Dice kept her eyes on Maitland's face. "This overkill, it makes no sense. One blow and he's dead. Was it to keep him from being identified? That might have been true fifty years ago, but give me a break. Surely the murderer had to know we'd still be able to identify him."

Maitland said, "In addition to smashing his face beyond recognition, the killer also cut off his fingers, so no fingerprints. It wasn't as if the killer didn't try.

"Savich, I called Bowie, told him I was sending you and Sherlock. He wasn't all that happy. More resigned, I guess you'd say. Do you know him?"

"I met him once at Quantico, maybe three years ago. I remember he's got a little girl who's about two years older than Sean."

Dice carefully turned over the photo of Helmut Blauvelt. "Now I think about it, I remember hearing his wife died a few years ago. Wasn't she killed driving drunk, something like that?"

Maitland nodded. "Let's just say it was bad and leave it at that. Bowie's a cracker and a bulldog. Try to work with him, Savich, not go through him. I don't want to hear about any calls from Vice President Valenti to Director Mueller."

Dice Flanders shoved her tortoiseshell glasses up on her nose. "When you and Sherlock bring down the bad guys, sugar, you be sure and ask them what the devil Schiffer Hartwin's bad boy was doing here, won't you?"

"You can count on it, Dice," Savich said.

"Well, if that's it," Maitland said, motioned for Savich to take the photos, and stood. "Any questions, funnel them through me. Savich, hang on a minute."

As Dice Flanders passed him, she patted his face. "I sure liked hearing you play your guitar at the Bonhomie Club last week. Your new country western tune nearly made me weep. If I weren't old enough to be your mama, I'd give Sherlock a run for her money."

Savich laughed. "Sherlock wrote it."

"Talented girl, curse her," Dice said, and gave a little wave as she walked out of the conference room. "You guys take care of this mess, all right? And be careful."

The air changed around Savich, became heavy, pressed against his face, as if charged somehow, just as it had the previous night in Chevy Chase in the senator's backyard. Nikki? Please, not just yet. Come back later.

The air immediately softened. Savich was aware that Mr. Maitland was talking to him. "Savich, bring your brain back to the party. Where'd you go?"

Savich shook his head, smiled, wondering how he'd looked in those seconds. Had his lips moved? Surely not. "Just an errant thought, sir."

Maitland said, "Savich, you and Sherlock need to be on an FBI helicopter in two hours. Pack some clothes, I don't know how long you guys will have to be there. You'll be staying at the Norman Bates Inn in Stone Bridge proper-yeah, someone's got a twisted sense of humor there, but it's the closest lodging. Schiffer Hartwin's U.S.A. headquarters is located at the edge of Stone Bridge, Van Wie Park right behind it. You need anything, call me or Dice. Keep us in the loop, every step."

Savich barely made it back to his office when he picked up a faint jasmine scent. He turned his back to his office door and looked out his open window to the small park across the street. He smiled at the sight of Old Sal feeding her pigeons. She must have gotten her Social Security check. He said, "Tell me what's going on with your husband, Nikki."

There was no answering voice in his mind. But he felt a pressure in the air against him. He didn't speak again, he thought, Why were you coming to your husband, Nikki? What's wrong?

The answer came high and frantic. Danger. David's in such danger. He doesn't understand, doesn't realize what will happen to him. You've got to stop it, you've got to, he can't-

His office door opened and Ollie Hamish, his second in command, stepped in. It was as if the air itself whooshed out of the room.

"Savich, I-hey, I'm sorry to disturb you, I can leave."

It didn't matter, she was gone. Savich said easily, "No problem, Ollie. I just wanted to tell you Sherlock and I are going to Stone Bridge, Connecticut, to investigate the murder of a German national."

"Yeah, I heard."

"This place is five million square feet," Savich said, shaking his head, "but when it comes to buzz, you'd think you were in a tree house, word gets around so fast. I just found out about it myself."

Ollie grinned. "The good stuff always spreads like a grease fire, you know that. Ruth was in the women's room and in comes Dice Flanders, humming the song you sang at the Bonhomie Club. Ruth asked her what she was doing on the fifth floor and Dice told her a bit about this Helmut Blauvelt mutilation murder."