“No,” he interrupted. “If this is an accident, there’s not much to be done besides what I’m going to do. If it’s not an accident, then we can’t let anyone know.”

“This is getting kind of big to keep to ourselves.”

“You don’t have to. But you have to make me one promise.”

“What?”

“If you’re going to tell someone, you’ll let me know first.”

“Sure, Clarence, sure.”

Dunne reached into his coat.

“Take this,” he said.

He held out a gun.

“N-no, that’s alright, really,” Addis sputtered. “Besides, you probably need it more than I do.”

“Nick, be real. Don’t you think I have others? If someone killed her, they probably know we were there, that we know what she knows—or used to know.”

“I don’t want it,” Addis said of the gun.

“Take it—until we know more.”

Addis kept his hands at his side. Dunne opened the glove compartment.

“Don’t,” Addis said.

Dunne placed the gun inside the glovebox.

“I’m going out of town,” Addis said. “I don’t need it. And, Jesus, I’m not going through a metal detector carrying that thing.”

“Just have it nearby.”

“Fuck, Clarence. I don’t know how to use it. M. T.’s the shooter. I’m better with a cell phone. You think someone’s really going to take a shot at a senior White House—”

Addis stopped, realizing how stupid he sounded. You idiot, he told himself, someone killed the President. Dunne had the courtesy not to reply.

“Where are you off to?” he asked.

“New Orleans. It’s personal. Two or three days, I guess.”

“Lucky man.”

“Yeah. You going to be okay?”

“Me? Sure.”

“Clarence, I don’t like being part of a conspiracy.”

“You’re not,” Dunne said. “You’re part of the anti-conspiracy.”

“Isn’t it pretty to think so,” Addis replied.

Dunne considered putting a question to Addis: You’re a politico, the type always pushing an agenda to help your career or that of whomever you’re serving. So why are you going along with me, a politically radioactive has-been? Why not run to Mumfries—or Margaret Hanover or Jake Grayton—and tell them about this lead to the crime of the century? Dunne decided not to ask.

Addis wondered if the circular patch of gray hair on Dunne’s head had enlarged in the past week.

“I’ll see you when you get back,” Dunne said.

He left the car. Addis opened the glove compartment and emptied the gun of the bullets. He then folded a piece of paper around the ammunition and returned the gun and the bullets to the glovebox. He locked it and started the car engine.