AN HOUR LATER I was stabbing at Cindy's front doorbell. Two-thirty in the morning. I heard the locks turn, and the door slowly cracked open. Cindy was staring at me in a long Niners shirt, bleary-eyed. I had probably woken her out of her best sleep in three days.

"This better be good," she said as she flipped the lock.

"It's good, Cindy." I shoved the old Examiner article in front of her face. "I think I found out how Jill's connected to the case."

Fifteen minutes later we were bouncing along the dark-ened, empty streets of the city in my Explorer, down to the Chronicle's office on Fifth and Mission.

"I didn't even know Jill's father worked out here," Cindy said, then yawned.

"He started here, out of law school, before he moved back to Texas. Right after Jill was born."

We got to her cubicle at about three A.M. The lights in the newsroom were dimmed, a couple of young stringers man-ning the overnight wires, caught playing video bridge.

"Overnight efficiency audit," Cindy said to them, straight-faced. "You guys just failed."

She wheeled herself in front of her screen and fired up the computer. She plugged a few search words into the Chronicle's database: Robert Meyer. BNA. Then she slapped the ENTER key.

Several matches popped up on the screen right away.............