"What kind of things?" Jennie asked.

"That as a lawyer, Calhoun had bribed some judges. That as a city magistrate he had done a few favors for the governor-a quid pro quo arrangement-in return for which the governor would assure Calhoun's elevation to the federal bench."

"Was there any truth to the charges?" Jennie asked.

"I… well, Calhoun insisted to me they were all blatant fabrications."

"But they weren't, were they?"

"No." She looked at Jennie. "I knew they were true. Calhoun, as I said, was very ambitious and calculating."

"And controlling," Jennie commented.

"Yes, and meticulous. It was not his way to leave things to chance."

Before anyone could come up with another adjective, I asked Margaret, "When did your husband learn Fineberg was behind this?"

"He knew-at least, he suspected Phillip immediately. And that truly infuriated him. But Calhoun was nothing if not willful. He was sure he could bull and lie his way through." She looked at us and added, "Unfortunately for Calhoun, Phillip proved smarter than him."

"How?" I asked.

She looked at me. "How do you think, Mr. Drummond?"

I considered it. "He kept evidence from their partnership. Nothing implicating him-but something that proved Calhoun had violated the law."

"Very good. Phillip had three canceled checks, signed by Calhoun. All for very large sums, all to judges involved in important cases Calhoun took to trial."

Jennie gave me a funny look, then asked Mrs. Barnes, "He gave those checks to the Justice Department?"

"It was my understanding that he gave them to people in your Bureau who were performing the investigation on Calhoun's suitability. Your Director then carried everything over to the White House."

There was no need to ask what happened at the White House. She could only offer conjecture where we needed facts. But neither was it hard to piece together. Townsend took the disclosures to the President's legal counsel, together they took it to Terrence Belknap, the White House Chief of Staff, who accompanied them to see the President.

They stood around in the Oval Office and stared at those canceled checks and they realized Calhoun Barnes also needed to be canceled. At some point on the merry-go-round, Merrill Benedict, the White House spokesman, probably was instructed to quash the leaked reports about Barnes being a leading candidate, and perhaps to salt the ground with a few hints about Barnes's past, present, and maybe, about his future.

Margaret Barnes looked at me and held out her glass. I retrieved it and returned to the bar. Over my shoulder I asked her, "How did your husband learn his candidacy was in trouble?"

"He was recalled to Washington again, to meet with the Attorney General himself, Not only was Calhoun's nomination scratched, he was told he would also be charged. A task force had been created to investigate, though the evidence was already sufficient to ask Calhoun to resign from the federal bench immediately."

"And did he?"

"No… he… well, he was shocked and very upset. He asked to be allowed to think about it overnight, and was granted that wish."

Jennie suggested, "He then came home and he told you about all this?" Mrs. Barnes nodded, and Jennie asked, "What did you do, Margaret?"

After a long hesitation, she said, "Well… he was, as I said, upset… crushed, actually. I… I allowed him to vent. He cried.. . like a little child… he kept bawling. I told him I was heartbroken for him, that this was so unfair, that Phillip was a mean and spiteful bastard." She hesitated a moment, staring off into space. "I told him we'd get through this, and to go to bed. He… he said he wanted a nightcap, here… in the study, to think this out. I wish now… well, I wish I had talked him out of it." She stared at Jennie. She pointed up at a beamed rafter, and then at a short stool on rollers beside the bookshelf. "Right here… in this very room."

It was amazing, I thought, how good Jennie was at this, how falsely sensitive, and how blithely intuitive. I was aware that profilers are trained not only in developing sketches of killers but they are also masters of the art of interrogation. Yet, as in art and war, good training and practice only get you so far. Truly, Special Agent Margold was a prodigy. She placed a hand on Margaret Barnes's shoulder and said, not all that softly, "You're lying."

Margaret recoiled." I… I don't understand what you mean?"

Jennie said, "You did not tell Calhoun it would be okay. You told Calhoun he had destroyed everything. You told him his career was over, ruined, that he had dishonored himself, and this family. And you suggested there was only one way out-only one way to short-circuit an investigation… one simple way to avoid the utter shame and disgrace that would follow. You planted the seed in his head, and you prayed he would do it. Didn't you?"

Margaret stared at Jennie a moment, a bit surprised and a lot shocked that her pal, the good cop, had suddenly become a bad cop and was not really her pal at all. She shook her head in denial. "No… I did not… I wouldn't-"

"In fact," Jennie continued, more harshly, "there was one thing you didn't tell him. You didn't describe how Phillip learned of his bribes, or where Phillip got those canceled checks"

Margaret Barnes was now staring into her sherry glass. Clearly Jennie Margold had penetrated a great deal further into this family's maelstrom of hatreds and treachery than she was meant to go.

After a moment, Jennie insisted, "You told us Phillip lost his case against Calhoun because he lacked access to the firm records. But aside from that, surely Calhoun was too sly to bribe judges with traceable checks from his firm's account. He would've used your private account. Copies of those checks are in the Bureau's possession-would you like me to make a call to verify which account they were drawn from? Perhaps you'd rather have me access your phone records during that month, to see if you and Phillip were in contact?"

Margaret wasn't going to confirm this charge, but neither did she try to deny it. Though, in fact, it didn't matter. We needed neither her confirmation nor her disavowal, and suggesting suicide to her husband-no matter how exquisitely timed-is not even a misdemeanor, much less a crime.

She continued to stare at Jennie, and in some weird way I thought Margaret Barnes was glad that we knew the whole truth. Her husband had crippled her, destroyed her life, alienated and corrupted her child, and in the end she had turned out not to be the numbingly passive lamb she appeared.

I looked at my watch. It was after two. I said, "Mrs. Barnes, when was the last time you heard from your son?"

"Not in years."

"Do you know where he is?"

"No, I do not."

"Can you give us the names of any of Calhoun's close friends, anybody who might know?"

"I don't know his close friends."

"If you hear from him, will you call?"

"Certainly" She was lying, of course,

I looked at Jennie. "Any more questions?"

"No."

We both stood. I asked Mrs. Barnes, "Do you need assistance getting to your bedroom?"

"No, I… I believe I will just sit here awhile."

We bid her good night, and left her cradling her sherry in the room where her former husband stored his greatest feats, and where she stored her greatest memory.