“I thought the issue was whether she was making it up,” Davis said.

Barnaby cleared his throat. His head was pounding now. All he wanted was these people gone and a nice dark corner for himself, but that wasn’t going to happen. His primary duty was to protect the senator, and so he did. “Agent Sullivan, Senator Holmes never said that precisely. He’s upset, as we all are, and now you’re telling us that what happened in England, it’s all true? There’s no doubt?”

Davis saw this interview shortly flying off the rails. He said quickly, “Let’s sit down and talk this out, shall we, Mr. Holmes?”

“It’s Senator Holmes,” Barnaby said. He exchanged glances with his employer and said, “Please, come and sit here.” He pointed to a blue-and-gold sofa. “Would either of you like coffee?”

Davis shook his head. Uncle Milton sat in one of the lovely Federal-style chairs, crossed one leg over the other, and assumed the ultimate defensive position—arms crossed over his chest. He was trying to regain control, but Davis saw the wariness in him, and what was this? Perhaps fear? He hoped so. Now it was time to focus that fear. Davis said, “Concerning your reasons for being in Washington since Monday, Senator Holmes. Our office has looked into your finances, the entire family’s finances, as a matter of fact, including all your expenses here in Washington.” He paused to let that fact sink in. “We know you are carrying quite a bit of personal debt. I understand your campaign is in need of money as well, and that you’ve asked your sister for a sizable contribution to your campaign.”

Davis saw the outrage on Holmes’s face at having his finances laid bare. But he managed to control himself. He said, his voice credibly calm, “Politicians ask many divergent people for money, Agent Sullivan. It is a fact of our political lives.” He shrugged, tried for another depreciating smile. “Unfortunately, my sister doesn’t like my politics, so I had little reason to think she would give me any money.”

“Perhaps she would because you’re her brother?”

“No, that has never moved her; nothing moves Natalie when she’s made up her mind.”

Perry sat forward. “If you’re not here to beg money off Mom, Uncle Milton, then why are you here in Washington right now?”

Her uncle didn’t meet her eyes. He studied his fine Italian loafers, frowned. Barnaby said smoothly, “The senator is in Washington because he was invited here by very powerful people who would like him to run for the United States Senate. He has appointments”—he looked at his watch in a beautifully studied motion—“very soon now, so the senator cannot give you much more of his time.”

Perry, no expression on her face, said, “Would these people you’re meeting with still want you to run for the U.S. Senate if you lost the race for your state senate seat in Massachusetts?”

Milton cleared his throat, said, calm as a statesman, “It would certainly be beneficial were I to run for the U.S. Senate from a position of power.”

Davis had had enough of the slither and slink. It was time to confront him head-on. He said, “Senator Holmes, don’t you think we should tell Perry what we both know?”

It was as if an electrical charge passed through Milton. He snapped up straight, threw his head back. “You know nothing I care to hear, Agent Sullivan. There is nothing I have to say to Perry. I want both of you to leave now. I have people to see.”

“I will show you out,” Barnaby said, and started toward the door.

But Davis didn’t move, and neither did Perry. He didn’t look away from Milton’s face. “Actually, there is a lot more to your uncle Milton being here in Washington, Perry. He hopes to promise the party power brokers he will have all the money he needs in his campaign coffers, that he won’t need their financial support if they back him as a candidate in two years. You see, your uncle Milton had a plan.” He waited for a moment, but Milton didn’t say a word.

Davis continued, “Natalie told me he came to see her at the house. He told your mother he would continue to back her publically, give her all the support he could, if she financed his campaign or convinced your grandparents to do it. What was wrong with their helping each other, after all? Otherwise, he told her, he would be more blunt, shall we say, with the press, separate himself from her troubles, cut the parachute lines. His reasoning being that if her own family expressed doubts about her mental health, her truthfulness, where would that leave her?”

Milton’s face was alarmingly red. Davis hoped he wouldn’t stroke out. He said, “We talked, sir, Natalie and I.”