Blowout

her.”
    Sherlock was silent for a moment. He could practically hear her thinking. “Perhaps she was, for you. I said it had been thirty years, but the fact is, Samantha came to you—just you—in the Poconos. Maybe something’s happened to make her frantic, to make her come here to Washington. Something bad.”
    “What could it be? Now, after thirty years? And what can I do about it? I can’t leave Washington and go ghost chasing right now.”
    She kissed his nose, his mouth, his throat. “We could call the closest field office to do some checking.”
    He thought about that a moment, then shook his head. “No, this is personal. I want to deal with it, I have to deal with it, no one else. I know it sounds weird, but I know she wants me to be the one.”
    “All right then. When MAX is freed up, we can put him on it. He can scour databases, find out about the Barrister family, see what happened to her son and her husband.”
    “But it’s going to be days before we can free MAX up to do that.”
    “I know, but I think Samantha will understand.”
    She felt a measure of calm flow through him. He turned on his side and drew her close. He said against her left temple, “Do you know something?”
    She shook her head against his. Her curly hair brushed against his ear.
    “Some people would think I’ve flipped out over this, want me to lie down on a shrink’s couch.”
    “You’re the sanest person I’ve ever known. If I ever doubt you about anything, I’ll stretch out on a shrink’s couch myself.” She kissed him hard on the mouth, and eased down to tuck her head against his neck. “It’s nearly three o’clock. Sean will give us until seven o’clock. Let’s use the time wisely. We’ve got to sleep.”
    When he fell asleep, Samantha Barrister wasn’t with him.
    W ASHINGTON , D.C.
S UNDAY
    B EN R AVEN FLIPPED the channel on his TV from national to local news while he ate his bowl of Wheaties. It was his mom’s favorite cereal, and she’d fed it to him every morning, which explained, he supposed, a great deal. Director Mueller’s face was everywhere on TV, as well as sound bites from the Attorney General, the President, even the Director of Homeland Security. Anyone the media could get to, which was just about every politician inside the Beltway. And they all had something important to say. The politicians and the talking heads led the charge, blaming the FBI, the Supreme Court Police, even the President for not providing the nation with enough security from terrorists. Of course Director Mueller laid out why he didn’t believe terrorists were responsible, but no one liked that. It had to be either a terrorist or a madman, like the Washington snipers of a few years ago, that was the theory everyone wanted to run with.
    Not even a day had passed since Justice Califano’s murder before speculation began on who would be on the President’s short list for appointment to the Supreme Court to take Justice Califano’s place.
    Ben put his cereal bowl in the sink and filled it with water. He had thirty-five minutes to pick up Callie Markham, and then they were off to interview Justice Elizabeth Xavier-Foxx, one of two female Justices on the High Court.
    When he pulled his Crown Vic in front of the Kettering house in Colfax, he saw Callie Markham looking out at him through one of the living room windows. She had the door open when he was still a good six feet away.
    “It stopped snowing. Is it icy?”
    “Nope, it isn’t bad at all. I gather you’re ready to hit the road?”
    “Oh yeah, but you said you wanted to speak to Mom some more. Oh, Ben, here are our guards, federal marshals Dennis Morgan and Howie Bentley. Gentlemen, Detective Ben Raven from Metro.”
    He shook hands with the federal marshals, asked if they’d seen any reporters, to which they said all had been quiet, thank God. Screened condolence calls were coming through for Mrs. Califano, so many of them that her four women friends, who seemed to be here all the time since she’d moved in, were assisting her in dealing with them.
    Things sounded under control. Ben wiped his boots off on the front step, and followed Callie into the warm living room. A restful house, he thought, full of light and high ceilings. He’d lived in condos all his adult life after graduating from the police academy, and he liked the space, the openness of the house.
    “Mrs. Califano,” he said, stepping into the living room.
    There were four women seated