Addis introduced himself and said he was looking for Harris Griffith.

“Listen,” Joe Mikolajczyk said, “I’m not sure I should even tell you I know where he is. What do you need from him?”

“Some old paperwork needs to be resolved. I thought he could help.”

“I gotta tell you: he’s not in a very helpful mood these days. And as one of the people he owes big I do try to encourage him to spend his time in pursuits that enhance his financial position.”

“I understand. Please ask him to call me here or in Washington.”

“And I gotta tell you, don’t think you can come around and expect us to jump. I don’t play the game everyone else down here plays. Got that? I don’t jump. Not for dead guys. Not for live guys.”

“I do, Mr. Mikolajczyk.” He spoke the name deliberately.

“That’s good. You almost got it right.” Mikolajczyk hung up.

On the way back to the library, Addis passed a student lounge. The news was on the television. Wynn Gravitt, the House Majority Leader, was on the screen criticizing the lack of progress in the assassination investigation. Addis paused to watch and ignored the students’ stares.

“As a member of the commission, I am simply appalled that we don’t know more than we do,” Gravitt was proclaiming. “This is not the time for partisan shots. But I have sent a letter to President Mumfries setting out my concerns.”

Wesley Pratt might be too polite to exploit an assassination, Addis thought, but not Gravitt.

As Addis and Rudd drove back to the bed-and-breakfast, she asked if they could swing by First Street and Liberty.

“Sure,” he said. “Why?”

“There’s this book that’s a favorite of a friend of mine. Part of it takes place on that corner. Just wanted to see it. Tell him I did.”

“Okay.”

She’s not going to volunteer more. I’m not going to ask.

When they reached the corner Rudd turned her head to absorb each quadrant of the intersection: a brown brick church, an empty lot covered with litter, a child-care center with wrought-iron security bars on the doors and windows, a white cottage with blue trim. A young black man was pacing by the lot. He looked like he was waiting for someone.

“Not too special, is it?” Addis said.

“No, not at all.”

He glanced at her. She was looking out the window and smiling.

“Maybe K-Paul’s tonight?” he asked.

“More photographs?”

“Maybe.”

“If that’s what you need,” she said.

“Thank you,” he said and glanced at her. She was looking at the corner as they drove away.

Jeff’s favorite book, right? She’s comparing us.

“I’d ask you how it went today,” she said, “but I don’t think I’d get much out of you.”

“Not yet.”

“Someday?”

“Maybe. When I can.”

“That’s what I thought.”