“It’s okay,” he said. “Go ahead.”

“We were…I was…here.”

“You were together all night?”

Humiliation radiated from her. “Yes.”

“And your full name?” Gonzo asked.

“Cynthia Kaine.” She spelled her last name.

Glancing at Sanducci, Gonzo said, “And how old are you, Cindy?”

“Eighteen.”

“And how old are you, Mr. Sanducci?”

“How is that relevant?”

“Answer the question.”

“Forty-four.”

Gonzo made sure the disgust showed on his face. “I see.”

Jeannie had Cindy write down her address and phone number before dismissing her.

Sanducci gave Gonzo a “guys will be guys” smile that Gonzo wanted to punch off his smug face. “We can keep this between us, right?”

“I’ll need a list of your employees, members, followers, whatever you call them.”

“That list is private,” Sanducci sputtered.

“Then we’ll get a subpoena. Until it comes through, we’ll put you up downtown. Your choice.”

Sanducci fumed for a long moment. “Cindy,” he said through gritted teeth. “Print out the A list.”

She stared at him.

“While you’re at it,” Gonzo said, “print out the B, C and D lists, too.”

Sanducci’s lips turned white and his cheeks flamed with color. “Do it.”

Cindy got busy at her workstation.

“Must’ve been a letdown,” Gonzo said, nodding to the posters and pickets lining the wall, “to make all these plans and then have nothing to protest.”

Sanducci shrugged. “There’re others on Nelson’s short list who we don’t want on the court any more than we wanted Sinclair. That’s why we’re still here.”

“Will you have them killed, too?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Don’t you?”

“I didn’t kill anyone!”

“Maybe you suggested to one of your followers that it would be better if Sinclair was dead?”

“I told you,” Sanducci said, his preppy veneer crumbling. “We didn’t want him on the court. That was it.”

Gonzo took the lists Cindy handed to him. “Stay local,” he said to Sanducci on his way out the door.

On the sidewalk, Jeannie took a deep breath of fresh air. “I need a shower,” she said, shuddering.

“Me, too.”

“But he didn’t kill Sinclair.”

“No, but maybe someone on these lists did.” He checked his watch. “We have just enough time to drop them off to the lieutenant and Cruz before our meeting with Diandra Sinclair.”

“You read my mind, Detective.”

“This is such bullshit,” Sam said as she paced the length of her father’s living room, gripping the lists Gonzo had brought her. “I’m stuck here when we’re finally getting somewhere on Sinclair.”

“Want me to make a phone call?” Skip asked.

“No,” she said with an emphatic glare. “Don’t even think about it. That won’t help.”

“You could make the call,” Gonzo suggested. “Farnsworth is the only one who can override IAB. Tell him you’ll serve out the suspension when we close Sinclair.”