Tammy Carroll couldn’t take it in. She stared at Savich, through him, really, and quietly, without a sound, she slid from the sofa to the floor. She hadn’t fainted. She lay curled up on her side, not crying, not making a sound, simply staring ahead of her.

CRIMINAL APPREHENSION UNIT

HOOVER BUILDING

WASHINGTON, D.C.

Thursday, early afternoon

Savich opened the door to the interview room on the third floor of the Hoover Building, down the hall from the Criminal Apprehension Unit, the CAU. Griffin had Brakey Alcott waiting for them there. He’d picked him up chowing a hamburger at Milt’s Diner. Griffin told him if Brakey was worried about anything, he didn’t show it at the diner. He was chatting up the waitress big-time. But he was scared now.

Savich said, “Mr. Alcott, I’m Agent Savich and this is Agent Sherlock. You’ve already met Agent Hammersmith.” He nodded to Griffin, who sat at the end of the table, leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest, looking as stern as possible. Sherlock knew that look would never work on a woman. Griffin was too handsome.

Brakey Alcott was slight, and skinny as a parking meter. He had to top out at under one hundred and forty pounds, if that. He had beautiful light green eyes, an artist’s hands—slender, with beautifully tapered long fingers. He was wearing a large silver ring on his fourth finger, a dark sapphire sitting high in the middle. Not a sapphire. Closer up, it looked nearly black. He was nervous, sweaty, his elegant hands moving, clasping, unclasping in front of him on the table. Savich and Sherlock sat across from him.

Brakey said in a sweet Virginia drawl that crawled with fear and confusion, “Agent Savich, Agent Hammersmith hasn’t told me much of anything. I was eating my hamburger at Milt’s when he came up to my table and told me I had to come with him. I’ll tell you, people really looked at me weird then. I’d heard about Deputy Lewis getting killed and being found in the Reineke post office, but he told me somebody put his body in an OTR that was on my truck. I swear I didn’t have anything to do with that.”

Brakey jerked forward in his chair when he realized the three grim-looking federal agents didn’t believe him. “Listen, I swear, I don’t know anything about poor Deputy Lewis, only what I heard at Milt’s. Everybody was talking about his being dead, and looking at me funny. Even Laurie was nervous, brought me my hamburger medium rare instead of my usual well done, but I didn’t mind. I knew she was upset about Deputy Lewis, like everybody else. And then this agent came in. Everybody saw him haul me away. It’s my hometown.” He paused and focused on Sherlock, came out of his chair. “Wait, I know you, ma’am, I saw you on every single TV station yesterday—you took down that terrorist at JFK, kicked him to the ground. You’re Agent Sherlock.” He beamed at her.

“Thank you, Mr. Alcott, but that was yesterday. Today I want you to tell us about the dead man in your OTR. And please, don’t waste our time telling us you have no idea how Deputy Kane Lewis’s body got there.”

“No, no, honest, I don’t know.” He nodded again toward Griffin. “I already told him I didn’t know he was there. Really, I had no clue. I’m as shocked about it as everyone else. I mean, I’ve known Deputy Lewis all my life, I always liked him—”

Savich interrupted him, leaned forward, his voice hard. “You’re expecting us to believe that? You’re telling us the murderer simply happened upon your truck while you were in Milt’s Diner having your two cups of coffee and a bear claw this morning? There’s no trace anywhere of someone trying to break into your truck, no sign of forced entry on the truck doors, and you’ve said you never leave it open. And if someone did get in without your knowing about it, they somehow stuffed Deputy Lewis’s body into an OTR, even covered the body with parcels, while you were sipping your coffee? You can’t be stupid enough to think we don’t know it was you who killed him.”

Brakey’s mouth opened, closed. He whispered, “Somebody did it somehow. I swear I don’t know anything about it.”

Savich came out of his chair, leaned forward, grabbed Brakey’s shirt in his fist. “Since it’s obvious you were involved, the real question is, what were you thinking? If you didn’t want to get caught, what you did was idiotic. Was it a mistake? Did you panic after you stabbed Deputy Lewis? You stuffed him in the OTR, threw parcels on top of him, and went back to making your daily delivery to Ellie Moran at the Reineke post office? Did you leave that OTR there by accident, or were you too panicked to think straight?”