‘Call Romeo Meyer.’

The call connected almost immediately. It was answered just as quickly.

‘Frank. You good?’

‘Depends what you think of this.’

‘What is it?’

‘Bruce Bull, your friend from the police station.’

‘What about him? You’re on the lawyer, aren’t you?’

‘I am. Which is how I just watched the two of them drinking together in an empty pub near to Duffy’s place.’

‘What? You sure?’

‘Positive.’

‘You think Duffy’s told the police what Mansour’s told him?’

‘What else could it be? Why else would they be meeting?’

There were a few moments of silence at the end of the line.

‘This is a problem, Frank.’

‘It sure looks that way.’

‘A problem we’ll deal with. I don’t want the White House brought in on this.’

‘Not even your fa . . . not even the assistant director?’

‘Especially not the assistant director. This is our problem. And we’ll deal with it our way.’

THIRTY-FIVE

‘When, ma’am?’ Dempsey couldn’t believe what Kirk had just told him.

‘This morning. The Great Neck Fire Department was called a few minutes after ten a.m.’

‘Bastards.’

He stood up as his mind filled with an avalanche of thoughts.

The Protection Detail wasn’t enough. Should I have known?

Should I have stayed? To protect Quilty?

Should I have made Quilty leave with me, to somewhere he could be protected?

The questions came thick and fast. But beneath them all was one overriding truth.

Quilty’s dead because of me. They weren’t sure it was him. And then I showed up last night . . .

Still on his feet, Dempsey turned to face Kirk.

‘What exactly happened?’

Kirk indicated for Dempsey to retake his seat before she answered.

‘An explosion. Fire Department theory is it was one of his oxygen bottles.’

‘But the timing – it can’t be a coincidence.’

‘No. And Quilty had a visitor when he died. Another man caught up in the explosion.’

‘Someone got past the detail we placed there? How?’

‘They thought he was from the oxygen company. Seemed legitimate.’

‘And we’re sure it wasn’t?’ Dempsey asked, already sure of the answer.

‘I don’t know many delivery men who do their rounds armed with a now very charred SIG Sauer P229. Do you?’

‘Secret Service issue,’ Dempsey observed.

‘Well, not just Secret Service issue. But in the circumstances I think we can reach some logical conclusions.’

Dempsey smiled as he processed the information.

‘So he took one of them with him?’

‘It seems that way.’

‘Like he said, if they’re going to send amateurs . . .’

‘What?’

‘Nothing, ma’am. It doesn’t matter now.’

Kirk poured them both a glass of water from the crystal jug she kept on her desk.

‘So where does this all leave us, Joe?’ she asked, pushing a glass towards him. ‘Do we have enough to justify a push on this?’

‘Between what my source told me and Quilty’s sudden death? Yeah, I’d say we do.’

Kirk nodded in agreement.

Dempsey knew the decision had already been made. He was providing moral support, nothing else. Just a second voice, confirming to his director that her instincts were right. That what they were about to do was justified.