“Detective Cross, thank you for coming.” He shook my hand across his desk and motioned for me to sit in one of the tall wing chairs. “I’m so sorry about your niece. It must have been a horrible shock. I can’t even imagine.”

“It was, thank you,” I said. “But I have to tell you, I’m a little uneasy with the amount of information you have about this case.”

He looked surprised. “It would be much stranger if I didn’t. Anything to do with the White House is the Secret Service’s job to know.”

I tried to cover my surprise. What did my murder investigation have to do with the White House? What was going on?

“In that case, I would have thought I’d be meeting with them,” I said. “The Secret Service.”

“One thing at a time,” he said. Fine—that was about all my nervous system could handle anyway.

There was nothing aggressive about Reese’s manner; he just seemed very sure of himself. Actually, he seemed younger in person, even a little preppy looking, with a button-down collar and conservative tie. You’d never know to see him that his thumbprint was on American policy all over the world.

“For now,” he went on, “I’d like to hear about how the investigation is coming along. Bring me up to speed about the way you see things, what you’ve found out so far.”

This interview was getting stranger by the minute.

“It’s coming along fine, thanks.”

“I meant—”

“I think I know what you meant. With all due respect, though, Mr. Reese, I don’t report to the White House.” Not yet anyway.

“I see. Of course you’re right. You’re absolutely right. My apologies for overreacting.”

I’d already gone further than I meant to, but so had Reese. I decided to stay on the offensive with him.

“Have you ever heard the name Zeus in connection with any of this?” I asked.

He considered the question for a second. “Not that I can recall. And I think I would, a name like Zeus.”

I was pretty sure he was lying, and it reminded me of something Lauren Inslee had said about her clients: Why would someone like Reese even answer my question, except to lie?

When the phone on his desk buzzed, he picked it up right away. He watched me while he listened, then stood as soon as he hung up. “Would you excuse me for a minute? I’m sorry about this. I know how busy you are.”

As he walked out of the room, a Secret Service agent stepped into the open doorway with his back to me. I couldn’t help wondering what would happen if I tried to leave. Instead, I just sat there and attempted to get my bearings. Why was the White House chief of staff involved with my case? How?

Soon enough, there were voices outside, just a low murmur that I couldn’t understand from where I was sitting.

The agent in the door stepped out and another one took his place. He came in and glanced quickly around the office. His eyes played right over me, the way they did the rest of the furniture.