Ten minutes later Kate walked up the sidewalk and crossed behind the sedan to knock on the driver‘s-side door. The driver started, stared at her through the glass, thought it over, and rolled down the window.

Kate grinned. Fred Gamble of the FBI, as I live and breathe.

The agent next to Gamble grabbed for the door handle, found his own door held closed against him, and looked through the window to see Kurt‘s smiling face.

Gamble, Kurt, and Kate assembled back in Kurt‘s office. The second agent, embarrassed at being tagged so easily, didn‘t argue when told to wait in the car. Gamble, short, balding, still wearing what looked like the same pilling polyester suit Kate had last seen him in how many years ago now, accepted a chair and asked for coffee. Agrifina provided some and he crossed his legs as much as his potbelly would allow and disposed himself to chat, if they made it worth his while. Last time I saw you, you were on your way to Iowa, Kate said.

Omaha, he said, wincing.

What happened?

He gave an airy wave. Other opportunities. Things happen. You know. Kate knew. Where did you pick me up?

Gamble looked shifty, but then she remembered that shifty was his natural expression. We, um, acquired information about you asking a local DA to run a certain name through the system.

Kate looked polite. Did you?

Gamble shifted and tried to cross his legs the other way. Yes, well, this is someone we‘ve been trying to track down for a few months, as large payments from an organization in which the FBI has been interested for some time have been rather flowing in his direction.

Kate‘s eyes met Kurt‘s. Maybe they should let Agrifina talk to Gamble. They seemed to have graduated from the same school of involved syntax.

She decided to throw the dice. Why are you interested in True North Investments? She paused to enjoy the look of shock that spread across his face.

Yeah, she said, we know about their interest in Global. What do you know about them we don‘t?

Gamble thought it over. Quid pro quo?

Kate rolled her eyes. Sure. I‘m just trying to find a murderer, that‘s all. What‘s up with True North?

Well. Gamble fussed with a lint ball attached to the knee of his trousers. It came free, along with a significant amount of thread. He made up his mind and looked up. There was an air of expectation about him that warned her he was about to drop a hell of a bomb and that he was expecting a big reaction.

There is some suspicion that True North is a front for laundering money for the Carlomagno Coahuila drug cartel, Gamble said.

He needn‘t have worried about her reaction.

Holy shit, Kate said.

Eighteen

By the time she got to the hospital Gammons had relapsed into his waking coma. She swore at length, startling a passing nurse in pink scrubs and provoking the admiration of a group of interns, who paused in their rounds to hear her out, rapt expressions indicating they were taking mental notes for future reference. When she ran out of breath Lempe said, Yes, well, Ms. Shugak, as I told you before, there isn‘t a great deal to be done.