Addis explained that Lancette was trying to get something for a friend, and that he had been helping her.

“Who was her friend?”

Addis didn’t know.

“Anything else you can tell us now that might be of help?”

No, he didn’t think so.

The detective informed him that the White House was sending someone over. He asked if Addis wanted to make a phone call. “Not now,” Addis said.

“We recorded your alcohol as .09,” the detective said.

Addis said nothing.

“That’s as close as you can get.”

As close as you can get. Addis absorbed the words without responding. He closed his eyes and saw her in the water.

The detective left the room. Addis looked out at the television. More footage of the canal. A gurney. A white sheet. He felt cold. There was water in his ear.

Brewster McGreer pushed the door open. He wore a denim shirt and shorts. He stopped a foot shy of Addis and stood there.

“You alright?”

“Think so,” Addis said.

McGreer sat on the edge of the table.

“You need anything? They offer you coffee or something?”

“That’s okay.”

Addis waited for the real questions.

“You call your folks?”

“Not yet.”

McGreer drummed his fingers on the tabletop. He took a long breath.

“Okay, Nick, what the fuck happened? Who is she? What does she do for them? What are you up to? Why did Dunne give you a gun? Is this connected to what happened to him?”

Addis told him what he had told the detective.

“Bullshit, Nick,” McGreer said. “But let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“They said I could go?”

“Yes. I told them that you’d be available for questioning whenever they want. You’re fortunate there’s another D.C. budget crisis. The fucking mayor called me when I was coming over here. Asked if he could be of any help. I said, ‘Thanks.’ He made fucking sure to let me know that they were listing you at .09. Like maybe it was fucking .095, and—lucky day—they were rounding off down, not up. He probably thinks he’ll pull another $100 million out of our next budget.”

Addis shrugged.

“Come on,” McGreer said. He helped Addis up.

“Need to see a doctor?” he asked. “Have him look at those scratches.”

“No … . Where are we going?”

“Stephanie said I should bring you home.”

“I’d like to go to my place.”

“No fucking way. The fucking vultures will be swarming there.”

He led Addis out of the room. Water squished in Addis’s shoes. He kept the blanket draped over his shoulders. Cops were staring at him. The detective appeared and asked how he could reach Addis in the morning. McGreer gave the detective his own direct number. McGreer’s cell phone went off. He answered it and stepped aside.

“Did you find her parents?” Addis asked the detective.

“Yes. We sent two officers over. They’ll have to make the official identification.”