'Ah,' said the secretary, flicking through her memory banks, 'the guys Mr Wylie was meeting. So you're Miss Sarah's husband. Yeah, I heard she married an older guy.' Skinner heard Joe Doherty stifle a chuckle. 'But I heard it didn't work out.'
'It's working fine now, I promise you. Look, can we come in? We need to talk to you.'
She held the door open for them and ushered them indoors, through the living room and out into a sunny back garden, complete with a smal blue-tiled swimming pool. She pointed to it. 'That was a personal gift from Mr Grace, when he retired. Nice man; what happened to him and 160 his poor wife was just awful. And now, with Mr Wylie…' She paused, as they settled into white plastic chairs, set around a table.
'Of course,' she murmured. 'You guys think there's a connection.'
'Let's just say that we're blessed with the cynicism for which the FBI is famous,' Doherty answered.
Mrs Thorpe looked at him, almost for the first time, her eyes drawn to the gauze that had been taped to the side of his head, over the stitches.
'What happened to you?' she asked.
'I got a shade too close to Mr Wylie's boat when it blew up. It was as well I was with this big old guy here; he hauled my ass out of there.'
'You were actual y there when it happened?'
'Yup.'
Her curiosity broke through her shock. 'So what did it look like?'
'Like the biggest bonfire night you've ever seen,' Skinner answered.
'Mrs Thorpe,' he continued, over her puzzlement, 'after Agent Kosinski arranged our meeting with Mr Wylie, who would have known about it?'
'Just about anyone in the firm,' she told him. 'Yesterday, we had our monthly lunch for partners and associates, and Mr Wylie mentioned there that the FBI wanted to talk to him about Mr Grace's murder. There were around thirty-five people present, so he might as well have run an ad on television.'
Doherty gave a soft moan. 'Superb,' he muttered.
'Ah, but he didn't say that it had been arranged.'
The deputy director's face brightened. 'Mrs Thorpe, do you know if Mr Wylie had been in touch with Mr Grace recently?'
'Depends what you mean by recently. The deer hunting trip was in January, but I'm not aware of their having spoken since then. Of course that doesn't mean that they hadn't. I don't know absolutely everything that my boss did; as wel as his office engagement book, he kept a private diary on that laptop thing he had.'
'Laptop?' Skinner repeated.
'Yes, sir. An Apple Mac iBook; he's had it since the beginning of the year. It has a plum-coloured casing, and a built-in modem; everywhere he went, he took that damn thing with him.'
'Would he have had it with him on the boat today?'
'For sure.'
The Scot looked at Doherty. 'Wilkins had a laptop, remember. It was stolen.'
'I sure do remember.'
Without another word, the deputy director took out his cellphone and called the FBI lab. 'Alan,' he said, quietly, 'I want you to contact the team we have heading for Buffalo, and ask them to look specifically for the remains of a laptop computer.'
As he replaced the pocket phone he turned back to Skinner. 'Did Leo Grace have a laptop?'
'I wouldn't know.' The DCC paused. 'Sarah used to get e-mails from him; his address is in the book on our computer at home. But there's a desktop in his house, down in his den, so he probably used that. Stil it's possible that he had a laptop as well; it's possible.'
'Mrs Thorpe,' asked the American. 'The names we mentioned, Wilkins and Garrett; Agent Kosinski told us you were going to look through Mr Grace's files for references to them. Have you done that?'
'Yes, sir, I did that yesterday afternoon; and I told Mr Kosinski the result. There is no mention of either of those gentlemen in Mr Grace's papers. There's nothing on the firm's computer files either. I ran a check on them at the same time. I even asked Mr Wylie if he had heard of either of them. He just shrugged his shoulders and gave me a blank look.'
'In that case, that completes our business. Thank you for your time, and our condolences over your loss.' He stood, with a sideways glance at Skinner. 'Bob.'
'Yes. But there's just one thing. You mentioned a hunting trip earlier.'
She smiled, and her pleasant ebony face seemed to light up. 'Sure, the deer hunt. That was back in January, like I said. Mr Grace and Mr Wylie decided to take themselves off down to the Appalachians for a week, blowing the hell out of those poor animals. Didn't your father-in-law mention it to you?'
'I can't say that he did. Never mind. Thanks anyway.'
She showed them out, and down the path to their car. As they stood on the sidewalk, Doherty took out his cellphone, and dialled in a number.
'Zak? Good; something I need to know. Was there a note on the Garrett inventory of a missing computer? A laptop. There was? Excellent.
Thanks.'
He ended the cal and nodded to Skinner. 'The kid confirmed it.
Garrett had one too.'
As he closed the passenger door of the saloon, the Scot turned to his friend. 'Joe, there's something wrong with Mrs Thorpe's story. Leo Grace was a Korean War hero; he saw a lot of action. It affected him so much that after he got back, he never picked up a gun for the rest of his life. He detested the National Rifle Association, and I never met anyone who was more strongly opposed to blood sports.
'No nicking way did he go shooting deer in the Appalachians or anywhere else.'
'So I wonder what he did in that backwoods week? Maybe Sarah'l know when she gets here Monday.'
'Maybe. Rol on the day.'
Doherty smiled. 'Do I take it from that, that you're not looking forward to a quiet Sunday in Buffalo?'
'You take it right.'
'Well, that's good, because I have another day trip planned for you. We are heading, my friend, for the show that never ends, Our Nation's Capital.
It's time we took a look at the politics of this thing.'
The gathering was sombre; even Ryan and David were subdued, although they were barely old enough to comprehend the meaning of death.
Maggie wondered if they were simply behaving as instructed, or if their mother's near-paralysing grief had scared them into silence.
She asked their father as much, as they stood together in the conservatory, salad plates in hand, looking out on to the McGuires' neat and orderly garden.
Stan Coia sighed. 'It's a bit of both really; they were well warned not to upset their grandma, or Nana or anyone else, by screaming and shouting like they usual y do. But the way Viola's taken it… Aye, you're right; the poor wee guys are frightened. She's excitable at the best of times, but this… I'd to get the doctor to her, you know. The emergency call-out service, I'd to get them out in the middle of the night, after Mario came by to tel me what had happened. The poor lass, she was hyperventilating; I thought she was having an asthma attack, and you can die from them.'
'How is she now?' Maggie looked back into the living room, where Viola stood, black-eyed, white-faced, beside her Aunt Christina.
'Doped up to the eyebal s, if you real y want to know. It was touch and go whether she came today, but I managed to persuade her that her mother and her nana needed her.' His eyes flicked quickly around the room.
'The Viareggio women are a funny lot, you know. You must see that too, as an in-law like me. There's old Nana, at the top of the tree … if you leave out old Auntie Josefina, who doesn't know whether it's breakfast time or Easter, and never did, from what Beppe said. Then look at Aunt Christina, and at Paula; they're just like her, the pair of them, big, attractive women, very feminine, both of them, but as tough as teak underneath.
'On the other hand, there's Viola and her mother, complete contrasts to the other three, nice and good-
