“Not so much at first—not until he discovered that Trout was trying to control the information flow. Then he seemed happy to do whatever would make Trout unhappy.”

“That’s Jack. Used to say that FBI stood for Fucking Blithering Idiots.”

“He’s still saying it.”

“So why is Trout on your information list if he refuses to provide any?”

“That’s more for the RAM people. Trout might not talk to me, but Rudy Getz is different. You’d be amazed at who returns his calls. And how fast.”

“Interesting. And what about the third name—Max Clinter?”

“Max Clinter. Well. Where to start? Do you know anything about him at all?”

“The name rings a distant bell, that’s about it.”

“Clinter was the off-duty detective who got entangled in the final Good Shepherd attack.”

The memory of the tabloid accounts came back. “Was he the guy with the art student in his car … drunk out of his mind … firing his gun out the window … sideswiped a guy on a motorcycle … got blamed for the Good Shepherd escaping?”

“Yep.”

“He’s one of your sources?”

Kim’s voice was defensive. “I’m taking whatever and whoever I can get. The problem is that just about everyone involved in the case refers all questions to Trout—which is like dropping them into a black hole.”

“So what have you managed to find out from Clinter?”

“That’s not easy to answer. He’s a strange man. With a lot on his mind. I’m not sure I understand all of it. Maybe we could talk about it tomorrow in the car? I didn’t realize how late it was getting, and I need to take a shower.”

Although Gurney didn’t believe her, he didn’t object. He was eager to talk to Jack Hardwick.

The call went into voice mail. He left a message.

Dusk was rapidly darkening into night. Rather than turn on the light in the den, he took Kim’s project folder out to the kitchen table. Madeleine was still sitting in her armchair by the flickering woodstove at the far end of the room. War and Peace had moved from her lap to the coffee table in front of her, and she was knitting.

“So have you figured out where that arrow came from?” she asked, without looking up.

He glanced over at the sideboard, at the black graphite shaft and its red fletching. Something about it made him feel almost queasy.