Kinney started the car, drove to Main Street, and found a hardware store. He purchased some tools, then drove out to the senator’s cabin. A deputy waved him through a gate, and then he was alone in the house.

He started with a thorough room-by-room search of every drawer and closet, every nook and cranny. That done, without success, he started on the floorboards, looking for loose ones or boards that were too short or out of place. When he found an interesting one, he used a prybar to lift it, then hammered it back into place when he was done.

He broke for lunch, heating up the fried chicken and vegetables still in the fridge. Man, that woman could cook! He worked for another four hours in the afternoon, until he was certain that nothing of interest could possibly be hidden in the cabin. Finally, he took a walk around the perimeter of the house, looking for a tool-shed or other structure that might hide a filing cabinet. Finding nothing, he cleaned up after himself in the cabin, then drove back to Kimble House.

Nancy met him at the door. “You look tired,” she said, “and a little disheveled. What have you been doing?”

“Investigating,” Kinney replied. “It can be hard work.”

She went and poured him a stiff Laphroaig. “Here,” she said, thrusting it at him. “Drink this while you soak in a tub.”

He did so, and was the better for it.

The following morning, she walked him to the door. “You still haven’t investigated me,” she said.

“What was that I was doing for the past two nights?” he asked.

“I mean really investigated me.”

“I think I will need all the facilities of the Bureau’s headquarters for that,” he said. “Can you come to Washington soon?”

“Yes,” she said.

“I have a place you can stay. It’s very nice.”

“As long as it has a bed.”

“It does.”

She pulled him back inside the door and kissed him properly, then he put his bags in the car and turned it toward the airport. Then he stopped. He made a U-turn and drove to Elizabeth Johnson’s home.

She met him at the door. “What can I do for you today, Mr. Kinney?”

“Ms. Johnson, you may not believe this, but I’m here to do you a favor.”

“How’s that?”

“I’m here to take those files off your hands.” He quickly raised a hand before she could speak. “Please hear me out.”

“I don’t have any files,” she said adamantly.

“Please, Ms. Johnson, let me explain. The senator had a lot of enemies, some worse than others. If we interview every one of them, it will take us months, maybe years, to develop suspects.” He took a deep breath and told the lie. “Now, I think it’s very possible that, somewhere in those files is the name and the motive of the man who murdered the senator, and I can’t believe that you would do anything to stop us from finding out who that is. I’ve already searched the cabin thoroughly, and the only other place the senator would have felt comfortable leaving those files is here.” He stopped and waited, watching her think.

“I hadn’t thought about the killer being in the files,” she said finally. She turned and started into the house. “All right, come on in.” She got the key from the safe, led him down to the basement, moved some things out of the way, and pointed at the index card files.

Kinney dug them out and tucked the little four-drawer cabinet under his arm. “Thank you,” he said.

She led the way back to the front porch. “You know, Mr. Kinney,” she said, “I expect there are a lot of things in there that would hurt people. The senator had a mean streak. I wouldn’t like to think you were going to use those files to hurt anybody.”

“Only the man who killed him,” Kinney replied. “Thank you again.” He got into the car and drove to the airport, where the Lear was waiting for him.

BACK IN THE Hoover Building, Kinney made room in his office safe for the little filing cabinet, set it inside and locked the safe, then he went to see the director.

“Sit down, Bob,” Heller said, “and tell me what you’ve got. Tell me everything.”

Kinney sank into a chair and crossed his legs. “We’ve got what I told you yesterday,” he said, “and nothing more. There isn’t anything more. The guy is a pro.”

“You mean a hitman?”

“Sort of. I don’t think the Mafia did it, if that’s what you mean, but I think I can tell you something about the shooter.”

“Please do.”

“He’s a loner, but maybe with a support network. He probably learned to shoot in the military. He’s driving a nondescript vehicle-an SUV or a pickup or an RV-something that would blend in without attracting attention. It may not be the first time he’s killed somebody, but he only kills people when he feels some moral justification. He’s between forty-five and sixty-five. He’s well-educated, with at least a bachelor’s degree, maybe even with some graduate work. He’s not a hired killer or a sociopath, he’s doing this out of conscience. He’s methodical, patient, and cool-headed, and he’s going to be nearly impossible to catch, unless he makes a mistake next time, or the time after that.”

The director looked alarmed. “You think there’s going to be a next time?”

“There’s an outside chance that he bore some personal grudge against Senator Wallace, but I doubt it. He’s on a crusade, and he’s only just begun.”

“How do you know all of this?” the director asked.

“I don’t know any of it,” Kinney replied. “I worked in profiling for a while, and I’m an intuitive investigator, that’s all.”

“So you’re guessing?”

“You could call it that, but if I’m guessing, then I’ve guessed my way into this job.”

The director was turning red in the face. “Well, you listen to me, Kinney. You’d better stop guessing and come up with some real evidence that will help me catch this man, and you’d better do it quick, or I’m going to find myself a new deputy director for investigations.”

Kinney stood up. “No, you listen to me, Mr. Heller. I’ve got twenty-seven years on the job, and I could retire tomorrow and quadruple my salary in the private sector. I know that, because I’ve had offers, so there’s nothing you can do to scare me. In fact, you’re the one who ought to be scared, because you’re hanging on by your fingernails, and chances are you’re not going to be around long enough to fire me. Until you do, I’m going to run this investigation as I see fit, which is a hell of a lot better than you or anybody else in this organization can do, so stop trying to pressure me. When I have something more concrete, I’ll tell you. Until then, stay out of my way.”

Kinney, feeling enormously relieved, walked out of the director’s office, leaving the director agape, and went to his own office down the hall. Only twice before in his career had he spoken to a superior that way, and never to a director, but he was beyond caring now, and he was going to work his own way or not at all.

HE STAYED LATE at the office, went to another floor and copied the senator’s files, two index cards to a sheet. He placed the copies in a shopping bag and went home to the residential hotel where he had been living since his separation from his wife. There, he locked the copies in his personal safe. He was too tired to read them.