“All I know is that whoever I go looking for ends up on the done-andgone-forever list. I’d be at a dead end if it weren’t for—”

A tall black man in dungarees entered the diner through a door behind the counter.

“Benny Junior and I were on the Atlanta force years ago,” Dunne said.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Benny said. “Good to see you again, Mr. Addis. Been a long piece. Sorry there’s no Coke for you.”

Addis stood up to shake Benny’s hand.

What do you say to someone who’s lost twenty-odd years of work?

“Me, too,” he said.

“Like I said, I don’t want to interrupt. But I had the television on. Heard something I thought you might want to know.”

“What is it?” Dunne asked.

“Had a report on this program saying that they got evidence the guy who shot up President Hanover was mixed in with white supremacists.”

“Who has evidence?” Dunne asked.

“Don’t know. The reporter didn’t say what the evidence was. And they’re still not sure of his real name. But they know he done it because he hated black people? Figure that one out.”

“Thanks, Benny,” Dunne said.

Benny read the signal.

“Okay, Clarence. Just thought you should know. I’m next door, if you need me. Nice to see you again, Mr. Addis.”

He stepped through the mess and left the diner.

Dunne picked up a piece of newspaper that was on the floor and took out a pen. On the paper he wrote the name Max Bridge.

“Our happy assassin,” Dunne said.

He then diagramed the chain: Bridge to Allison Meade to Raymond DeNoefri to the Gauntlet to the man Lancette was looking for, the man with the tattoo.

Gillian Silva doesn’t even make the chart, Addis thought.

“It’s not a straight line,” Lancette said.

She took the pen and drew an arrow from the tattoo man to Bridge.

“A circle,” she said. “If the tattoos match.”

Dunne pulled out another pen and underlined “Gauntlet.”

“Gay bar,” he explained to Addis. “Seems to specialize in don’t ask/ don’t tell for unconventional Marines. And its owner is trying to keep a secret. Maybe about this one.” He tapped his pen against tattoo man.

“He lied to me,” Lancette said. “Told me he had the bar only two years,” Lancette said. “He’s been the owner for six.”

She paused, and Addis waited for the explanation.

“I checked the liquor license,” she added. “And I think our friend”—she pointed to tattoo man—“worked there during that time.”

“And you don’t know who this guy with the tattoo is?”

“No,” Dunne said. “But the bar owner seems to. Or is it all a coincidence?”

“Clarence, have you shared any of this with the task force?” he asked.

Dunne was silent.

“And you’re a freelancer, too?” he said to Lancette. “Haven’t told Wenner?”

Before she could reply, Dunne answered.