“I want you to put everything else on hold for a couple days. Let’s find out who was there, and let’s find out why.”

“I might be able to give you the who, but—”

“The why isn’t in your wheelhouse.”

“Right.”

“Because it deals with motive.”

“Yes.”

“Yeah.” He rubbed his forehead in that worrisome way of his.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I said. “Listen, I want a team looking over other suicides or homicides that’ve been posted live online, especially from any contacts from Jon Murray’s social networking accounts or on sites he might’ve visited recently.”

“What are you thinking?”

“We need to establish if this is an isolated incident.”

“Hmm. So we’re looking for footage in which someone else might have been present when the other deaths occurred?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think the person at the senator’s place wanted to leave you a clue that he was in the house? That he planned for his reflection to be visible?”

“That seems unlikely. There would’ve been much easier ways of letting us know he was there. Let’s start with Jon’s online interactions and Internet history, see where that takes us. Circle out from there.”

“I’ll get some people on it. I’m going to have Bill Greer join you tomorrow at the funeral.”

Jodie Fleming, the agent I typically partnered with, was presenting at a criminology conference in Orlando this week, so it made sense that DeYoung would assign someone else for me to team up with.

I’d worked with Greer before on a couple of other high-profile cases. He specialized in homicides and had a good instinct for dealing with the media. Early fifties, experienced, dedicated. I liked him. Trusted him.

“I’ll have him meet you there,” DeYoung told me. “It’s at that graveyard over near the East River Medical Center—Lancaster Cemetery.”

“I know the place.”

It was an expansive property, not as large as Green-Wood Cemetery in Brooklyn, but still substantial.

After our call, I wanted to touch base with Christie and make sure she wasn’t angry at her daughter—or at me—for something, but earlier when she left, she’d told me that she wouldn’t be turning on her phone while she was at the retreat center. “It’s supposed to be a silent retreat. The monks don’t even want us talking with the other people staying at the monastery. I’ll be fine.”

Off the grid for a weekend didn’t sound all that bad to me.

After checking in on Tessa and finding her asleep, I lay in bed, computer on my lap, and studied the files until I must have dozed off because I awoke suddenly, jarring the laptop and barely catching it before it would have plummeted to the floor. I took that as a sign, closed it up, and went to sleep.

++++

“Kiss her.”

“Her?”

“The lady.”