‘A manilla envelope containing personal correspondence,’ I told him about Prodigy and how Lucy and Carrie had met.

‘They knew each other before Quantico?’ he said.

‘Yes. And I think Lucy believes it was Carrie who went into her desk drawer.’

Marino glanced around as he restlessly moved his empty beer bottle in small circles on the table.

‘She seems obsessed with Carrie and can’t see anything else,’ I went on. ‘I’m worried.’

‘Where is Carrie these days?’ he asked.

‘I have no earthly idea,’ I said.

Because it could not be proven that she had broken into ERF or had stolen Bureau property, she had been fired but not prosecuted. Carrie had never been locked up, not even for a day.

Marino thought for a moment. ‘Well, that bitch isn’t what Lucy should be worried about. It’s him.’

‘Certainly, I am more concerned about him.’

‘You think he’s got her envelope?’

‘That’s what I’m afraid of.’ I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned around.

‘We sitting here or moving on?’ Lucy asked, and she had changed into khaki slacks and a denim shirt with the FBI logo embroidered on it. She wore hiking boots and a sturdy leather belt. All that was missing was a cap and a gun.

Marino was more interested in Janet, who could fill a polo shirt in a manner that was riveting. ‘So, let’s talk about what was in this envelope,’ he said to me, unable to shift his eyes from Janet’s chest.

‘Let’s don’t do it here,’ I said.

Marino’s truck was a big blue Ford he kept much cleaner than his police car. His truck had a CB radio and a gun rack, and other than cigarette butts filling the ashtray, there was no trash to be seen. I sat in front, where air fresheners suspended from the rearview mirror gave the darkness a potent scent of pine.

‘Tell me exactly what was in the envelope,’ Marino said to Lucy, who was in back with her friend.

‘I can’t tell you exactly,’ Lucy said, scooting forward and resting a hand on top of my seat.

Marino crept past the guard booth, then shifted gears as his truck loudly got interested in being alive.

‘Think.’ He raised his voice.

Janet quietly spoke to Lucy, and for a moment they conversed in murmurs. The narrow road was black, firing ranges unusually still. I had never ridden in Marino’s truck, and it struck me as a bold symbol of his male pride.

Lucy started talking. ‘I had some letters from Grans, Aunt Kay, and E-mail from Prodigy.’

‘From Carrie, you mean,’ Marino said.

She hesitated. ‘Yes.’

‘What else?’

‘Birthday cards.’

‘From who?’ Marino asked.

‘The same people.’

‘What about your mother?’

‘No.’

‘What about your dad?’

‘I don’t have anything from him.’

‘Her father died when she was very small,’ I reminded Marino.