“I’m thinking about an outbuilding, a cellar?” He again wants to know if we’ve searched everywhere. “It’s significant that I’ve yet to find anything consistent with contemporary times. Nothing synthetic for example such as polyester or nylon fibers.”

“We checked the basement.” I look out my side window at Amanda Gilbert arguing with Marino on the front porch. “And it’s empty and clean. It isn’t closed or sealed off. It’s accessible by bulkhead doors that open into the yard.”

“It could be a place that in an earlier life was an armory and later was turned into something else,” Ernie suggests. “Just keep that in mind when you’re looking around.”

Amanda Gilbert, Benton and Marino are making their way down the front steps in the gentle steady rain. I tell Ernie I have to go as a chauffeur climbs out of the Escalade, and he’s a Mister Magoo squinting, his big ears sticking out from his uniform cap.

I watch him open the back door for Amanda Gilbert and I’m not surprised by his erratic driving, his starting and stopping earlier. Marino and Benton climb inside my SUV and in typical fashion Marino picks the front seat. He doesn’t ask. I pull out after the Escalade, keeping my distance.

“WHAT JUST HAPPENED?” I drive slowly over flooded bricks.

“She’s pissed as hell.” Marino pats his pockets the way he does when he needs a cigarette. “That’s what’s happened. She’ll probably sue all of us.”

“Here’s what I can and will tell you,” Benton says behind my head as we pass other old mansions where Chanel Gilbert’s wealthy well-connected neighbors live.

But before he can continue, I interrupt. “Did Amanda give you any reason why she thinks Lucy has something to do with Chanel’s murder?”

“Maybe that’s why the FBI raided Lucy’s property.” Marino is turned in his seat so he can look at me as we talk, and as usual I have to tell him to buckle up. “Erin Loria’s the snake in the woodpile in other words. But what I can’t figure out is how she could have known anything about it so early. You assholes had your chopper up before we even knew it was a murder.” He directs this at Benton.

“You’re right. We didn’t know about the murder but were aware of the relationship,” Benton answers.

“Whose relationship?” I ease the SUV to a stop at Brattle Street.

“We have airport surveillance from Lucy’s trip to Bermuda. We know when she landed at the FBO there and when she returned to Boston. We know that in fact Chanel Gilbert was on the private jet with her.”

“Wait one damn minute.” I look at him in the rearview mirror, and his eyes meet mine. “Lucy flew Chanel back from Bermuda?”

“Yes.”

“You’re absolutely sure?”