With Stemple remaining outside, lookout, the other three stepped inside. The congressman’s assistant, a pretty, diminutive Japanese American woman, regarded them hostilely and then walked to the back of the suite. She returned a moment later and ushered them inside.

After introductions, Nashima calmly surveyed them all. “And what can I do for you?”

Shields were displayed, identifications offered.

Nashima was still examining hers when Dance took the lead. “Congressman, we’d like to ask about your connection with Solitude Creek.”

“I don’t understand.” The man sat back, relaxed though stony-faced. His movement and gestures were precise.

“Please. It’ll be easier for everybody if you cooperate.”

“Cooperate? About what? You walk in here, accusation all over your face. Obviously, you think I did something wrong. I don’t have any idea what. Give me a clue.”

His indignation was credible. But that was common among the High Machiavellians—expert deceivers—when they were called on lies they’d just told.

Calmly she persisted, “Are you trying to purchase property on Solitude Creek north off Highway One, the building and the land the roadhouse is located on?”

He blinked. Was this the point where he would demand a lawyer?

“As a matter of fact, I’m not, no.”

The first phrase was often a deception flag. Like: “I swear.” Or “I’m not going to lie to you.”

“Well, your attorney made an offer for the property.”

A pause. It could mean a lie was coming and he was trying to figure out what they knew. Or that he was furious.

“Is that right? I wasn’t aware of it.”

“You’re denying that Barrett Stone, your lawyer, talked to Sam Cohen and made an offer to buy the property?”

The congressman sighed and momentarily lowered his head. “You are, of course, investigating the terrible incident at the roadhouse.” He nodded. “I remember you, Agent Dance. You were there the next day.”

O’Neil said, “And you came back a few days later—to look over the property you wanted to buy.”

He nodded. “You’re thinking I orchestrated the attack to drive the property value down. Ah, and presumably the second attack at Cannery Row was to cover up the motives for the first attack. Make it look like some kind of psycho was involved. Oh, and the hospital too, sure.”

He was sounding oddly confident. Still, what else was he going to say?

“I have alibis for one or all of the incidents…oh, but that’s not what you’re thinking, I’m sure. No. You’re thinking I hired this psycho.”

Dance remained silent. In the art of interrogation and interviewing, all too often the officer responds to comments or questions posed by the subject. Keep mum and let them talk. (Dance had once gotten a full confession by asking a suspected murderer, “So, you come to Monterey often?”)

Daniel Nashima now rose. He looked both law enforcers over carefully. Then set his hands, palms down, on the desk. His face revealed no emotion whatsoever as he said, “All right. I’ll confess. I’ll confess to every­thing. But on one condition.”