Sherlock marveled as she watched Linda Rafferty sit on the side of the bed, stroke Dr. Kurtz’s hand, and fondly call him a moron. She wondered if Linda would continue on as his nurse after they were married.

By the time FBI sketch artist Jesse Griggs arrived to work with Dr. Kurtz, they’d managed to pry Linda away and sit with her in the living room. A nice spot, Savich thought, old furniture, faded rugs on the newly buffed oak floors, and chairs whose cushions sagged in the middle after cradling all comers over how many years?

Linda Rafferty kept looking toward the bedroom. Finally, she jumped up, dashed off to the kitchen to make them coffee, and offered them apples with peanut butter, since it was nearly lunchtime.

Twenty minutes later, Dr. Kurtz appeared in the doorway beside Jesse, looking like a raffish wounded RAF pilot. He said, “I can’t believe I haven’t mentioned it to you or Agent Carver. My head’s still foggy, I guess. The man had an accent. It wasn’t all that distinctive, like he’d lost most of it over the years, but I’m in London twice a year, you see, and I wondered about it. I think he’s a Brit.”

Jessie walked across the room and showed them the sketch. They looked at William Charles McCallum, estranged son of the late George McCallum, Viscount Lockerby.

Savich’s house

Sunday afternoon

They took a detour for lunch with Sean and his grandmother, featuring hot dogs and chips, and a nice homemade veggie burrito for Savich. Savich needed sleep, but what he got was a basketball game with Sean at the newly installed hoop in his mother’s driveway, with his mother cheering Sean on. They went through two video games and fetch with the tireless Astro before Savich and Sherlock left for the day. They arrived home to see Perry and Davis sitting in his Jeep in their driveway.

Davis started talking even before he got out of his Jeep. “What’s with all the crime scene tape across the street? What happened here? You’re both okay?”

Sherlock said, “Hi, Davis, Perry. Yep, we’re fine. We had a visit from Blessed last night, but, alas, he managed to get away and is still in the wind. As for Mr. MacPherson, our elderly neighbor, he had a stressful night, but he’s fine now, home and resting. The crime scene tape should be coming down tomorrow. Now, what’s up with you guys?”

“I didn’t call because I knew you were at your mother’s with Sean. Maybe Blessed won’t be in the wind for much longer; we had a sighting of him this morning.”

Savich said, “Come on in. I’ll make some coffee and you can tell us all about it.”

Once everyone had a cup of Savich’s special dark roast, Davis said, “A kid in a pawn shop—Best Deal in Town in Arlington—was robbed at gunpoint. Name’s Allen Purcell, age twenty-one, son of the owner. Allen described Blessed Backman, no question it was him—an old guy with gray hair who needed a shave, ill-fitting clothes that looked too big for him, and this really pretty camel wool coat. Turned out later they got Blessed on camera, too, nice sharp black-and-white. I guess Blessed didn’t think about that, or didn’t care.

“Allen said Blessed wanted the forty-caliber Glock he had in the display case; he told Allen he’d given his to a friend last night and wanted to replace it. When he leaned down to show the Glock, Blessed pointed a revolver at him. Allen said he thought he was going to die right there. But Blessed didn’t shoot him, only waved the gun at the ammunition in the case. While Allen was reaching for the magazine for the Glock, Blessed asked him about some rifles he had displayed over the counter, really expensive and high-quality, but he said Blessed didn’t take them. After Allen gave him the boxed ammo for the Glock, Blessed thanked him, locked him in the storeroom, and walked out. Of course, Allen had his cell phone in his pocket and called the cops. They were there in under four minutes, but Blessed was gone. Metro put it together that it was Blessed right away and called us. Ollie said you and Sherlock were out in Annandale this morning with Dr. Kurtz, who fixed up the guy Hooley shot, so we handled it ourselves.” He smiled at Perry, who was sipping at the wonderful coffee. “Since I wasn’t letting Perry out of my sight, I schlepped her with me to speak to Allen. Our football writer asked Allen a good question.”

Perry shrugged. “Well, Davis told me all about Blessed and what he can do, and so I asked Allen if the man stared at him or if anything strange happened while Blessed was there.”

Davis said, “Allen thought about it, then said the old guy did stare at him, kind of gave him the creeps, but apart from being scared to death, nothing strange happened, like what was supposed to happen.”