I laughed. “Is that the best question army intelligence can come up with? Maybe you need to go back to that fancy army college and take Interrogation 102. If I found Ferring and Veriden, why would I tell you? But here’s something I’ll let you know for nothing: I found the object that you or your minions have been tearing the country apart looking for.”

“What’s that?” Baggetto asked.

“I kept stumbling on things that people might want to keep secret.” I leaned against the wall, staying near the doorway. “A baby’s hand, for instance, or the fact that Doris McKinnon had sent soil samples to Dr. Roque for analysis. When I saw the destruction in August Veriden’s home and in the locker rooms at the gym where he worked, I knew you were seeking something small. I found a thumb drive with photos of the night McKinnon was digging on the Sea-2-Sea land, and I wondered if that was what you were looking for. It included footage of Sonia Kiel, and I knew the night she almost died outside the bar last week came from a deliberate attempt on her life.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Pinsen said. “She’s been an alcoholic and a drug user for thirty years. No jury would ever believe she hadn’t OD’d on her own.”

“I’m not a jury, but I have proof beyond a reasonable doubt. You were outside the Lion’s Pride the night she collapsed. By the way, is your name really Pinsen? Are you really at that college in Fort Leavenworth?”

“What business is it of yours?” he said sulkily.

“I’m your boss,” I said. “You work for me.”

The men stared at me, bug-eyed, until Pinsen sputtered, “You are not here undercover. I have your complete life story laid out—every protest march, every parking ticket, every two-bit case you’ve worked. You have never been on the federal payroll.”

“I wish you’d looked into my four-bit cases as well,” I complained. “I’m a taxpayer. You and the colonel are both servants of the republic, not its masters. We citizens pay your bills. You work for me. Do you have Cady Perec here? She could explain it to you—she’s used to trying to get twelve-year-olds to understand how the government works.”

Pinsen made a gesture of contempt and walked to the window and back.

Baggetto said heavily, “His name really is Marlon Pinsen. He works for Homeland. Homeland Security. Monitoring WMD activity in the heartland.”

“Oh, yes,” I said sarcastically. “Those spent fuel rods. Get people afraid of nuclear explosions and they’ll give you a wide berth.”

Baggetto flushed but said, “What makes you think Pinsen poisoned Sonia Kiel? If he was at the Lion’s Pride the night she almost died, so was half of Lawrence from what I can make out.”