So there’s the conspiracy, Addis thought. All arranged. He glanced at Lancette. She was twirling her hair. She caught him looking at her. Very slowly, she shook her head and mouthed the word “no.”

“Now, let me go over procedure a little,” Grayton said. He put down the written statement. “After the raid last night, we contacted the White House. I spoke to Hamilton Kelly, a senior aide to President Mumfries. I am told that Mr. Kelly woke the President and informed him of the event. Starting at six o’clock this morning, we began notifying members of the commission. We still have a lot of work to do. The site of the raid has been sealed. To give our forensic experts a little peace in which to work, we are not releasing the location of the apartment. But I am certain that members of the press will be there within minutes. We are continuing to investigate the individuals involved. We will try to determine if any other accomplices remain at large. All the information we have to date indicates there is no outstanding threat to any government official. We hope to have more details for public release later in the day. And if we do, we may be able to have a more extensive press conference and give you the chance to ask questions. But there is a lot for us to do right now.”

Grayton cleared his throat.

“On a different matter, let me briefly say regarding the shooting of Clarence Dunne last night, the prayers of everyone here go out to him and his family. We understand there has not been much change in his condition. We are hoping for the best. And to the members of the press, thank you for your patience and understanding.”

Grayton stepped away from the podium. Reporters shouted questions at him.

“Who fired the first shot in the apartment?”

“Where are the bodies right now?”

“What’s the significance of the tattoo?”

“Did either one have the word HAPPY carved into their skin?”

“What was Mrs. Hanover’s reaction when you told her? Will this affect the announcement she is expected to make tonight?”

“Will President Mumfries be making any statement?”

“Which federal agents conducted the raid? Mr. Grayton, was it the SWAT team you established last year?”

Grayton did not stop to respond. He left the room. An anchor recapped the statement. O’Connor hit the mute button on the television.

“That’s it?” Margaret asked.

“Seems to be,” Whalen said.

“Should I call Brew and request more information?” O’Connor asked.

Margaret Hanover shook her head.

“Believe me, I want to know what caused this,” she said, “and why these, these”—she could not find the words—“these fuckers killed my husband. I have to know. But I’m not asking them for any favors today. We’ll hear from them. Think of how it will look if they don’t keep me informed.”