He took a sip of the brandy. “Yes. I remember her. Skinny blonde, good tits.”

Eloise smacked him on the arm. “Edgar. Inappropriate.”

“What? She did. I’m old, I’m allowed to look.”

Fletcher was fighting back a laugh. Sam saw his lips twitch. “When did you meet her, sir?”

“She used to come around about eight, ten years ago. I don’t do so well with time. But she’d stop by every once in a while, have a meal. She was government, just like Amanda. Spook, I think. We talked about the war.”

“Have you seen her lately?”

“Naw. Haven’t seen Amanda, either. You know, we killed a guy once, just plain scared the shit out of him. Hung him up by his thumbs in the forest. You could hear them crack when we yanked on the ropes.”

And he drifted off, staring out the window.

Eloise stood, shaking her head. She motioned for them to step out.

Fletcher wasn’t quite willing to let it go. “Sir? Mr. Poe?”

But Edgar said nothing, didn’t even acknowledge them.

“I’m so sorry,” Eloise said. “It’s not a good day. He drifts like that, in and out of time. It must be so hard for him, so confusing.”

Sam thought that was gracious. It had to be hard for Eloise, too.

They followed her down the stairs, out onto the porch. Fletcher gave her his card, asked her to call if Edgar thought of anything else that might be of use, and they bid her farewell.

Tervis stayed behind to guard his daddy while he dreamed.

* * *

Out in the yard, Fletcher sighed deeply.

“That was a waste of time. Come on. Let’s go see if anyone has found Dr. Bromley.”

Sam fell into step with him. “I don’t think it was a waste. We found out about the car. We can pull the cameras in the area, see if they captured it. Three hours is a long time to sit staring at a town house.”

“Whoa, you don’t think he was serious, do you?”

“I do. He was quite lucid when we came into the room. Sometimes a new pattern can shock the brain back to normalcy for a moment, almost like an electroshock. Seeing new faces in his own environment, the police cars—it was a change from his norm. It woke him up, so to speak.”

“So we’re going to rely on the eyewitness testimony of a guy with Alzheimer’s who doesn’t even know who he is? Sam, you know that’s crazy.”

“It’s not as crazy as you think. He was very clear about what he saw before he drifted out. I think it’s a good path to follow.”

They got in the car, and he pulled away from the curb, thinking. “All right. Let’s ask.”

He called Hart, who answered quickly, sounding ragged.

“Boss, you gotta give me more than five minutes to do everything.”

“I have something new for your list.”

“God, now what?”

“Pull all the cameras from around Souleyret’s Capitol Hill address, looking specifically at two nights ago between five and ten. We’re looking for a black sedan, possibly government.”

“Okay, I’ll get Tech on it. By the way, I just got a call from the security company who handles the address in Georgetown, the house with the cameras on the gutters? They’ve gotten permission from the owners to release the footage to us. I asked them to send it over. You know Naomi Murray, right? Down in Tech? The brunette with legs to forever and gone?”

Fletcher cleared his throat and glanced over at Sam, who was smiling.

“I recall meeting Officer Murray once or twice, yes.”

“Didn’t you ask her out once?”

“Lonnie. Get on with it.”

“Oh, sorry. Apparently, Naomi—Officer Murray—identified a gray Honda Accord on the camera. It circled the block four times, right before Emma and Cameron walked in on the scene. She’s got the plates—they’ve traced to a guy named Toliver Pryce, out in Falls Church.”

“Suspect?”

“Witness, I’d say. I thought I’d take a run out there and have a chat with him.”

“Be careful, Lonnie. Don’t you dare go out there alone. We’ve got all sorts of crazy shit going down here on the Hill.”

“Roger that. I talked to Sophie Lewis—she’s the head of the HAZMAT team from Homeland that was at the crime scene in Georgetown this morning. She’s the one who handed off the samples to the CDC. She’s got a call in to them to find out where the samples are now, and to warn them they may be unsafe.”

“How many agencies are in on this now?”

“I don’t know, the usual. Four or five at least. Plus the media. The story’s all over the place—not that the samples are suspect, but that HAZMAT was on our scene this morning. Turn on WTOP in your car, you can listen in. It hasn’t hit fever pitch, but they’ll mention it at the top of the hour. If the wrong reporter gets a bee up their nose, we’ll be fielding more than moderate interest.”

“Great. Just great. So much for keeping things quiet. All right, my man. You keep chugging. Stay in touch.”

He hung up, and Sam said, “Let’s go back to your place and talk to young Daniels. He’s got something for us. And I need a cup of coffee. I’m starting to drag.”

Fletcher nodded. “That sounds like a damn good idea. I have a feeling it’s going to be a long evening.”

Chapter 34

GWUH

GEORGE WASHINGTON UNIVERSITY Hospital was on the corner of New Hampshire and I Street, and Robin had no problem walking right in the front doors and making her way through the corridors. Most visitors had to stop and present ID at the front desk, but Robin had pulled a few things out of the trunk of her car in order to make her ingress and potential interview go as smoothly as possible.

A wig made her hair a dirty salt-and-pepper gray; black reading glasses rested on a chain around her neck. She wore wrinkled blue scrubs and a white lab coat with the name M. Preston embroidered in blue over the pocket. She had a stethoscope sticking out of her pocket, carried a clipboard and moved with purpose.

It wasn’t hard to gain access to hospitals. With so many people coming and going—friends and family, doctors and nurses, orderlies and techs—pretty much anyone could walk anywhere with impunity. In her doctor’s outfit, she blended in seamlessly. GW had nearly nine hundred doctors on staff; she doubted anyone would bat an eye her way. It didn’t hurt that she had an old ID from a shooting they’d worked, one she’d carefully lifted off a white coat lying on the back of a chair. Her people had done some work on it, and now it could be used pretty much anywhere with a quick holograph overlay.

Her phone flashed while she was in the elevator—Lola.

The email is from one of Girabaldi’s people, message came through address labeled jkruger. There is a Jason Kruger on the rolls. Also checking on David Bromley, who was working with Cattafi. TC is in ICU, room 454.

Interesting. So it was one of Girabaldi’s people trying to touch base with Mandy. With State this involved, Robin was going to have to move carefully and quickly before they decided to track her down and make her life miserable.

Get me everything you can on Kruger. STAT.

She sent the message, then destroyed the thread entirely. Damn it, what was Mandy up to? What was she trying to get “in”?

The elevator let her out on the fourth floor, and she found the ICU with no problem. A regular room would have been easier—there was less scrutiny—but she had enough of the lingo down from her own time in ICU that she was sure she could brazen it out.

She was lucky; they were in the midst of a shift change, and she strolled right past the nurses’ station unnoticed. There was a guard outside Cattafi’s door, and she nodded magnanimously at him, rattling her clipboard.

The cop, young, nervous, probably his first real assignment, smiled and held up a hand.

“ID?”

So predictable. She handed it over, reached for a pair of gloves. He took great pains to write down the name and handed back the ID. “Dr. Margaret Preston. Got it.”