“Let’s go have a chat with Senator Robert Cook,” Sam said.

At the Capitol, Sam and Jeannie were told that Senator Cook was in a meeting and couldn’t be disturbed.

Sam narrowed her eyes into her most intimidating stare and watched the administrative assistant shrivel before her. Excellent. “Either you can go in there and get him, or I’m going to. Your choice.”

“Please wait right here,” the admin said, scurrying away.

“Can you teach me that look?” Jeannie asked.

“It’s a gift. You have to be born with it.”

Jeannie laughed. “I should’ve known you’d say something like that.”

The admin returned. “Right this way, please.”

“See that?” Sam said to Jeannie, loud enough for the admin to hear her. “I love when the citizenry cooperates with their law enforcement professionals.”

“It’s critical to maintaining law and order,” Jeannie replied, playing along.

The admin probably would’ve scowled at them if she had dared.

Cook’s spacious office, Sam noted, was easily four times the size of Nick’s. Seniority had its perks.

“What can I do for you?” Cook growled. “I’m very busy.”

“Then we won’t take much of your time,” Sam said. “You told Senator Cappuano that Supreme Court nominee Julian Sinclair should watch his back. That someone might take a shot at him. Can you tell me what you meant by that?”

“It was a figure of speech,” Cook said, visibly ruffled by the question. “What does he do—run home and tell the little woman everything that transpires around here?”

“No, just comments that factor into murder investigations.”

“Murder investigation? What’re you talking about?”

“Julian Sinclair was murdered last night.”

Cook’s portly face turned an unbecoming shade of purple. “You aren’t possibly insinuating that I had anything to do with it.”

“Do you know of anyone who might’ve had something to do with it?”

“Of course I don’t. I hardly associate with murderers.”

Sam consulted her notebook. “Weren’t you once associated with Robert ‘Junior’ Despositio who’s doing time in federal prison for attempted murder and racketeering?”

Cook’s face twisted with rage. “He was a high school classmate of mine who made poor choices. I haven’t been ‘associated’ with him in thirty years.”

“Had you ever met Mr. Sinclair?”

“I had not. I believe we had a meeting on the schedule for sometime in the next week. Meeting with the senators who’ll be voting for them is part of the routine for Supreme Court nominees.”

“Where were you last night after eleven?”

“Home in bed.”

“Can anyone confirm that?”

“My wife.”

Sam held out her notebook to the senator. “A number where I can reach her?”

Cook stared at her for a long moment. “I’m a United States senator. My word should be more than good enough.”

“It isn’t,” Sam said. “The number please?”