At his home desk, he again looked at the financial records, as they dried. Pages were missing, some were torn. He hated doing cleanup work and cursed Evan Hynes-Pierce, a British reporter who wrote for a Pittsburgh newspaper owned by an arch-conservative millionaire. It had been Hynes-Pierce who had put the inquiry to the press office: Had the Hanovers many years back invested in a land deal in Rapides Parish and received preferential treatment due to the intervention of Margaret’s father, even though Chasie Mason and his daughter were notoriously estranged? The press office had ignored his request for information. Friends in Louisiana subsequently informed the White House that a seedy Brit was skulking about, asking about the old days, about Chasie Mason and the Hanovers. But, so far, no story had materialized.

“Give it a good tying-up,” Margaret Hanover had asked Addis.

Before the convention? Was that the point? Clear the way?

The front door buzzer sounded. Addis let in Dunne. He cleared the living room couch of two weeks’ worth of newspapers, and Dunne sat down.

“Ever see this?” Dunne asked and handed Addis a fax.

It was a memo from Hamilton Kelly to Bruce Harpold, who had been the White House director of administration, until a heart attack killed him while he was eating lunch in the White House mess. The memo carried a date from the transition period:

Vice President-elect Mumfries, whose work on the intelligence committee has convinced him that security safeguards are not sufficient throughout federal facilities in Washington, has asked me to convey to you his concern on this front and his suggestion that, following the inauguration, the White House implement a full review of all security, especially all rules and regulations governing the entrance of non-White House personnel into the White House/OEOB complex.

It was cc’ed to Dunne.

“Never saw it,” said Dunne. “But a bunch of reporters have now. One sent me this copy. Wouldn’t say how she got it. And Kelly’s not commenting. At least, that’s what I’m told.”

“Shit,” Addis said.

“Did you ever see it? You were staff director for the transition, right? Working with Bruce?”

“Yeah, but you know how much paper flew across my desk then. I don’t remember this. Can we check Bruce’s papers?”

“Yeah, go digging through the archives. Like there’s time for that. I wouldn’t put it past that Kelly to have—”

“But why?”

“Make himself look better. You know the type. He can only smell good, if someone else stinks like shit. And Grayton wants me far out to pasture. This makes me even more radioactive.”

Addis offered Dunne a drink and then realized he was out of everything but tap water. Not even Coke. Dunne declined.

“You think they want one lone nut?” Dunne asked.

“Who?”