“I don’t know why anyone would kill Lola,” Margaret said. “Except perhaps to frame us, I suppose. As for who would do that, you’d have to ask my husband why we’re here, but it does involve law enforcement and top officials of the Justice Department, one of whom is on his way out here as we speak.”

Meehan’s hard-boiled facade broke for a second around the eyes and mouth; Margaret could see the revelation not only shocked but rattled him. She often saw this in men—they were offended when a woman stood up for herself. It would rankle them as if their very manhood were on the line. Then it would come out that she had some connection to powerful men—whether her husband the congressman or, in this case, the attorney general—and the men wouldn’t know what to do with their indignation.

“I need to…” Meehan said. He hesitated, then abruptly left.

When Meehan entered Charlie’s interrogation room, he found the congressman at the table, his head buried in his arms, fast asleep. But he sat up as soon as Meehan walked in and delivered his “Dead bodies just happen to show up” line.

“Lola Bridgewater was her name,” Charlie said soberly. “Horrible, horrible, horrible. We called you as soon as we found her.”

Meehan sat down across the table from Charlie and shook a cigarette out of his pack of Marlboros. “You don’t seem particularly distraught.”

Charlie stared at Meehan coldly. “I don’t know what that means. I didn’t know her well, but it’s very sad. We’re very upset, Margaret and me. As for my reaction to seeing a dead body, I wish I could tell you Lola’s was the first I’ve seen, but it isn’t. I fought in France.”

“Who do you think killed her?” Meehan asked after taking a long drag from his cigarette. He tilted his chair back on two legs and squinted through smoke at Charlie as if someone were filming them in black-and-white.

“I have no idea,” Charlie said, which was true. “An enemy of mine? An enemy of Frank’s?”

“The Mob?”

Charlie thought about it. “Maybe,” he said. “But why would the Mob want Lola dead? Why would they put her in my car? Seemingly to frame me—but again, why?”

“What have you done to piss them off?” Meehan asked.

Charlie paused. “I can’t really get into it in detail unless DOJ says I can, but I’m out here looking into some matters that might involve organized crime,” he said. “Maybe they figured that out.”

“Offing that chickie seems like pretty harsh retaliation for spying,” Meehan observed. “Unless they were trying to set you up, as you say. But then what? And why her?”