“Sounds fabulous,” I gratefully said. “Bev, what would I do without you?”

“Now you gently mix all that together and shape it into patties.” She made the motion with her hands. “Sauté in oil over medium heat until lightly browned. Maybe fix him a salad or get some of my slaw,” she said. “And that’s as much as I would fuss over any man.”

It was as much as I did. I got started as soon as I got home, and shrimp were chilling by the time I turned on music and climbed into a bath. I poured in aromatherapy salts that were supposed to reduce stress, and shut my eyes as steam carried soothing scents into my sinuses and pores. I thought about Wingo, and my heart ached and seemed to lose its rhythm like a bird in distress. For a while, I cried. He had started out with me in this city, then left to go back to school. Now he was back and dying. I could not bear it.

At seven P.M., I was in the kitchen again, and Wesley, always punctual, eased his silver BMW into my drive. He was still in the suit he had been wearing earlier, and he had a bottle of Cakebread chardonnay in one hand, and a fifth of Black Bush Irish whiskey in the other. The rain, at last, had stopped, clouds marching on to other fronts.

“Hi,” he said when I opened the door.

“You profiled the weather right.” I kissed him.

“They don’t pay me this much money for nothing.”

“The money comes from your family.” I smiled as he followed me in. “I know what the Bureau pays you.”

“If I was as smart with money as you are, I wouldn’t need it from my family.”

In my great room was a bar, and I went behind it because I knew what he wanted.

“Black Bush?” I made sure.

“If you’re serving it. Fine pusher that you are, you’ve managed to get me hooked.”

“As long as you bootleg it from D.C., I’ll serve it any time you like,” I said.

I fixed our drinks on the rocks with a splash of seltzer water. Then we went into the kitchen and sat at a cozy table by an expansive window overlooking my wooded yard and the river. I wished I could tell him about Wingo and how it felt for me. But I could not break a confidence.

“Can I bring up a little business first?” Wesley took off his suit jacket and hung it on the back of a chair.

“I have some, too.”

“You first.” He sipped his drink, his eyes on mine.

I told him what had been leaked to the press, adding, “Ring’s a problem that’s only getting worse.”

“If he’s the one, and I’m not saying he is or isn’t. The difficulty’s getting proof.”

“There’s no doubt in my mind.”

“Kay, that’s not good enough. We can’t just throw someone out of an investigation based on our intuition.”