“I’m suspicious of men who have their own police forces.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, he has more security people working for him than any police force between here and Portland—maybe between here and Boston.”

“Perhaps he just has a lot to protect—he owns a lot of things.”

“Tell, me, Stone, how did he react to the news of Joe Adams’s death?”

“Sadly. We all did.”

“And who were your dinner companions?”

“Whitney Saltonstall and the publisher of Vanity Fair and an editor of the New York Times.”

“Covering all his bases, wasn’t he?”

“Ed, you’re becoming tiresome. Either tell me what you’re talking about, or just stick to your brandy.”

“Just think about how much influence was gathered aboard St. Clair’s yacht,” Ed said. “Vanity Fair, for social coverage; the Times, for news and influence; and Whit Saltonstall, for power in Washington.”

“I forgot to mention the national security advisor.”

“Thank you, kind sir,” Holly said.

“And then there’s you,” Ed said to Stone.

“What could he possibly want from me?”

“Your goodwill, Stone.”

“Well, then, he bought that cheaply, for the price of a fine dinner and good company.”

“He’ll be offering you more soon.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s the sort of fellow who prefers having friends rather than enemies. He collects friends, like pearls on a string, and believe you me, he has a very long string.”

“Who doesn’t prefer friends to enemies?” Stone asked.

“Some of us don’t have the choice—the choice is made for us.”

“And where do you think I fall on the friends-to-enemies arc?”

“St. Clair hasn’t decided yet,” Rawls said. “He’s still sizing you up. He doesn’t know yet how much you know.”

“Well, I can tell him, not very much.”

Rawls reached into a pocket and came up with an object. “Catch,” he said, and tossed it to Stone.

Stone caught it and looked at it; it appeared to be an oddly shaped piece of titanium. “What is it?”

Holly spoke up. “It’s the key to the strong case,” she said.

16

RAWLS STOOD UP, tossed off his brandy, and set down the glass. “I’m outa here.”

Stone walked him to the door and watched as Ed turned off the outside light, allowed his eyes to become accustomed to the darkness, then made his way to a jeep and drove away, turning the wrong way on the road.

Stone went back inside. “I’m beat,” he said, pulling his bow tie loose and unbuttoning his collar. “Let’s go to bed.”

“Don’t you want to open the strong case?” Holly asked.

“No, I don’t want to even think about it. Coming?”

“Soon, I hope,” she said, joining him on the stairs.

“I’m not sure I have it in me,” Stone said.

“We’ll see.”

—