Blowout

wouldn’t think so, no. The agents assigned to guard them, they’ll keep an eye on them. They should be on the job pretty soon.” Savich picked up his teacup, sipped cautiously, and sighed with pleasure. “Who knew I’d find good tea not a block from the Daly Building?”
    Sherlock laughed, patted his arm. “Since Ben hangs out here, you can make it something of a hangout yourself. Callie, did you pick up anything else?”
    Callie shook her head. “No, I don’t believe so. Did Eliza Vickers think my stepfather would divorce my mom and marry her?”
    “No. She seems philosophical about the future. I don’t doubt her, Callie. She’s a good woman, works hard, probably learns at a prodigious rate, but most of all, she enjoys being on the inside, close to power, which is one of the trimmings your stepfather provided her. But she knew that he loved your mother and you. She said so. You’ve got to let it go. It doesn’t matter now.”
    But Callie couldn’t let it go. “How could my mother not know? Not guess? I know if I were married to a man for as long as they were married, I’d know if he wasn’t faithful.”
    “She’s never given you any inkling that she had any suspicions at all?”
    “No, she hasn’t.” Callie looked at Ben, whose expression surprised her. It was austere as a monk’s, his eyes very cold. “What?”
    Ben Raven said, “I don’t approve of infidelity.”
    Savich raised his teacup and gave Sherlock’s cup a tap. “Well, neither do we.”
    “But if Callie’s right, why was Fleurette scared? Did you pick up on Eliza Vickers being scared as well?”
    Both Savich and Sherlock shook their heads.
    Savich said, “I need to get back and spend some time with MAX. We’ve got a whole crew inputting all the background information and interviews on all the players—the law clerks, the Justices, and your mother’s and stepfather’s friends and acquaintances, Callie. It’s time for me to sort through some of that.”
    “Does that include financials? Bank stuff?”
    Savich merely shrugged. “MAX went platinum a good while ago. He can find out almost anything at all. If he’s in the mood, he can data-mine in Siberia.”
    “Okay, okay, I get it. You cut corners.”
    Ben said, “You aren’t going to call that into your editor at the Post, are you, Ms. Markham? Do an exposé about misuse of federal power?”
    Callie struck a pose that Sherlock thought was very effective. It nearly put Ben Raven right under the Formica table. “I hadn’t really thought about it, but now that you bring it up—ah, so many possibilities.”
    “To think I told this woman what an excellent butt she has,” Ben remarked to the café at large.
    Sherlock laughed and tapped Ben on the shoulder. Before she could say anything, Ben added, “She also thinks your husband is cute. What do you think of that, Sherlock?”
    “A woman of excellent eyesight and taste,” Sherlock said. “Hmm. Dillon, what do you think?”
    “I’d be stupid to disagree with you,” Savich said.
    “You know what I think, Ms. Markham?”
    “I’m sure you’re going to tell me within the next three seconds, Detective Raven.”
    “I think I’ll take you to the Tidal Basin and throw your black-belt ass in the snow. No one would hear your yells over the waterfalls at the Roosevelt Memorial.”
    “You could try, Detective Raven, you could try.” She gave him a salute with her empty coffee mug.
    “You guys put on a pretty good show,” Savich said, peeling bills out of his wallet. “If you’re through sniping, we’re outta here. I want to stop off to talk to Dr. Conrad and to forensics again. Then it’s back to headquarters and MAX.”
    “You’ll want to see what MAX has turned up on Samantha Barrister’s husband and son,” Sherlock said.
    “Who is Samantha Barrister?” Callie asked, her reporter’s ears on alert.
    “Oh,” Sherlock said, and smiled at her. “She’s a ghost who desperately needs Dillon to find out who killed her thirty years ago.”
    “Yeah, okay. Right. I got that.” Callie stared from Savich back to Sherlock. But they were putting on their coats and gloves, and didn’t say anything else. Callie touched Sherlock’s sleeve. “Do you know what? I think I believe you.”

CHAPTER
18
    L ATER THAT AFTERNOON , the four of them drove in Ben’s Crown Vic to Bobby Fisher’s apartment on Hinton Avenue. “I wanted us to stay together today,” Savich said. “Sorry about the Porsche, Ben, but it only