“I’m not trying to equivocate, sir,” I said. “I say I don’t know because I honestly don’t. I don’t pretend to understand the mechanics at play, except to acknowledge they seem supernatural, and that I understand why people see the hand of God at work. But it seems to me that if I wanted proof of God, or if God wanted to prove to us he or she was out there, bringing back murdered people wouldn’t be the way to show it.”

“No? How would God do it, then?”

“God would make humans stop wanting to murder each other in the first place. Sir.”

Wooldridge stared at me, moving his jaw like he was about to yell something. Then as suddenly as he got worked up, he deflated, and fell back into his chair, sighing. He was silent for a moment, then turned to Langdon.

“I hired Tunney Security because Fintan Tunney is an old friend of mine,” he said, as if the furious interlude between her question and his answer never happened. “We went to high school together. Our paths obviously diverged for some decades there. But when his businesses went legitimate I saw no reason not to use them. It’s a prejudice to hold people to their pasts.”

“You believe Tunney’s interests are all legitimate at this point, then,” Langdon said. She glanced over to me as if to say what just happened but then just as quickly turned her attention back to Wooldridge.

“I believe that if they weren’t then the FBI would know about it. Since they don’t seem to have any objection to Tunney at the moment, neither do I. Why, Detective Langdon? Are you under the impression Tunney is less than legitimate?”

“I have no reason to believe so, no. But we’re following every possible line of inquiry.”

“Was your earlier line of inquiry about Mr. Albert meeting with my security people meant to suggest that you believe they engaged him in some less than savory scheme?”

“It was just a question.”

“Nothing is just a question, Detective Langdon. And for the record that line of inquiry is foolish. Mr. Albert would not have had either the time or the means to engage with Tunney’s less-than-legitimate interests, if they existed, even if he wanted to. Between his work here and the work he was obliged to take from the Agency, his time was filled.”

“When was the last time you saw Mr. Albert, Mr. Wooldridge?”

“The morning Elaine…” Wooldridge stopped with something that sounded like a hiccup and sank further into his chair.

“The morning your wife passed,” Langdon said, gently.

Wooldridge nodded, saying nothing. Then, “After she passed he came over to offer his condolences.”

“What did you say to him?”

“I said he could collect his final earnings from Garrett and then I dismissed him, because obviously I had other things that needed my attention.”

“Our condolences again, sir.”