“Well, yeah, Maggie, I did, but Wong didn’t answer his phone. I think the guy is acting independently, which is not good. Everyone knows Harry Wong is like a one-man army.”

“Jack always seems to know what Harry’s up to. Did you try calling him?”

“I did, but the call went straight to voice mail. He’s probably in court, so I left a message for him to call either you or me.”

“So we have nothing more on the original fraud victims other than that two of them have died of natural causes since we ran our last series. It’s a damn good thing that, despite all your whining, I had you two go out and follow up on that foster care angle. Here’s something else on that you might be interested in, gentlemen.”

Maggie proceeded to tell them what Lizzie had learned from Cosmo about Chase’s discovery when it hired a forensic CPA to conduct an audit of the fraudulent credit cards opened by their “law student” employee.

When she had finished, Ted grinned sheepishly. “Okay, we are properly humbled, Madam EIC. What do you want us to do now?”

“Espinosa, let me see those pictures you took. Ted, keep trying to reach Jack and Harry.”

Espinosa handed over his camera.

“Load them onto my computer so I can print them out. I want you both to go back to the Watergate and stay there until I tell you otherwise. Check in with the girls. They might have some info for you. They’re in Apartment 809. Go!”

Maggie sat in front of her computer, staring at the pictures Espinosa had taken earlier. Nothing. Life in Washington early in the morning. People. Cars. Traffic. A dog walker, a woman pushing a stroller, an elderly lady shuffling along with a pull-along grocery cart. An ambulance going by. Four young girls, their arms linked, laughing. A group of pigeons clustered at the curb. What? What had Harry Wong seen? Frustrated, Maggie threw her hands in the air but not before she sent the pictures off to Charles. Then she hit the SEND button again, and they were off to Nikki and Lizzie. Maybe one or the other of them would see something she wasn’t seeing.

Jack Emery pulled into the skinny driveway that led to the back of Harry’s dojo. He blinked when he saw that the Ducati was gone. He looked down at his watch. He was right on time. Where the hell was his friend? He let himself in through the broken door and started yelling for Harry. He whipped out his phone and hit the speed dial. “C’mon, c’mon, Harry, answer the damn phone.” He was about to hang up when he heard what he thought was Harry’s voice. “Harry, izzat you? Where the hell are you? I’m here at the dojo. You were supposed to be here, Harry. You are not here, Harry!”