“I do not care what you do to me. I would never give up the Strategist. He knows already that I have been wounded or killed, and he trusts me to keep silent, and I will. You will never find him. He will stay a ghost, a shadow, until he is ready to kill whichever of you he chooses. He is a great man, a man to follow.” He looked at Sherlock. “He was surprised to hear you were visiting with Nasim again, woman. He was already angry with you. Now he will avenge me.” He looked at each of their faces. “He will kill all of you.”

ALCOTT COMPOUND

PLACKETT, VIRGINIA

Saturday morning

The rain had stopped, but dark clouds hung low, no sunlight to penetrate the thick trees surrounding the three Alcott houses. It would rain again soon. There wouldn’t be any children outside playing football on this dreary Saturday morning.

Savich turned off the Porsche’s engine in front of the main house. When he pressed the bell, it played the beginning of what sounded like a Gregorian chant, without the voices. Savich knew whoever was here had to have heard the Porsche, but there was no sound from inside the house. He tamped down on his anger, anger because a young boy had tried to kill him and Griffin only an hour before and that boy was now in the hospital. And someone in this house knew exactly who did it.

He rang the bell again. Oddly enough, the chime didn’t start at the beginning, it continued on with the same chant. It brought to mind monks at matins, or perhaps witches in a circle around a bonfire.

He finally heard footsteps, the sounds of children’s voices.

A man he didn’t know jerked the door open. He was big, mid-thirties, muscular, with the look of an aging football player or prizefighter. He was wearing faded jeans, a flannel work shirt, old worn boots. It had to be Liggert, the bully who’d tried to beat on Walter Givens. He looked a lot like Jonah, both bruisers, probably resembled their dead father, only Liggert was running to fat. Savich hadn’t yet met Liggert, because he drove a truck for Alcott Transportation out of Richmond and had been gone for two weeks. Jonah worked in the front office, probably being groomed to run the company someday. Savich had wondered why that was. After all, Liggert was older.

“Yeah, what do you want? We’re having breakfast and we’re not buying anything you’re selling.” Savich heard lots of mean beneath the velvet southern drawl.

“It’s Agent Savich,” Deliah Alcott called from behind her son. “Let him in, Liggert.”

Liggert gave Savich a look that threatened mayhem and stepped back. He turned on his heel and walked away down a long corridor, and didn’t look back. Deliah Alcott said, “Are you here about Brakey’s ankle bracelet? It must have fallen off his ankle and he can’t find it anywhere. He wanted to call you about it, but I told him it was too early and he should keep looking, he’d find it somewhere. But now you’re here.”

Voices sounded from behind her. Deliah said, “Everyone’s in the kitchen, eating pancakes. It’s a Saturday-morning tradition. So are you here about the bracelet?”

“Yes, I’m here about the bracelet.”

“Then come on in. Are you hungry?”

Pancakes, she’d said. “Yes, I’d like that, Mrs. Alcott. It’s very kind of you.” Savich followed Mrs. Alcott down the long back corridor.

The Alcott kitchen was enormous: a long pine table stretched down the middle of it, covered with a bright blue tablecloth. Brakey sat at the table with the rest of his family, eating pancakes, but his head was down. When he looked up to see Savich, he jumped to his feet, nearly knocking his chair over. “I was going to call you, Agent Savich. My ankle bracelet’s gone! I swear I never tried to take it off. I swear!”

“I know,” Savich said, “and you don’t remember getting out of bed, is that right?”

“No, no. I’m sure I didn’t get out of bed.”

“Then don’t worry about it, Brakey. Sit down and enjoy your breakfast.”

He looked around the table, pulled out his creds, and handed them around. He introduced himself to Liggert’s wife, Marly, and to each of the six children, listened to their names. All looked under the age of ten, he thought, with Tanny the oldest. He looked into her strange green eyes. She was one of Liggert’s children. The other children had grown quiet, not knowing what to make of him, but Tanny was staring at him hard. Liggert sat at the head of the table, his wife, Marly, a thin, anxious-looking young woman, on his right. Jonah was next to her. Where was Jonah’s wife?

Savich said to Jonah, “Your wife doesn’t like pancakes?”