Don Hope was looking down. He lifted up one of his feet. “Plastic on the floors?”

Reiger reached out and touched one of the walls. “And on the walls?”

Mary Bard moved with the grace of a ballerina, but also with the speed of a tiger. The kick caught Reiger in the sternum, driving him back into the wall with such force that it threw his heart out of sinus rhythm. Since there was no light, the shine of the twin six-inch blades was never seen by either man as she whirled them in a blur of synchronized motion. One knife ripped across Reiger’s throat first. He didn’t even have time to scream. He fell to the floor clutching his severed jugular.

Don Hope managed to pull his weapon. Before his finger could close on the trigger, she drove her foot into his knee, ripping it backwards; supporting bones snapped and tendons tore away like sprung rubber bands. He screamed in agony, at least until she gave a backhanded slash with the second knife. The jagged blade ripped his throat apart; arterial blood erupted from the wounds, spraying the narrow hall.

Hope sank next to his dead partner, his last few breaths jerky, gurgling, and then his chest ceased to heave. As if on cue the lights came on and several people moved forward. As Bard stepped out of the way, hands rolled up the plastic with the men inside it. A truck was parked in the rear of the building. Reiger and Hope were placed inside and the truck sped off.

Bard had the blood of each man on her clothes. She stepped out of them and stood there in her bra and panties until she was handed a jumpsuit by one of her colleagues. Her physique was lean, with ropy muscles in her arms, shoulders, and thighs. The heightened definition of her body and absence of fat threw the scars on her torso into sharpened relief. She zipped up the jumpsuit, turned, and entered a bathroom where she scrubbed the evidence of the twin kills off her face, hands, and hair. She took off the eyeglasses and slid them into her pocket. They were actually night optics, allowing her to see her victims in the dark far better than they could see her. A few minutes later she left by another rear door. Her Smart car started up and she drove out of the parking lot, headed west, and entered Interstate 66. She placed the call.

“Done,” she said and then clicked off.

Jarvis Burns put his phone down and allowed himself a rare smile. “Now that, Agent Reiger, is chain of command.”

As he turned back to his work, he glanced at his watch. Two minutes later, in the safety deposit box where Reiger had placed his precious orders that would enable him and Hope to walk free after the job was done, the time-released chemicals built into the document’s threads did their work. In ten seconds there was nothing left except vapor.

CHAPTER 88

INCREDIBLY ENOUGH, Joe Cushman, Diane Tolliver’s ex-husband, had just found out that his former wife had been murdered. It seemed news took a while to travel that far west. But then again, Mace thought, it wasn’t like the death of an ordinary citizen would make the national news other than as a one-time blip, and only then because of the rather bizarre circumstances. Joe Cushman did not sound all that upset and was not planning to attend the funeral. Yet that was understandable, Mace concluded. His divorce had been final over a decade ago and he told her that he’d remarried. And as Roy had informed her, it had not been an amicable separation. Cushman had bellowed out the reason for that early on in their long-distance conversation.

“She cheated on me!”

“Who with?”

“Don’t know. I never was able to find out, and then I just stopped caring.”

Every few seconds he would pause and Mace could hear him dragging on a cigarette. He had the smoker’s gravelly voice too, his throat and lungs probably already full of nicotine-induced lumps.

“So how do you know she was having an affair?” Mace had asked.

“All the telltale signs. She bought fancy lingerie that she sure as hell never wore for me. She started working out, lost weight, new cosmetics, weekend ‘business’ trips, the whole shebang. We had no kids so it was basically split up the property and go our separate ways. Still, her law firm played hardball. Hell, I even had to fork up some cash for her attorney’s fees, if you can believe that.”

“Why?”

“She made good money, but I made a lot more. Commercial real estate developer in New Jersey when you could print money doing it.”

“Good for you.”

“Yeah? Well, I don’t have as much money now, but I like the beaches and the trade winds a lot better than the ice and muck in Jersey.”

“You don’t by chance remember the name of the firm that represented her?”

“Are you kidding? I sure as hell wrote them enough checks. Hamilton, Petrocelli & Sprissler. In Newark. Three ladies. Three hellcats more like it. Even my lawyer was afraid of them. They were so good I used them later in some of my deals.”

“Thanks a lot. I appreciate the info.”

“Hope it helps with whatever you’re doing. Diane and I didn’t get along, obviously, but nobody deserves to die like that. I’m thinking of sending some flowers.”

“I’m sure that would be very nice.”

Mace clicked off and looked down at her notes. She called information and got the number for Hamilton, Petrocelli & Sprissler, LLP, in Newark.

She got the receptionist and then the call was put through to Julie Hamilton.

“Yes?”

Mace briefly explained why she was calling. “Diane Tolliver?”

“You probably would have known her as Diane Cushman. She took her maiden name back after the divorce. I spoke with her ex, Joe Cushman. He gave me your name.”

“I do remember hearing something about the killing. The refrigerator, right?”

“Yes, the refrigerator.”

“But I never associated Tolliver with Cushman. I mean, I knew her maiden name was Tolliver, but it just never occurred to me it was her. It’s been over a decade. Murdered. My God!”

“Yes. That’s why I’m calling.”

“And who are you with?” This was the cautious lawyer’s voice now that Mace knew so well.

“I’m in D.C. I’m helping to investigate the matter on behalf of a man charged with the murder.”

“Like I said, it’s been at least ten years. I can’t think of any way I would have relevant information for you.”

“Do you know a man named Jamie Meldon?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because he was murdered too, right after he met with Diane.”

Caution had just transformed to ice. “I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

“I just need to ask some questions about-”

The next sound Mace heard was the line going dead.

She immediately called back.

This time the receptionist would not put the call through.

“Please, it will only take two minutes and it’s-”

The receptionist hung up on her.

Mace slowly put the phone down.