“Just starting that process. We have a preliminary list of family members in the background materials provided by Agent Daker. I believe Ms. Corazon is being contacted now for her own list of current phone numbers, per Mr. Gurney’s suggestion. Carly Madden in Public Information is helping to formulate an appropriate message.”

“She understands the communications objective—serious alert without panic—and the importance of getting it just right?”

“She’s been made aware of that.”

“Good. I’d like to see the draft before the live calls. Let’s move on that front ASAP.”

Gurney’s sense of the woman was firming up. She devoured stress like vitamins. Her job was probably her sole addiction. “ASAP” was almost certainly the way she wanted everything to happen. And adversaries should take care.

She looked around the table. “Questions?”

“You seem to have your fingers on a lot of buttons at the same time,” said Trout.

“So what else is new?”

“What I’m saying is that there’s a point beyond which we all need some help.”

“No doubt. Feel free to call me if you ever find yourself in that position.”

Trout laughed—a sound as warm and musical as a car starter with a dying battery. “I just wanted to remind you that we have some resources at the federal level that you may not have in Auburn or Sasparilla. And the fact is, the clearer the linkage between this new homicide and the old case becomes, the greater the institutional pressure will be on both of us to bring federal resources to the table.”

“That might happen tomorrow. But today is today. One day at a time.”

Trout smiled—a mechanical expression consistent with his laugh. “I’m not a philosopher, Lieutenant. Just a realist pointing out how things are and where this case is bound to end up. I suppose you can choose to ignore that, until the moment it occurs. But we do need to spell out some ground rules and lines of communication, starting now.”

Bullard glanced at her watch. “Actually, what’s starting now is a brief lunch break. Twelve noon on the dot. I suggest we reconvene at twelve forty-five to discuss those ground rules and lines of communication—and then do some actual work, ground rules permitting.” Her sarcasm was softened by a smile. “The coffee and the snack machines in this building are pretty awful. Would you Albany folks like a recommendation for a local lunch place?”

“No need for that. We’ll be fine,” Trout answered.

Holdenfield looked pensive, restless, far from fine.

Daker looked like he felt nothing at all—beyond a general desire to liquidate all the troublemakers in the world, painfully, one by one.

Bullard and Gurney were seated in a horseshoe-shaped booth in a small Italian restaurant with a bar and three inescapable television screens.