At the bar, I turned to her and asked, perhaps undiplomatically, "By the way, what happened to your legs?"

She glanced at me. "My legs are fine."

"I'm sorry. I thought-"

"You thought wrong. My back was broken."

"Oh, well, I'm sorry How?"

"An automobile accident."

"I see."

I handed her the glass and she immediately took a long gulp of sherry. Eventually, she exhaled deeply and said, "I suppose you're wondering about the rumors?"

"Exactly." I had not a clue what she was talking about.

She stared into her drink and swirled it around a moment. "It's true that Calhoun drove that night. We never denied that."

Jennie tried to catch up and asked Mrs. Barnes, "Could we go back to the beginning?"

"The beginning? Yes… that would be spring, 1975, a few months after our son was born. I don't recall the evening overly well. But that sounds a little odd, doesn't it? I mean, you'd think…"

Whatever you'd think she let drift off. "We were at the country club," she continued, "celebrating with a client. Calhoun's firm had won a rather sizable settlement. We were driving home when it happened." She looked at me and added, I thought oddly "But I've never blamed Calhoun."

Jennie asked, "The accident-the police investigated?"

"Calhoun found his way to a phone and he called the hospital and the police."

"And the police came?"

"Yes. An officer arrived shortly before the ambulance"

"And did he do an investigation?"

"There was no need for that, at all. The night was rainy, our car simply lost its traction and. hit a tree. Nobody was injured. No property was damaged."

"You were injured."

She hesitated, then said, "The officer knew Calhoun. He spared us that indignity and inconvenience."

I noted, "Your insurance company wouldn't regard it as an indignity. The repairs… your medical treatments-who paid?"

"Us… of course." I suppose we both looked surprised by that revelation, because she explained, "My husband was highly principled, Mr. Drummond. It would have been improper to make somebody else pay for a mistake he regarded as entirely his own."

I wasn't sure how we got waylaid on this particular tangent, which appeared, on the surface, to have no bearing to our investigation. Yet some instinct told me it was relevant, possibly even important. Another instinct told me she was lying, or, at the least, withholding an important piece from this tale, and it wasn't hard to guess what it was. I said, "Mrs. Barnes, if your husband was intoxicated, he was a menace to the public, and his behavior was possibly criminal."

She looked at me a moment. "I did not say Calhoun was drunk."

"Was he?"

"Well, there was not such anxiety in those years about drinking and driving. It really wasn't-"

"Answer my question."

"Calhoun's friend- The officer recognized we had suffered enough. He-"

"Was or was not your husband intoxicated?"

"Calhoun always held his liquor well." She paused, then added tersely "I have no idea why you're asking these questions. I hardly see how they pertain to what you're here to investigate."

I looked at Jennie. She turned to Mrs. Barnes, as if nothing amiss had been said, and asked, "This happened when? A few months after your son's birth? Right?"

"Yes. There were unfortunate complications… internal injuries, and… well, further babies became beyond our means."

An interesting way to put it. I mentioned, "That must've been difficult for you."

"Oh no, Mr. Drummond. I think our difficulties would have been magnified greatly with another baby."

"Because you were in a wheelchair?"

"I was bedridden for several years. More operations, rehabilitation clinics, and so forth. Then came the wheelchair."

Jennie said, "Yes. It would've been hard enough just raising… I apologize… your son's name?"

"Jason… Jason Nathan. Fortunately, Calhoun was an extraordinary father, very attentive, very active in Jason's life. They were exceedingly close."

Jennie commented, "That's unusual."

"Unusual?"

"A professional man raising an infant, in those years…"

Clearly we had tripped over some hidden wire in her psychic security system, because she raised an eyebrow and interrupted, "Why are you interested in that?"

"We're not," I insisted. "What happened to the firm?"

"I do not believe I'm ready to answer that." She looked at me and asked, "Exactly what are you two doing here?"

When neither of us responded, she said, "I assumed… at least, I expected…"

"Expected what?" Jennie asked.

"Well… the sabotage of my husband's reputation and… who caused Calhoun to kill himself… who exploited your Bureau… and. .. and who lied…"

I said, "Tell us about that."

Her head jerked up. "No… no, I don't believe I will. I believe I have already answered enough of your questions." She appeared confused, and suddenly upset, but she collected her wits enough to say, "You should leave my house. Right now, both of you."

I looked at Jennie. Clearly, the curtain had just collapsed on Act One, and it was time to shift into Act Two, to give Margaret Barnes the proverbial knee in the balls. I said, "Mrs. Barnes, we were sent here by the Director of the FBI. We're not leaving."

"Oh, you are quite wrong about that. It's my home and-"

"Stop talking. Listen." I looked Mrs. Barnes in the eye and informed her, "At approximately 6:20 this morning, the White House Chief of Staff, his wife, and four Secret Service agents were murdered. This afternoon, the President's spokesman was murdered on the Washington beltway, as were seven entirely innocent people." She blinked in confusion, apparently not getting the connection, so to help her along I added, "Moments later, Phillip Fineberg-your husband's former partner-was blown in half as he opened his front door."

"Fineberg? I… I don't-"

"Yes… I think you do."

Jennie quickly added, "Agent Jason Barnes, your son, has been missing since he went off duty yesterday afternoon. We need your help to stop him before he kills more."

I looked at Margaret Barnes's stricken face and realized my earlier prediction had come true. We had just ruined her night, and very possibly we had also destroyed what was left of what I was now sure was an already miserable life.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Margaret Barnes sat quietly in a state of mild shock. In a few seconds, either she would go hysterical or fall headlong into a pit of incoherent despair. As a general rule in these situations, you have about three minutes to coax a subject into a chatty mood, or they aren't going to talk. Period.

I looked at Jennie, and we both knew what we had to do; further, we both knew who had to do what. I had no enthusiasm for this, but by temperaments and alpha factors, I was the obvious choice.

"Are you listening, Mrs. Barnes?" I leaned forward and informed her bluntly, "Your son murdered sixteen people."

She stared off into space, and appeared not to comprehend. I raised my voice and said, "The Belknap murder was an inside job-Jason was on his security team, he had the insight, and his footprints were placed at the scene at the time the crime occurred. We also have hard evidence showing Jason's access to the specialty munitions used to murder both the presidential spokesman and Justice Fineberg."

I paused to let this half-lie sink in, then threw in another half-lie. "We have evidence, we have opportunity, and at least the skeleton of a motive. In fact, Jason left a note announcing his intention to go on a killing spree." With a touch of theatrics, I paused, then added, "And lest I forget-he also intends to assassinate the President."

Margaret Barnes was starting to lose it. She appeared unfocused and woozy, and was gasping for breath. Jennie stood up. She walked over to Mrs. Barnes, knelt beside her chair, and said, "Can I get you something, Margaret? Water? Anything?"