“Nice digs,” she muttered under her breath as Stenhouse’s assistant showed them into a massive corner office that was triple the size of that assigned to the junior senator from Virginia.

Stenhouse, tall and lean with silver hair and sharp, frosty blue eyes, stood up when they came in. He dismissed the assistant with orders to close the door behind her. “I’m on a tight schedule, Detectives. What can I do for you?”

Wants to play it that way? Sam thought. Well, so can I. “Detective Cruz, please record this interview with Senate Minority Leader William Stenhouse.” She rattled off the time, date, place and players present.

“You need my permission to record this,” Stenhouse snapped.

“Here or downtown. Your choice.”

He glowered at her for a long moment before he gestured for her to proceed.

“Where were you on Tuesday evening between ten p.m. and seven a.m.?”

“You can’t be serious.”

Turning to Freddie, she said, “Am I serious, Detective Cruz?”

“Yes, ma’am. I believe you’re dead serious.”

“Answer the question, Senator.”

Teeth gritted, Stenhouse glared at her. “I was here until ten, ten thirty, and then I went home.”

“Which is where?”

“Old Town Alexandria.”

“Did you see or speak to anyone after you left here?”

“My wife is at home in Missouri preparing for the holidays.”

“So that’s a ‘no’?”

“That’s a ‘no,’” he growled.

“How did you feel about the immigration bill Senator O’Connor sponsored?”

“Useless piece of drivel,” Stenhouse muttered. “The bill has no bones to it, and everyone knows that.”

“Funny, that’s not what we’ve been told, is it Detective Cruz?”

“No, ma’am.” Freddie flipped open his notebook and rattled off the statement the president had issued days earlier, calling the immigration reform bill the most important piece of legislation proposed during his first term.

Stenhouse’s glare could’ve bored a hole through a lesser cop, but Sam barely felt the heat. “Were you irritated to see Graham O’Connor’s son succeeding in the Senate?”

“Hardly,” he said. “He was nothing to me.”

“And his father? Was he nothing to you as well?”

“He was a prick who overstayed his welcome.”

“How did you feel when you heard his son had been murdered?”

“It’s a tragedy,” he said in a pathetic attempt at sincerity. “He was a United States senator.”

“And the son of your longtime rival.”

Awareness dawned all at once. “Did he tell you I did this? That bastard!” He stalked to the window and stared out for a moment before he turned to them. “I hate his fucking guts. But do I hate him enough to kill his son? No, I don’t. I haven’t given Graham O’Connor a thought in the five years since we saw the last of his sorry ass around here.”