“I guess his parents are only willing to pony up for bail and lawyers, not real estate.” Jeannie reached for the car door handle. “What time did you ask Diandra to meet us at HQ?”

“In an hour, so let’s see what Sanducci has to say and get out of there.”

“I’m with ya.”

The office had the temporary feel of a campaign headquarters, but with the unpleasant decor of posters featuring aborted fetuses. Packing boxes were scattered about, the floor littered with Styrofoam noodles.

Gonzo turned away from the images when his stomach turned with disgust.

A blonde woman who seemed barely old enough to be out of high school greeted them. “May I help you?”

They flashed their badges. “Tony Sanducci, please.”

“Um, sure. Just a minute.” She returned five minutes later with an aging preppy who seemed better suited to the Yale campus than this squalid storefront. He flashed the matinee idol grin that guys like him used to skirt the rules. Gonzo hated him on sight. “Tony Sanducci?”

“That’s right.” He extended a hand.

Gonzo flashed his badge. “Detectives Gonzales and McBride.”

Sanducci’s hand fell to his side. “What can I do for you?”

“Going somewhere?” Gonzo asked, gesturing to the boxes.

“We don’t have much of a cause here anymore. We’re just waiting to see who Nelson comes up with next.”

“Must’ve broken your heart to hear that Sinclair had been killed.”

“I didn’t want him to be on the Supreme Court, Detective, but that doesn’t mean I wanted him dead.”

“Didn’t you?”

The amiable smile faded. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

Gonzo read him some of the more inflammatory passages from the Post article.

“So?”

“Where were you the night Sinclair was killed?”

Taken aback, Sanducci said, “I was here all night. I have a cot in the back where I stay when I’m in the city. Helps to keep the expenses down.”

“By yourself?”

Sanducci cast a quick glance at the teenybopper who ran the office. It was fleeting, but Gonzo saw it.

“That’s right.”

“Would you like to continue this conversation downtown, Mr. Sanducci?”

He ran his hand through well-coifed dark hair. “Listen,” he said in a low voice. “I have a wife, four children. It’s a fling. Means nothing.”

Gonzo wondered if it meant nothing to the child he was sleeping with. “What’s her name?”

“Does she really have to be brought into this?”

“Yeah, she really does.”

With a deep sigh, he said, “Cindy, can you come over here for a minute, please?”

As if God himself had summoned her, Cindy came scurrying across the big open room.

Gonzo wanted to barf at the worshipful gaze she directed at Sanducci.

“Yes, Tony?”

“Honey, would you mind telling these fine police officers where you were the night Julian Sinclair was killed?”

Her eyes bugged, and for a moment she seemed too stunned to speak.