"Others in Schiffer Hartwin have to be involved as well, people who were responsible for the sabotage of the Spanish plant. You'll see there's no mention about the Spanish plant in the papers either.

"Royal's plans are meticulously laid out. And that's what my client needed to take to the media to pressure Schiffer Hartwin into starting up Culovort production again."

"Who is your client, Erin?"

"I can't tell you, Sherlock. I want to protect him. It was so important that he have the Culovort for his father, he's in chemotherapy for colon cancer, and his oncologist told him her supply of Culovort is running out-"

Bowie said, his voice sharp as nails, "So that gets him off ? He pressured you to be reckless. He encouraged you to break the law."

"No, he didn't know what I was going to do. There was no pressure."

Bowie rose slowly. "When you were in the bathroom, you got a call on your cell. I took it. The guy wouldn't give me his name, wouldn't leave a message, and believe me, I asked. It was your client, right, Erin?"

"Yes, it was. I'll tell you what, I'll call him, tell him you guys know everything. You'll find him anyway, I know that."

"You want to speak to him? Fine, you can do it here and now. Where's your cell?"

"I don't want to speak to him with you hanging all over me. He's my client. I don't want him to feel threatened."

"Give. Me. Your. Cell."

Erin began walking backward, her eyes not leaving his face.

"Savich, would you please hand me that leather purse of hers that's nearly big enough to cover an entire cow, and dig out her cell phone?"

Bing Crosby sang out "Jingle Bells." Bowie felt around for his own cell phone in his pants, then his jacket, and frowned, trying to follow the sound of Crosby's perky voice.

Erin said, "It's under those papers on the corner of the table."

Bowie's cell phone went silent.

Erin grabbed her purse, ran to the guest bathroom, and slammed the door. They heard the lock click into place.

"Well, Bowie," Sherlock said, "I guess you either break the door down or let her make the call in private."

Bowie returned to the sofa, sat down, and didn't say a word. Savich calmly began reading the Culovort papers.

A few minutes later, Erin walked back into the living room. She said without hesitation, "Dr. Kender is a professor of archaeology at Yale University. I told him about my Hummer blowing up, and he agreed it was time to bring you guys into it. You can talk to him whenever you wish."

She drew in a deep breath. "He wants to know if he can release the Culovort papers to the media tomorrow?"

Sherlock said as she watched Dillon place the Culovort papers in his briefcase, "This concerns the Department of Justice, so we need to show them the papers and ask them how they think it best to proceed. We'll let you know tomorrow, Erin."

Sherlock shot Bowie a look, but didn't say anything. She gave Savich a light punch on the arm and rose. "I think it's time Dillon and I took our leave. Why don't you guys thrash this out between you."

They were out the front door in under a minute flat.

When the front door closed, Bowie stood in the center of the living room, still silent as a stone. If he'd had a stone, Erin thought he'd probably have hurled it at her.

"I'm sorry, Bowie," she said. "I really am."

"Are you? Are you really? You must have thought you'd won the lottery when I showed up on your doorstep and asked you to watch Georgie."

"I said yes because I wanted to help, because I'm very fond of her. All right, yes, I also wanted to learn more about the case. Really, Bowie, I'm sorry."

"But you'd do it again."

"I don't know. Well, yes, I probably would do it again. I wouldn't have any choice. I guess it's looking to you like I've betrayed you."

"You think?" He walked away from her, nearly tripped over the big red beanbag, and after windmilling his arms, finally made it to the window, his back to her. She saw he was stiff, knew in that moment he was trying to keep control of himself. He said without looking at her, "I couldn't for the life of me figure out why someone would want to kill you. I mean, I figured it had to do with Blauvelt's murder, but I couldn't make my way through the maze."

He turned quickly, steering clear of the beanbag this time. His anger had slipped its leash. "You did betray me. You've been playing us. Curse me for an idiot since I'm the one who invited you right in, encouraged everyone to speak to you openly. We told you every single thing you could possibly want to know. Sherlock even took you on an official interview with Jane Ann Royal."