Archie nodded at Henry and Henry dialed up a crime scene photograph on his phone. They’d downloaded it before they’d crossed the bridge, anticipating the reception issue, so all he had to do was tap the screen. The picture filled the screen—an image of the dead girl’s face and shoulders. Henry handed Archie the phone and Archie showed it to Jack. “I need to know who this girl is,” Archie said.

Jack barely glanced at the photo. “I don’t know her,” Jack said.

“She was at your party last night,” Archie insisted. “I saw her, right inside there.” Archie indicated the foyer behind Jack.

“As established by your presence,” Jack said pointedly, “I was less than familiar with the guest list.”

“She’s dead,” Henry said.

Jack smiled thinly. “I got that.”

“We think she was murdered,” Archie said. “Possibly here on your property.” Jack was a lot of things, but he was also the father of two murdered children, and that counted for something. Archie could use it. It was his way in.

“I don’t know who she is,” Jack said, his tone softening. “I’d tell you if I did. Maybe she came with someone.”

“Who would know?” Archie asked.

“We used a private security company last night,” Jack said. “Echo Corp.”

“They’re military contractors,” Henry said.

“Heavy security for a garden party,” Archie said to Jack.

“I like my guests to feel secure,” Jack said with a sharklike smile.

“They’re not exactly local,” Henry said.

“They have some local contractors,” Jack said. “We flew in a few others.”

“Those guys are all ex-military,” Henry said to Archie. “They would have had a command hierarchy.”

“Who was in charge?” Archie asked Jack.

“He goes by Ronin,” Jack said. “Charming, right? I’m guessing that’s not his real name.”

“He’s one of the guys you flew in?” Henry asked.

“Yes,” Jack said.

“Where is he?” Archie asked.

“The guesthouse,” Jack said. “For all I know, he’s still asleep.”

Archie stepped closer to Jack. He could smell him—his black soap, his expensive cologne. “Let’s wake him up, shall we?” Archie said.

*   *   *

The guesthouse was locked, but Jack produced a heavy ring of keys, sorted through it, and opened the door. The air in the house was thick with the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Three well-muscled men with thick necks and buzz cuts were sitting at the round kitchen table, along with Karim, whose thicket of black hair and slight build left him looking a little out of place. There was a large serving bowl of scrambled eggs on the table and another bowl of sausage links and plates that the men had just begun to heap with food. It was early evening. But this fact seemed to escape everyone at the table.

Jack jabbed a thumb toward the living room. “Karim and Ronin stay,” he said. “The rest of you give us a minute.”