“Do I look like I want to get in a car with you, Detective Cross?” I was surprised he remembered my name.

He stepped back out of sight then, between his own SUV and the other giant boat parked next to it, a brand-new Hummer H3T. With the likely hundred-thousand-dollar joining fee at this place, I guess no one was too worried about gas prices.

“I won’t keep you long, Senator,” I said, “but I thought you’d want to know, we’re a little short on leads here. The only next step I can see is to start releasing the recordings from Tony Nicholson’s club.”

Yarrow’s eyes flitted over to Sampson; I think he was wondering if both of us had seen him in action, or just me. His hands tightened over the head cover of the TaylorMade driver in his bag.

“So unless you’ve got some other meaningful direction we might go in—”

“Why would I?” he said, still cool.

“Just a gut feeling I had. Something about all those missed appointments.”

He took a deep breath and ran a hand over the weekend stubble around his chin. “Well, obviously I’ve got to run all this by my attorney.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” I said. “But just so you know, this is a working Saturday for us. We need to get one thing or another done today.”

I almost felt bad for Yarrow, he looked so uncomfortable. There were no good options left, and he knew it. When I’m lucky, that brings people right to the truth.

“Just for the sake of argument,” he said, “what could you offer me by way of immunity?”

“Nothing right now. That’s up to the DA.”

“Right, ’cause you people never wheel and deal, is that it?”

“Here’s what I can offer you,” I said. “You tell us what you know, and then when the Secret Service comes looking for you, and they will, it won’t be about obstruction of justice and conspiracy to cover up a string of murders.”

I could only imagine how much Yarrow was hating me right now. Without ever taking his eyes off mine, he said, “Tell me something, Detective Sampson. Would you say your partner here is a vindictive man?”

Sampson laid a big hand on the roof of Yarrow’s car. “Vindictive? Nah, that’s not Alex. I’d say more like realistic. Might be a good word for you to consider about now.”

At first, I thought Senator Yarrow was going to walk, or maybe even go postal with one of those TaylorMade irons of his. Instead, he reached into his pocket, and the doors on the Lincoln chirped open.

“Just get in the car.”

Chapter 95

YARROW’S CAR’S LEATHER interior reeked of coffee and cigarettes. I would have pegged him more as a cigar smoker.

“Let me get a few things out of the way,” I said first. “You were a paying client of that club, yes or no?”

“Next question.”

“You were aware that escorts connected to the club had died.”