“Nobody ever got mad at Karen,” he said earnestly. “Everybody loved her. Why, every time I went over to her house, there was somebody there hugging her and kissing her.”

Diana gave him a long, thoughtful look. He meant it, every word. “Do you remember who you saw there the last time you were at her apartment?”

He shrugged, and she gave it up for the night. “Okay, Jerry, thanks. I might have to talk to you again.” She got to her feet. “Are you going over to Betsy’s?”

He looked at his feet. “I don’t know.”

Translated, that meant that he knew he usually wasn’t welcome. “She’ll want you there, and you shouldn’t be alone. I’ll give you a ride over.” It was impulsive, and with this family she didn’t know if Betsy really would want him, but she couldn’t leave him alone in that cold, bare excuse for a home, mourning the loss of the only person left in his family who seemed to give a damn. Or at least Jerry thought she had.

She left him in Betsy’s driveway and returned to the post to type up her interviews. She hadn’t discovered a hell of a lot about who might have killed Karen, but some areas of interest did present themselves.

Karen had been upset at the meeting with the attorney. Why? Neither Betsy nor Stan Jr. had mentioned it, only Jerry. She made a note to call them both in the morning, and Kaufman, too.

Karen slept around, most recently with Roger Hayden, the telephone guy. It was almost three o’clock, and Diana was bone-tired. She’d call him in the morning, too.

Karen owned the town house free and clear, no mortgage. Unusual for someone so young, and so unemployed. She also had a very healthy bank balance. If it had all come from her father, and if the other three kids were in the same financial health, Stan Tompkins Sr. must have been a very good fisherman indeed. Diana made a note to ask Kaufman if Karen had a will. If Karen hadn’t, as too many people of her age did not, it would be interesting to see where her money went. She’d call Brewster Gibbons, too, to get an update on Karen’s bank account. If Karen had so much money, why hadn’t she paid off her Visa bill?

Either Special Agent James G. Mason was older than he looked, or he’d had some excellent and intensive tutoring in the horizontal arts. Jo, deeply appreciative, lay flat on her back and stared at the ceiling while she waited for her vision to clear and her heartbeat to return to normal.

“I believe I have just discovered the secret of the universe,” Special Agent Mason said. His head was at her feet.

She discovered she had enough energy left to laugh.

“But my thesis may require further investigation,” he added, and crawled up the bed to flop down next to her.

Later they conducted a raid on the pop and candy machines down the hall, and curled up on the bed to tear into Doritos and Reese’s peanut butter cups, and spiked diet Cokes with what was left of Special Agent Mason’s whiskey.

He touched an experimental finger to her skin. “You know you actually glow when you come?”

“You roar like a lion. My eardrums will never be the same.”

“Can’t help it. Always do.”

“Louder with me, though.”

He grinned. “Oh, yeah. Way louder.”

She leaned forward and caught his lower lip between her teeth. He angled his head. When she pulled back, she licked her lips and said, “Mmmm. Who taught you to kiss like that?”

“Did the top of your head lift completely away?” he said, as complacent as a twenty-seven-year-old special agent for the Federal Bureau of Investigation can be, stark naked and in bed with a newspaper reporter six years his senior. She pinched him and he caught her hand. “Behave yourself. Or at least wait until I’ve finished my drink.”

“You’re no fun.” She stuffed pillows behind her and leaned up against the headboard. “You going back to Anchorage tomorrow?”

“I don’t know. Colonel Campbell hasn’t said.” He looked at her, amused. “Is this where I get pumped for information?”

Jo put on her best Scarlett O’Hara voice. “Only if you want to be, sugar.”

He reversed to sit next to her, and picked up her hand to trace the lifeline in the palm. “I’m in a pretty good mood at the moment. Pump away.”

“Why is Campbell so interested in that wreck?”

“I don’t know. I don’t, Jo. I really am just along for the ride. It’s not every day somebody so low on the food chain gets a ride on an F-15. My number came up and I lucked out.”

“That’s you. What about him?”

He linked their hands together. “He’s determined to haul out this wreck. I repeated everything that pilot friend of yours said to him, but he is determined.” He paused.

“What?”

“I think he was always going after it, even before the trooper said anything about the gold this evening. Colonel Campbell was on the phone all afternoon. Every time I tried to call him to find out when we were leaving the line was busy. After a while I figured it must be out of order and I went to his room. I heard him talking through the door.” He kissed her hand.

“Don’t stop there.” He turned with a grin and kneed her legs apart. “I didn’t mean that and you know it.”

He kissed her, eliciting a long, low purr. “I do like the sounds you make when you’re getting some, Dunaway.”

Her toenail made a line up the back of his leg. “Tell.”

He explored her ear with the tip of his tongue. “It sounded like Colonel Campbell was ordering up some kind of helicopter, one equipped for high altitudes, low temperatures and rough terrain, capable of hovering for long periods. And he wanted it stripped. One pilot, one loadmaster, and nothing else.”

She shivered and bit his shoulder. “Room for cargo.”

“Be my guess.” His lips traveled to her earlobe.

“And this was when?” She hooked one leg around his waist.

“This afternoon. About three o’clock.” He moved over her, settling fully into that good old standby, the missionary position, and smiled into her eyes.

She shifted her legs and slid her hands down to his ass. Her voice was a little breathless. “Four hours before dinner, when Liam told him about the coin, which seemed to trigger Colonel Campbell’s decision to recover the wreck, which he seemed until then to be willing to leave until next spring, or forever.”

“Yeah.” He sounded distracted, his attention elsewhere.

“Ahhhh,” she said.

“Any more questions?” he whispered.

“No.”

“You sure? I can talk and fuck at the same time.”

“Not tonight you can’t.”

“Jesus!”

“Told you.”

December 17, 1941

March says were making a special trip to Krasnoyarsk not a ferry job this time were bringing the same plane back instead of catching a ride. I asked Roepke and he said how did I know so I guess we are. I saw the CO talking to Roepke and they shut up when they saw me and the old man was pretty snappish when he told me to get back to work.

No letter from Helen. I wish I could call. I hate not knowing whats going on I hate it I hate it. I hope shes allright. I hope Moms with her.

I talked to Peter. I’m going down to his house again tonight.