“That’s exactly right, Detective Raven.”

Sherlock said, “Why the strong emotion on their parts? Did they think you were going to marry the guy?”

Callie frowned down at the dregs in the bottom of her coffee cup, then leaned down to pull her boots back on. When she sat up again, she said, “You know, I really don’t know why she couldn’t stand him. I asked her once, but she slicked right out of answering. As for my stepfather, he never really said anything about Jonah other than that one comment I overheard.”

Savich said, “All right. If everyone is done for now, I think it’s a good idea for Captain Halloway to get you and your mom to Colfax.”

Sherlock nodded. “Thank you very much, Callie, for your assistance. If you think of anything that might help, call us immediately. I know this is very difficult for you, but I have a favor to ask. Please don’t report this to your newspaper or give anyone an exclusive. We really need to get a handle on all of this, and it would be helpful if you could hang back, help us keep the lid on things.”

“I would never do that.” Callie thought for a minute. “I’ll bet my editor, Jed Coombes, is jumping up and down with excitement. But I’ll deal with him. I’ll drop out of sight for a while. I just hope he won’t fire me.”

“Nah, he’ll keep thinking he can talk you around,” Ben said.

“At least until the funeral,” Sherlock said. “That’ll be toward the end of next week.”

Callie stared at her. “The funeral. I hadn’t thought about that. I need to take care of things. My mother’s friends can help me.” She wrapped her scarf around her neck and headed for the door.

“Your coat, Callie,” Ben said. “You forgot your coat.”

CHAPTER 6

THE FLAMBOYANT WHITE marble columns of the Supreme Court Building were festooned with both yellow police tape and blue FBI tape. Savich thought it looked rather like a madly decorated Greek mausoleum. The first of the forensic teams had already come and gone. Marshal Alice Halpern, flanked by two Supreme Court police officers, was first to greet them. She seemed alternatively reserved, shocked, and defensive. Savich wondered if Marshal Halpern would be forced to resign. Already she was being beaten up by politicians and the media for allowing a Supreme Court Justice to be killed on their turf. Given the large security budget, the criticism was fierce and continuous.

The snow was still coming down, thin and floaty as a bride’s veil. The wind was quiet, but as the afternoon wore on, Savich knew the temperature would drop. He stood with Sherlock and Detective Ben Raven in the third-floor library, their voices lowered out of some strange sense of reverence.

Savich slipped his cell back into his jacket pocket and looked at the two of them. “The President, the FBI director, and the Attorney General announced the death of Justice Stewart Quinn Califano to the world a few minutes ago. As you can imagine, the media are in full twenty-four-hour-coverage mode. We got Mrs. Califano out just in time. This is going to be a huge investigation, bigger than anything we’ve been involved with, coordinated by the FBI, under the control of the FBI, but with the help of Washington Metro. I’ve been assigned to report directly to my boss, DAD Maitland, and you’ll be the point person at Metro, Ben. It’ll be your job to keep all the Metro brass in the loop, all the way up to Police Commissioner Holt. Metro will have its own group interfacing with ours. You need any assistance at all, you let me know. Our first big meeting is this afternoon at FBI headquarters. Sherlock, you’ve been studying the room. What do you think?”

Sherlock pointed to the chair at the end of the beautifully carved table. “He took off his coat, pulled off his gloves, unwound his cashmere scarf, and neatly laid the lot on the back of this chair. He’s sitting in the next chair, at ease since he’s comfortable here. He’s alone, but protected. What are there—a dozen guards patrolling the building on a Friday night? And a sophisticated communication system connecting everything in the building.”

“So he’s not at all worried about being alone,” Ben said.

“Right. Okay. It seems strange to me that a Justice would spend his whole week here and then come in on a Friday night for the fun of it. So he’s obviously here for a reason. Maybe he’s got some papers to review, something he doesn’t want to commit to his computer or share with his wife, and we know he was a computer buff. What he wants is privacy. So what are these papers? He pulls them out of his coat since he didn’t bring his briefcase—”

“Unless the killer took the briefcase,” Ben said.