"So the Helms and Montague files didn't even contain news clippings?"

"Nothing but handwritten notes."

"Why was Cruikshank investigating Helms and Montague if there were no media reports on their disappearances, and no one hired him to do so?"

"Interesting question."

"Let me get this straight. You think the barrel lady could be Halsey's Unique, and that that Unique could be Cruikshank's Unique Montague."

"Two-part question, Madam Coroner. As to Part A, what are the odds on the cat? As to Part B, Unique's not exactly a common name."

"Worth following up," Emma said.

"I've already started. A priest at St. John the Baptist thought Halsey's Unique had a brother somewhere in the Charleston area. I'll feed that to Gullet. In the meantime, could one of your people take a crack at locating dental records for Willie Helms?"

"Why?"

"Cruikshank was looking into two missing persons completely on his own. He didn't even have news stories of their disappearances. Montague was one, and Helms was the other. I'm thinking Helms could be our Dewees unknown."

"It's a long shot, but I'll get Lee Ann on it. She's superb at sweet-talking dentists."

"You could have been the recipient of crab Rangoon and shrimp lo mein."

"Got a Moon Pie and a Pepsi."

"Probably why you're sick."

"Have a good one."

We did. On the patio at Poogan's Porch. Shrimp and grits for me, chicken Charleston for Ryan. My cell phone rang as we were leaving.

"Dr. Brennan?"

"Yes."

"Father Ricker. At St. John the Baptist."

"Yes, Father."

"Sullivan's Island."

"I'm sorry?" Jesus. It was catching.

"Miss Montague's brother lives on Sullivan's Island. I kept trying to recall her words that day. I remembered that something in our conversation made me think of my childhood. I prayed, and God answered. Sullivan was the name of my very first cat. Sullivan's Island."

"Thank you, Father. That's very helpful."

"The Lord does work in mysterious ways."

"Yes."

Ryan tried Lily as I tried Gullet. He had no luck. I did. This time, the sheriff was in.

I relayed Ricker's information. Though not enthused, Gullet said he'd have an investigator canvass the Montagues on Sullivan's Island.

When I'd disconnected, Ryan asked, "Did you tell me Cruikshank was staking out some treatment center?"

"A clinic operated by GMC. Helene Flynn was working there when she vanished."

"Cruikshank had Unique Montague's name on a file."

"He did."

"Cruikshank was surveilling a free clinic."

"Not a verb. But, yes, he was."

I saw where Ryan was going.

"The clinic provides medical care to the poor and homeless. Unique Montague was poor and homeless." Excited, I twisted toward Ryan. "Maybe that's the connection that interested Cruikshank."

"Maybe."

I couldn't escape the feeling that there was more to it than that.

"This may sound crazy, but something in my gut tells me my two unknowns are linked to each other and to Cruikshank. Maybe even to Helene Flynn."

"I see the Cruikshank-Flynn-clinic link, with maybe a Montague tie-in, but how would the Dewees man fit in?"

"I'm not sure."

"This linkage theory is based on what?"

"Intuition?"

Ryan shot me a "give me a break" look.

I threw up my hands. "Doesn't that define gut feeling?"

Chest-crossing my arms, I slumped back. Ryan was right. Nothing really hooked all four cases together. Cruikshank and Dewees both had the peculiar neck fractures. That linked them. Maybe. Maybe it was coincidence.

The Dewees skeleton had nicks, Cruikshank didn't. I'd sure as hell check the barrel woman's ribs and vertebrae on Monday.

The woman in the barrel was probably Unique Montague. Cruikshank had Montague's name in his files. He had Helene Flynn's name in his files. That connected Flynn and Montague to Cruikshank.

Cruikshank had Willie Helms's name in his files. Could the man on Dewees be Willie Helms? If so, he was linked to Flynn and Montague via Cruikshank.

Was the man on Dewees linked to Cruikshank by the odd neck fractures? If so, was he linked to the others by association with Cruikshank? Was the similarity in fracture patterning simple coincidence? Lots of "if "s swirling around without any "then"s.

I didn't believe in coincidence. What did I believe in?

Hard evidence. Demonstrated facts.

Problem. We had none. Or none that established links. Bone nicks. Neck fractures. An eyelash in a snail shell. Hand-scribbled notes.

A computer disc.

"There are photos of people entering and leaving that clinic," I said. "Cruikshank saved them to CD."

"Was Helene Flynn in any of the images?"

"No," I said. "But Unique could be."

"Where's the disc?"

"Gullet's office."

Suddenly, I was in a froth to revisit that disc.