"There are hotels in Crystal City. Only five minutes from here. If needed, we'd be back in minutes."

I looked at Jennie. I did not get the sense there was anything more to this than was offered-a good meal, a warm shower, a little rest. But there could be more, and it was either an even better idea than it sounded or an invitation to real problems. Then I thought about Janet up in Boston, and I was sure there was a thick ream of forensics reports, intel updates, and witness statements on my desk waiting to be read. No, this just wasn't going to work. I didn't need the complications, emotional or otherwise.

I said, "Good idea."

She smiled. "Now, loosen up. The Bureau doesn't like it when you threaten our fearless leader. We'll get Barnes. Soon."

I nodded, and indeed, I hoped her confidence wasn't misplaced. But it's a truism that the best hopes don't always lead to the best outcomes. Also, something was gnawing at me, something missing I was sure was obvious, or should have been obvious. But what? I really needed a few hours of sleep. Jennie said, "Go brush your teeth. If Townsend sniffs your breath, he'll have you shot."

"I don't work for him."

"I know. Think he cares?"

Gee, I really missed the Army. There, you at least knew where you stood, and who could take you down. It's hard to mount your best defense when you don't know where the front is, and who's in your rear.

So into the building we both went, Jennie directly to the ladies' room, while I went directly into the men's room, where I dutifully brushed my teeth, and washed my face, and tried to cleanse my mind of naughty thoughts.

I'm sure I mentioned that Agent Margold was quite attractive. The thing is, the past few hours we'd been rubbing shoulders, brushing arms, all those annoying gestures two people usually do who can't wait to jump into the sack together. Unless I was misreading this, and she was just gracious and warm. And I was just horny.

The truth was we were partners and we had become friends. To move to the next level somebody has to make the next move, and somebody has to reciprocate, or not reciprocate, which gets a little sticky.

A stall door opened behind me and Director Mark Townsend walked out, began washing his hands and staring into the mirror.

I said, very nonchalantly, "Good morning, sir."

"Drummond."

I was making a retreat toward the exit, until he said, "Hold it."

Boy, good thing I brushed my teeth.

He walked to the dispenser, yanked out a paper towel, and began wiping his hands. He wore the same blue business suit and the same awful paisley tie from the day before. Remarkably, his suit still looked pressed, his white shirt appeared freshly starched, and there were no bags under his eyes, leading me to wonder if this man was born permapressed. He asked, not at all absently, "Agent Margold, you've worked with her for twenty-four hours now. What do you think of her?"

Had this question come from anybody but Townsend, I would have replied it was none of his business and to go pound sand. But she was a vassal in his kingdom, so she was his business, and though I wasn't one of his vassals, I didn't want him to make me his business. While not often enough, there are occasions when I obey my survival instincts.

I therefore answered honestly, but selectively. "I find her highly competent, professional, and effective. Margaret Barnes was a hostile witness, a practiced liar, and totally confused. A few hours ago, I watched Agent Margold cut through thirty years of lies, evasions, and camouflage so dense the witness was lost in it. It was an impressive sight."

"Is that right?"

"Yes sir."

"And do you have any views regarding her overall management of this case?"

"I thought George Meany was managing this case."

"Meany is in charge of this case. But Agent Margold seems to have uncanny instincts for where to be, and when. De facto, she appears to be managing this case."

He looked me in the eye and said, "I ask, because I'm getting conflicting reports about her. Some sources are telling me she is not competent, nor is she a team player. This Bureau operates effectively only when it functions collectively, and unfortunately, my D.C. Field Office appears to be experiencing teamwork issues. Do you understand? At this moment, on this case, I cannot afford this problem. But the source of this problem is eluding me."

It wasn't hard to guess the source of the conflicting reports. George Meany has a lot of bad habits, an aversion to frontal assaults among them.

But generally speaking, I make it a practice not to rat out my peers, or even my bosses, to the bigger bosses. They get paid the big bucks because they're supposed to possess the intuition and insight to sort the sycophantic idiots from the nondescriptly competent. That's the theory. Of course, there is another theory, called the Peter Principle.

I did not think this applied here, however, and said, "Sir, I don't believe you got where you are by listening to subordinates tell you how to think. You should rely on your own instincts and judgment."

He changed the subject, sort of, and suggested, "Also, I think you and Agent Margold are becoming attached to one another. So perhaps I shouldn't be asking you. Perhaps you've developed an emotional bias in this matter."

I must have blushed, because he immediately commented, "Nothing wrong with it, Drummond. I met my own wife on a case. She was a forensics specialist, and I was the case agent. A murder and castration case, and the wife was our chief suspect." He ended this tale, saying, not for the first time, I'm sure, "You could say we fell in love over a pair of detached testicles."

"I thought that came after you said, 'I do.'"

He laughed. "Twenty-seven years… not once have I even considered cheating on my Joan."

"I'll bet."

He glanced at his watch, and this brief moment of bonding was over. He began walking to the door, then he stopped and faced me again. He asked, "Did you know George Meany prior to this case?"

"We worked a case together once."

He nodded, but did not amplify that thought. But it was apparent that George's whispered insights had not been limited to Agent Margold. Wouldn't it be interesting to know what George had to say about yours truly? Or maybe not.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

At 5:00 a.m., Jennie was already seated at the table, thumbing through a clutch of papers, when I followed Townsend into the conference room. The only regulars missing from this gathering of greats were Director Peterson, still enjoying his prerogative to stay miles away from this thing, and Mr. Gene Halderman, who was enjoying a night's sleep, proving he wasn't a total idiot.

George, looking the worse for wear, opened the meeting. "Let's begin with a wrap-up of the progress we've made over the past six hours. Keep it brief." He pointed at his watch and added, as if we needed a reminder, "The morning witching hour is almost here."

He directed a finger at Jennie, who led off with an interesting, albeit slightly technical assessment of both Margaret and Jason Barnes's mental states, a concise summary of the Barnes family history, and a wrap-up of the connections that bound Calhoun Barnes to Phillip Fineberg and indirectly, to Jason Barnes. At this point Phyllis raised her hand and asked a reasonable question. She said, "Why would he lift a finger to avenge a death I would have thought he celebrated?"

From the expressions around the table, everybody shared this same frame of inquiry So Jennie offered an abbreviated version of the explanation she had earlier provided me. She let this sink in a moment, then advised us, "Love and hatred are the most intense and direct human emotions. When they become confused, the individual becomes a psychosexual mess."