“How far back would you like us to go?” Lou asked.

“Why, back to the beginning, of course, Dr. Welcome. Why don’t we begin with you, and then Mr. Duncan, and finally, Mr. Kozak here?”

Lou noted how smoothly Chester demonstrated that he knew their names after just a single introduction. Another well-mastered display of control.

Lou began with the retelling of Joey Alderson’s injury and the subsequent drive home with him from Eisenhower Memorial.

“I don’t know when these two thugs started following me,” he said. “It could have been several days before that. But this past afternoon, George and his cousin Anthony Brite noticed them checking out my building, and we followed them back out here.”

“Anthony Brite is the man whom you say was gunned down?” Chester asked.

“That’s right, man!” George exclaimed. “He was my cousin, and those dudes of yours burned him! Bastards!”

For several moments, there was absolute silence.

Then Chester nodded minutely at George. His expression was placid, but his narrow eyes were ice, and fixed on George like an infrared sight. “Young man,” he said finally, “you are a guest in my house. And as long as I treat you with civility and respect, you will honor me with the same courtesy. Is that clear?… I said, is that clear?”

Lou felt the man’s power. He also sensed strongly that the word boy had barely gone unsaid.

George seemed unable to respond. “Got it,” he finally managed, eyes to the floor, his usual bravado gone.

“Chief Stone,” Chester said, “my orchids are a source of calm and balance for me. I think I would prefer to continue this discussion in my greenhouse, or if you prefer, sometime tomorrow—perhaps out where these gentlemen say they were attacked. I can ask my field manager to meet us there, and perhaps one or two of my attorneys as well.”

Stone silently polled the others. “It’s your house, Bill,” he said. “Let’s take this meeting outside.”

The group stood and parted like the Red Sea as Chester strode past them, through a set of French doors, then down a long corridor to a rear door that opened on one end of a magnificent, fragrant greenhouse, perhaps the size of a hockey rink. With the touch of a button, the subdued lighting brightened, and soft classical music—Beethoven, Lou guessed—flowed through speakers that seemed to be everywhere.

The entourage followed Chester into densely humid air that was rich with the aromas of flowers and ripe fruit. Lou picked up the scent of chocolate, raspberry, and citrus the most strongly. The flowering plants, he realized, might all be orchids.

Chester paused, perhaps to appreciate his visitors’ collective awe. He then lifted a specialized gauge and began testing a nearby flower bed, which seemed to consist of an earthy mix of moss and bark.