“That’s E,” said Roy. “I lose. We keep working the case without the cops.”

“So did you intend to lose on purpose all the time?”

“I guess that’s something you’ll never know. So what’s our next move?”

“Are you sure about this?” She bounced the ball to him.

He bounced the ball back to her. “Don’t ask me again. And don’t get all mushy on me-not that that’s likely to happen.”

“Okay, Tolliver left the office on Friday around seven. The garage record told us that. And then she returned a little before ten.”

“But she lived in the south end of Old Town. Why drive all the way out, turn around, and come back?”

“I called in a favor and found out that the cops pulled a credit card receipt. Diane ate at a place in Georgetown on Friday night called Simpsons. Do you know it?”

“Little hole-in-the-wall a block off M Street toward the river. I’ve been there. Good food. Was she alone?”

“No. The bill showed there were two meals served.”

“Who was she with?”

“Don’t know.”

“Aren’t the cops going to check with the people at the restaurant?”

“I don’t know. They have the Captain in custody.”

“But when the Captain turns out to be innocent?”

“Then we’ll be ahead of the curve. But I’ve got to make one stop first.”

“Where?”

“To see an old friend.”

CHAPTER 65

BETH WAS PILOTING Cruiser One alone tonight, although she had a couple of uniforms in an unmarked car behind her as she sat in the deserted parking lot of a school. She was in uniform and still had her Glock 26 in its holster. Her policy was, when she wore the stars she carried the firepower too. Her radio hung from a clip on her shirt.

Most days the four stars on each shoulder felt like they weighed a ton apiece, and this day was no exception. This meeting tonight might add immeasurably to her professional pain. Yet she sat calmly and idly tapped a tune on her steering wheel as she listened to the police radio. By force of habit she was still monitoring the dispatches and responses from her officers. There’d been a shooting about six blocks from her location. Normally she would’ve gone to the scene. But tonight she was waiting. And not liking it.

She stopped tapping when the black sedan pulled into the parking lot. It just screamed FBI Bucar. She knew the shouts of “Five-oh” and “whoop-whoop” had started up the second the sedan had entered Five D. All Bucars looked the same, sounded the same, and even smelled the same. She knew that drugs, guns, gangs, and whores had silently pulled back into the shadows to let the Fibbies pass before they took up their illegal business once more. The sedan pulled to a stop next to her ride, hood to trunk. The driver’s-side window slid down.

She saw the creds and badge first, the face second.

“Special Agent Karl Reiger.” A second face appeared behind his. “My partner, Don Hope.”

Beth said, “Your creds are Homeland Security. Danforth said you were Bureau.”

“Misunderstanding. Happens sometimes. We actually were with the FBI up until a few years ago. Now we’re assigned to a specialized division of DHS tasked to counterterrorism measures.”

“Specialized division?”

“Yep. After 9/11 there’re lots of them.”

“Okay, let’s talk.”

“Our office or yours?”

Beth popped open her door, nodded to her men in the tail cruiser, and slipped into the backseat of the Town Car. Closing the door, she said, “Mona didn’t really fill me in, so I’d appreciate a briefing.”

Reiger and Hope turned sideways to look at her. Reiger said, “Up front, you have to know it’s going to be limited.”

“Not what I wanted to hear. When I get read into something I like all the pages.”

“We’ve got orders just like everybody else.”

“Specialized, you said?”

“Joint task force with a limited circle of need to know.”

“That’s just another name for ‘you can’t tell me.’”

“National security.”

“That excuse I hate even more. The guys who pulled the crime scene plug on me, who where they?”

“Part of the task force.”

“I’ve been doing this nearly twenty years. I have never seen someone waltz past the police tape simply by showing their damn driver’s license.”

“We don’t like it any better than you.”

“I doubt that. Did this all really come from the White House?”

“Who told you that?” Reiger said sharply.

“Sorry, can’t read you in on that. I’m not sure you’re cleared for it.”

“Look, Chief, I know you’re pissed. And I would be too, but national security-”

Beth cut him off. “I’ve played the national-security-trumps-everything game with the best of them. What I don’t appreciate is being completely cut out of the loop on a homicide committed in my own backyard. I earned my badge and my creds, and I don’t like getting blindsided by assholes with shields from DMV.”

Reiger said, “We think Meldon was killed by domestic terrorists.”

Beth leaned forward. “Domestic terrorists? What’s the connection to him?”

“Case he was working. Remember the guy who tried to blow up the Air and Space Museum almost a year ago using four pounds of Semtex and a cell phone detonator?”

“Roman Naylor? How could I forget? It was one of my officers on K-9 duty that nailed the son of a bitch before he could kill a thousand kids from the Midwest who were there on a summer tour.”

“Meldon was prosecuting the case. Naylor has groups of supporters in various states. United Sons of the American Patriot was one of them. They’ve been linked to three bombings of federal property in the last two years. We think that was just the warm-up act for something that will rival 9/11. A bunch of these homegrown whack jobs went underground after we and ATF came after them on a joint op. We suspect that three of Naylor’s cronies were in D.C. last week to participate in a protest in front of the federal courthouse where he’s being tried, and now they’ve disappeared.”

“Wait a minute, Mona told me she’d reviewed Meldon’s caseload and there was nothing he was working on that would account for his murder.”

“And you trust Danforth?”

“Not really.”

“Good, because that lady would lie to her grandmother on the woman’s deathbed if she thought it would help her career. The fact is, we put Danforth on a short leash and suggested that she pass off the baton to you. She really didn’t seem to mind. Lady doesn’t like getting her nails dirty.”

“Understood, but why did you suggest it?”

“Because we’d much rather deal with you than her.”

“So you really think Naylor’s cronies killed Meldon?”

“Doesn’t take a big stretch.”

“How did he die?’

Hope passed across a single sheet of paper. “This is a summary of the autopsy results. Contact gunshot wound to the back of the head, execution style. We got the slug. It was a.40-caliber round. But we’ll never find a gun to match it to. His ride was found in western Maryland with only Meldon’s prints on it. No trace at the crime scene. Neat and clean and the killers long gone.”

“But if these guys were in D.C. how come I didn’t get notice? How come Meldon didn’t get protection?”

“We said suspected, not confirmed. And if it’s the three we think it is, we didn’t have anything to hold them on anyway except speculation and gut instincts, and the courts don’t look too favorably on that. But we believe that they’ve been tasked to do the next Oklahoma City.”

“If so, why risk it all by killing Meldon?”

“They were tight with Naylor. So it could simply be personal revenge. Now that the guy’s dead the trial will be delayed.”

“Any leads on these three?”

“Not yet. But we’re running it down.”

“And will I be in the loop when you do?”

“We can ask, Chief, that’s all we can do.”

“So by not really telling me anything, why did you call the meeting?”