“McGovern. This better be good, whoever you are.”

“Is this Chet McGovern?” a female voice said.

“I believe so, ask me tomorrow. What time is it anyway?”

“About two-fifteen, sorry about that.”

“Do I know you?”

“My name is Jemima Meads. I’m calling from the New York Post.”

“The Post?”

The mention of the paper made McGovern sit up. He looked across at the redhead lying fast asleep on the other side of the bed. Her bed, he remembered, somewhere in the Village. What was her name?

“Dr. McGovern, we’re looking at a story that has two researchers at Columbia being killed by the radioactive agent polonium-210, just like the KGB colonel in London. Do you have a comment?”

“It’s two-fifteen in the morning,” McGovern said groggily.

“And I do apologize, but we want to be first and make sure we have the story right.”

“But I thought we weren’t releasing the cause of death,” said McGovern.

“So you can confirm it?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It kind of is.”

“Look, speak to my colleague, Jack, he did the autopsies. But I recommend it be tomorrow during normal business hours.”

“Jack Stapleton, the ME?”

“Yes, him.”

“Okay, thanks. And sorry for disturbing you.”

The woman ended the call, and Chet lay back in bed. What was that about?

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EPILOGUE

EPILOGUE

GREENWICH, CONNECTICUT
MARCH 26, 2011, 6:05 A.M.

Even though it was Saturday, Russell Lefevre had set his alarm for 5:45. He clamped down on the buzzer, before it woke his wife. Lefevre padded into the bathroom and then downstairs to make coffee and to check on events on the Internet. As the coffee was brewing, Lefevre scanned the online headlines of The New York Times, The Wall Street Journal, and The Washington Post. Russell had always been fastidious about keeping up with the news, but in the past few weeks he’d become obsessed, especially since Edmund had become less and less communicative.

Even though Russell had asked him numerous times, Edmund had never told him what he and Jerry Trotter had talked about at Edmund’s house a few weeks before, even though Edmund had looked thoroughly shaken afterward. A week or so later, Jerry Trotter disappeared. When Russell called Max Higgins, Max said Jerry had gone on a fact-finding trip to Asia, and he had no idea when he’d be back. Edmund had nothing to say about that. Then Russell read about Gloria Croft being attacked while out running one morning in Central Park, and Edmund told Russell he had no idea what had happened then, either.