She talked about growing up in Michigan and fishing trips with her father in the Upper Peninsula. He told her he left college to be a jazz pianist. They ordered another round. She mentioned a brother who had died in a car crash. He told her about the time he had seen a ghost in a Vermont farmhouse. She did not believe him and laughed as he tried to convince her.

“Alexia,” she said, holding out her hand. “Or Alex.”

“Brady.” He grasped her hand.

After two hours of talking, she asked if he would escort her to her room. He said yes. This was better, he thought, much better, than once again having to call a friend in search of a bed or couch where he could wait out another night.

In the elevator, his arm brushed against hers. He thought about the escalator to the Metro. Both looked straight ahead. When the door opened, she took his hand. They walked past a maid toward her room. At the door, she looked for her key in her bag and dropped her notebook. He picked it up and noticed the first page was blank.

“A boring conference?” he asked.

“Aren’t they all?”

She opened the door. The room was dark. She leaned in front of him to reach the light switch. He smelled her hair. The light came on. She closed the door behind them.

“Alex,” he started to say.

The door to the bathroom swung open. Neither of them saw the gun. Nor did they hear the shot that tore through Brady’s head. And before she could scream, she was dead, too.

The assailant knelt over the dead man and emptied his pockets. From the pile, he selected one item. He then went through her bag and found the microcassette recorder he had given her. He pushed the rewind button, waited, and pressed the play button.

“Seriously, one time Monk came in when we were playing in this West Side dive, and he—”

He put out the “Do Not Disturb” sign, went to the bed, and lay down, his head against the pillows. He reached for the remote control and turned on CNN. He looked at what he had retrieved from the dead man—a laminated press pass on a chain. He hit the play button again and listened to the tape, fast-forwarding whenever the woman spoke. He watched the television, with the sound turned off.

2 - The White House West Wing—June 21

2

The White House West Wing—June 21

Another trip to New Orleans. Nick Addis was not looking forward to it. He pushed around the papers on his desk. He couldn’t sort out the mess: checks, tax returns, land records. He read the memo again. Re-create the trail. Find anyone who knew anything. Go to New Orleans. Don’t tell anyone. But if anybody asks, don’t say you’re not going.