“Go on,” I said. “I’m listening to every word.”

He looked at the ground. “You know that your niece was, um…”

“Yeah. I know the forensics, all the other details. I saw her at the medical examiner’s.”

He threw the rest of his coffee into a garbage can. “It’s possible, even probable, that Caroline was murdered by someone at that club.”

“Hold on.” We stopped again. I waited for a blond mother with three small towheads and an armful of Baby Gap bags to go by. “Why is the Bureau involved?”

“Technically, Alex? Because a body was transported across state lines.”

I thought of the mobster who’d been found and then lost: Johnny Tucci. “You’re talking about the punk from Philly?”

“We have no interest in him. Chances are he’s dead anyway. Alex, this club is frequented by some of the more important people in Washington. It’s gotten heavy at the Bureau in the last couple of days. Top heavy.”

“I assume you mean Burns is involved.” Ron Burns was the Bureau’s director, and a decent guy. Mahoney shook his head; he wouldn’t answer that one directly, but I could figure it out for myself.

“Ned, whatever happens, I’m only going to help.”

“I figured as much. But listen, Alex. You should assume you’re being watched on this one. It’s going to get nasty like you wouldn’t believe.”

“The nastier the better. Just means somebody cares. I’ll take my chances with that.”

“You already have.” Ned clapped me on the shoulder and offered a grim smile. “You just didn’t know it until now.”

Chapter 35

THE MEETING WITH Ned was useful, but it had also given me a headache, so I was playing a little Brahms in the car on the way back to Judiciary Square. I picked up a voice mail from Ramon Davies’s secretary as I sped along the streets of DC. The superintendent wanted to see me as soon as possible. That didn’t sit too well on top of Ned’s warning at the mall. The last time Davies called, it was to tell me that Caroline had been killed.

When I got to the Daly Building, I bypassed the elevator and jogged up the stairs to the third floor. Davies’s office door was open, and I rapped two knuckles on the frame.

He was hunched over paperwork at his desk. The wall behind him was hung with some of his large collection of commendations, including MPD’s Detective of the Year for 2002. I had the award for ’04, but no big office to put a plaque up in. Actually, the certificate was in a drawer someplace at home; at least I thought it was.

Davies nodded when he saw me. We weren’t exactly friends, but we worked well together and there was respect on both sides. “Come in, and close the door.”

As I sat down, I couldn’t help noticing my own handwriting on some of the photocopied pages he was studying.

“Is that Caroline’s file?” I asked.