“My cousin?” she says. “He’s a character. At least from what I remember.”

“Oh?”

“You’ve probably heard the rumors,” she says, her voice regretful. “We Needhams don’t really speak much anymore. And when we do … let’s just say, it’s not exactly rainbows and sunshine. David especially. He’s a great chef, I’ll give him that. But if we were standing together on the rim of the Grand Canyon, I wouldn’t be surprised if he gave me a little push.”

“You’re saying he’s dangerous?”

“Of course not,” she sharply replies. “I’m saying I don’t really know the man. At least not anymore. Sure, I’ve heard him spew some crazy things over the years … ”

“Like what?”

She gives Cooper another heel-squeeze, making him twirl and neigh, and she fixes her gaze on me.

“When it’s been just the two of us, it’s mostly political ranting. Against taxes, regulation, the government. When we’re all together, as a family … ”

She reins Cooper in and takes a moment to collect her thoughts, like the memories are just too painful.

“Greed is an ugly, ugly thing, Detective,” she says. “We have so much. I try to give back as often as I can. But the others are never satisfied. They always want more. Including Billy, who’s no Mother Teresa himself and who seems to have his head up in the air lately, ever since he took up flying. But David is the worst. I manage most of the family’s portfolio through my holding corporation—and even with my Columbia MBA, I can’t keep track of all the joint shell companies and offshore accounts he’s set up.”

“For the feds, all that financial activity is like dangling raw meat in front of a lion,” I say. “No wonder they want to look at your books.”

She nods.

“My lawyer told me the only reason they asked was because they couldn’t get a warrant. Yet. But he thinks they’ll have one by Monday, maybe earlier.”

“When it comes to getting an IRS refund or standing in line at the DMV, government can move as slow as a sloth taking cough syrup,” I say. “But when they scent something funny going on with money, watch out.”

She shakes her head.

“What does the government think we’re hiding? What do they think David’s up to?”

“I don’t know,” I say. She seems generally upset, and concerned. I sense an opening and go on.

“But if you give me a peek, I might be able to give you and your lawyer a tip-off, before the feds return in their black SUVs and a freshly printed search warrant.”