When Addis had rung Griffith, his call was answered by a machine. He left a message and next called Mickey Burton, the party’s chair in Rapides Parish. At twenty-seven, Burton was the youngest parish chair in the state. Burton told Addis that a Brit fellow had been nosing around asking about a deal involving the Hanovers and some land near the county airport.

So here, leaning against Addis’s car, was the jerk who was forcing Addis to spend his time digging into the distant finances of a dead man. And Hynes-Pierce knew about the phone calls Addis had made.

“You don’t believe in letting someone rest in peace,” Addis said.

“Actually, I do. Most certainly. The worms don’t care whether their lunch had unfinished business. I am sympathetic to that point of view. Quite reasonable. But, you see, not everyone else involved believes in resting in peace. Look at the grieving widow. Hardly a rester there, right?”

“Fuck you,” Addis said.

“Yes, but as the story continues … Well, the story continues, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe this time you can prove Margaret’s a lesbian.”

“Never did say that.”

“But you didn’t mind other people thinking it—after you rushed to air a story full of holes.”

“It is an imperfect craft. I’ll grant you that. But I do believe in making available as quickly as possible all information that is available. You do realize, the full story rarely comes out all at once. Would you mind telling me whom you were calling in Rapides Parish and why you were placing such calls—while you were toiling as a government employee and being paid by the American taxpayers?”

“I do mind. But, for your own information, I was talking to old friends. A lot of people these days want to talk. Hard to believe, isn’t it?”

“Fine, fine. Trying days. Sad days. I do appreciate. And no one much cares for those of us who pick over dirty bones. But a broader question, if I may? What would you, Mr. Addis, do if you discovered that one of the great men whom you have so ably served, out of, no doubt, your own allegiance to worthwhile causes and principles, had acted, unethically, untowardly, or illegally? Would the public be consigned to the dark?”

“You know, great illuminators like yourself might do better if you weren’t such assholes. Now, excuse me.”

Hynes-Pierce moved away from the car, and Addis unlocked the door.

“So in the fashion of all the professional spinners and concocters in this town, you prefer not to answer legitimate queries?”

“Nice try.”

“Well, a lad can try.” He flashed a jagged smile. “Not even on background?”

“You must be—”

“Then perhaps next time.”

Hynes-Pierce held out a business card. Addis did not take it; he got into the car.

“I’m hoping there won’t be a next time,” Addis said. He shut the door and started the engine.