Fletcher shot Sam a glance. “That information has not been released yet.”

There were murmurs around the table, echoes of relief, Sam thought, that their asses were being covered.

“Why don’t you tell us everything, Lieutenant, then we can finish our briefing,” Cavort said.

“First, can you back up a minute? Dr. Owens and I haven’t been fully briefed. We know quite a bit about Thomas Cattafi, but we don’t know anything about Amanda Souleyret. Who is this woman? I assume she works for you. And do you know why someone might want to kill her?”

Girabaldi’s shoulders tensed, but her voice was surprisingly gentle. “Lieutenant Fletcher, Amanda Souleyret was one of the finest operatives I’ve ever had the honor to work with. She was fearless, capable and, as of yesterday, in France, on assignment, investigating an international pharmaceutical anomaly. Or so we thought. She’s been out of touch for some time, which told us she was very close to achieving her goal, and it wasn’t safe to check in.”

“I’ll bite. What’s a pharmaceutical anomaly?” Fletcher asked.

“She had infiltrated an international company based in France that we believe is manufacturing and selling counterfeit medicines. She’s been—had been—deep undercover for the past year, and for her to break cover, pull out and fly to the States, without warning us she was coming, means something major happened.”

“What’s the State Department doing investigating a pharmaceutical firm?” Fletcher asked.

Girabaldi merely shook her head. “That’s classified.”

“All right,” Fletcher said, annoyance creeping into his voice. “Did she fit in? Was she fluent in the language, the culture? What I’m really asking is, could she have been found out? And someone from France followed her to D.C. and killed her?”

“Anything is possible. Yes, she was fluent, and yes, she was able to fit into the fabric of her environment well. It was part of her training. Now, would you please brief us on the specifics of the crime scene? What makes you so sure Cattafi was not the perpetrator?”

Fletcher ran them through the scene. Girabaldi listened without flinching, then interrupted yet again. “Other than the blood, what was collected from the scene? Amanda should have been carrying a laptop, or tablet, at the very least. A satellite phone. We’ll need her phone, her personal effects, everything, brought to State immediately for our own internal examination. I would request that you refrain from having your people go through any of these items. Because the work she was doing is classified, they don’t have the appropriate clearances.”

Fletcher’s brows drew together. “I saw the evidence log early this morning, and I don’t recall anything of the sort at the scene. No laptops at all, actually. I’ll have to recheck the evidence list, but I don’t believe there were any electronic devices identified as Ms. Souleyret’s. There was a desktop computer and cell phone that belonged to Mr. Cattafi, but they have yet to be fully examined. As you know, our investigation is just beginning.”

He shifted in his seat. “And Madam Undersecretary, as I mentioned earlier, we’re pretty well convinced a third party killed Ms. Souleyret and did their best to take out Mr. Cattafi, too. The more information you can give us about her, the quicker we’ll be able to find her killer.”

Girabaldi ran a hand through the sleek gray bob again. Sam realized it was a nervous gesture. Nervous, or maybe even scared. The woman looked at her team, and her lips drew back into what could be categorized as a smile if the circumstances were different. Sam was reminded of a fox she’d once seen on her back deck in Nashville. Brazen little thing had stood its ground when she came out to shoo it away; she’d worried it might be rabid. It had the same look on its face as Girabaldi did now.

“We’ll get you all the information you need, Lieutenant,” Girabaldi said. “But for the time being, we need you to classify this as a domestic dispute and close the case.”

Chapter 19

FLETCHER SHOOK HIS head. “Wait a minute, here. This isn’t a domestic dispute gone wrong. It’s a murder, and from the precarious state of Thomas Cattafi, about to be a double. I won’t be able to classify it otherwise.”

Girabaldi shrugged, and the insouciance of the gesture made Sam go on alert. The woman definitely knew more about this than she was letting on.

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out. I know how resourceful you are, Lieutenant.”

Ashleigh Cavort spoke up, that pale ponytail swinging around her neck like a noose. “Lieutenant Fletcher, there’s more. In addition to closing the case, we think it would be best for you to put out word that Thomas Cattafi has died. You’ll be given a specific backgrounder on Amanda Souleyret, and we need you to use the information therein for all official statements and correspondence. We can’t jeopardize her operation, even if she is dead.”

Sam bit her lip. Fletcher was too well-versed in the D.C. machine to respond appropriately: you’re out of your ever-loving mind if you think that’s going to happen. Instead, he took a deep breath and nodded slowly. “Are you claiming jurisdiction?”

Girabaldi shook her head. “No. Officially, we aren’t involved at all, nor, as I understand, is the FBI, outside of Dr. Owens consulting. This meeting never happened, you were never here. Best-case scenario for us—you close the case for the record, but off the record, run a very quiet investigation and help us figure out what’s happened. Because of the classified nature of Amanda’s work, we can’t have anyone knowing about this. Too many lives are at stake. Simply put out word this was a murder-suicide that’s ended tragically, and we can help you manage the rest from behind the scenes.”

Fletcher’s eyebrows rocketed skyward. “Do you realize the level of coordination it would take to make all that happen in silence? Hospital workers, nurses, half the police force...” He broke off, shaking his head. “And you want me to keep it to myself and handle it all alone? Is there anything else we can do for you, Madam Undersecretary? Change the color of the sky, perhaps?”

Girabaldi gave him a half smile. “There’s no need for sarcasm, Lieutenant. This is a matter of national security, and every piece of the investigation is need to know. We need you to cooperate and help us out. I would consider this a personal favor. When the time is right, if the time ever becomes right, you can quietly move the case to your homicide files. I know how the D.C. police do so love their close rates.”

Fletcher leaned forward, put his hands flat on the table. Sam wondered if he was going to get up and walk out, but he simply said, “I don’t think you understand. I don’t have the power to do this. There are too many people involved already. Cops, EMTs, hospital employees, reporters. Witnesses. Homeland Security has a finger in the pie, too, now that we’ve had to call in HAZMAT, there’s—”

Girabaldi’s eyes nearly popped from her skull. “You did what?”

Fletcher had the good grace not to look affronted. “Ma’am, some of us follow protocol. If you wanted a cover-up, you needed to get up earlier.”

She narrowed her eyes, but sat back and crossed her arms. “What happened? Why was HAZMAT involved?”

“Cattafi had a refrigerator full of illegal pathogens. We didn’t have a choice. We had to protect the scene and the neighborhood.”

“And you didn’t mention this before?”

“You interrupted me before I had a chance to get to it. What the hell was your chick doing with Cattafi? Do you even know?”

Girabaldi’s eyes sought the heavens. “God save me from these people,” she muttered, then looked at Sam and Fletcher. “Sorry, I didn’t mean you. No, I don’t know what Amanda was doing with Thomas Cattafi.”

“Until we establish their ties, we’re going to have a hard time figuring out this case.”