'I can't tel you how much I appreciate this.'

He leaned back and placed his hands behind his head.

'You realy put your finger in someone's eye, Dr. Brennan.'

'Guess I did.'

'Any thoughts as to whose?'

'Parker Davenport.'

'The lieutenant governor?'

'That's the one.'

'How did you rile Davenport?'

I turned palms up and shrugged.

'It's hard to help if you're not forthcoming.'

I stared at him, torn. I'd shared my theory with Lucy Crowe. But that was Swain County. This was home. Ron Gilman directed the second largest crime lab in the state.

While the force was funded localy, money came to it via federal grants administered in Raleigh.

Like the ME. Like the university.

What the hel.

I gave him a condensed version of what I'd told Lucy Crowe.

'So you think the M. P. Veckhoff on your list is state senator Pat Veckhoff from Charlotte?'

I nodded.

'And that Pat Veckhoff and Parker Davenport are tied together in some way?'

Another nod.

'Davenport and Veckhoff. The lieutenant governor and a state senator. That's heavy.'

'Henry Preston was a judge.'

'What's the link?'

Before I could answer, a man appeared in the doorway, the name 'Krueger' embroidered above the pocket of his lab coat. Gilman introduced Krueger as the technical leader of the DNA section. He, along with another analyst, examined al DNA evidence at the lab. I rose and we shook hands.

Gilman handed Krueger the vial and explained what I wanted.

'If there's something there, we'l get it,' he said, giving a thumbs-up gesture.

'How long?'

'We'l have to purify, amplify, document al along the way. I might be able to give you a verbal in four or five days.'

'That would be great.' Forty-eight hours would be great, I thought.

Krueger and I signed evidence transfer forms, and he disappeared with the specimen. I waited as Gilman took a cal. When he hung up, I asked a question.

'Did you know Pat Veckhoff?'

'No.'

'Parker Davenport?'

'I've met him.'

'And?'

'He's popular. People vote for him.'

'And?'

'He's a royal pain in the ass.'

I produced the Tramper funeral photo.

'That's him. But it was a long time ago.'

'Yes.'

He handed back the picture. 'So what's your explanation for al this?'

'I don't have one.'

'But you wil.'

'But I wil.'

'Can I help?'

'There is something you can do for me.'

===OO=OOO=OO===

I found Boyd curled in granola crumbs, sound asleep. At the sound of the key, he shot to his feet and barked. Realizing this was not a sneak attack, he placed one forepaw on each front seat and wagged his hips. I slid behind the wheel, and he began removing makeup from the side of my face.