“Don’t know, Nick,” he said, as he cracked open a shell. “He would have had to push these bastards hard. And, you know, rest-in-peace and all that, but he wasn’t always so good at pushing for the right things … . I did call Brew and asked if the White House could do something. He seemed a slight bit distracted.”

“He’s trying hard to hold on.”

“And then I tried to get Alter to say something. As if Treasury—or he—cares. There’s no corn growing there.”

“And Mumfries, on his own, sure as hell won’t.”

Palmer sighed. “It’s just not easy doing what’s right. And I got to get back there soon. Sal already chewed me out for taking time to talk to you. He feels threatened whenever we spend time alone. So what do you have on your mind that you don’t want to put on a telephone line?”

“It’s about the assassination.”

“Got briefed on the phone by Grayton. Don’t much care for that one. And the commission’s meeting soon. They’re going give us the whole dogand-pony show when we get together. Fucking nutcases. At least this isn’t going to help Pratt, Gravitt and those yahoos who want more guns out there and who dump on big government all the time.”

Palmer crunched several peanuts against the desktop.

“So what then?” he asked.

“I don’t think they got it right.”

Palmer did not reply at once. He peeled several nuts and ate a handful.

“What’s not right, Nick?” he asked.

“The story.”

“What part of the story? And how, may I ask, do we know this?”

Addis gathered his thoughts.

“I’m not sure about everything. Clarence Dunne was looking into this. So was this woman at the CIA. They tracked down Dawkins before anything was announced. I don’t think it had anything to do with a white supremacist, antigovernment thing. And while they were doing this, the CIA woman—”

“Does she have a name?”

“Yes, it’s Julia Lancette … . Someone tried to run her off the G.W. Parkway. And you saw what happened to Dunne—”

“Still unconscious in the hospital?”

“Last I heard … . Also, a friend of the Georgetown student killed in the Mayflower—she was hit by a car on her bicycle, hours after she told me and Clarence that she and her friend worked for a bizarre escort business.”

“A what?”

“I don’t know. And then the fellow who ran the service was killed, too.”

“Nick, you’ve been working overtime.”

“Senator, it just kind of happened.”

“And the proof that these deaths may be connected?” Palmer asked.

“Basically, just that woman’s—”

“The bicycle rider?”

“Yes, her word.”

“But she was a … and now she’s—”

“Yes,” Addis said.

“And the CIA?”