Fisher took the coffee and went into the interrogation room, where the other detective was speaking in the low, confidential tones that were considered de rigueur for the nice-guy part in the play.

Fisher had never been much of a fan of good-cop-bad-cop. It seemed to him that anyone stupid enough to fall for it wasn’t much of a source to begin with. Sure, it had worked for Eliot Ness, but Fisher suspected the brass knuckles Ness’s sidekick got to use in the back room were more responsible for success than the crumpled cigarette Ness stuck in a suspect’s mouth.

But you had to go with what you had. Fisher tossed a pack of cigarettes on the table, along with some matches.

The man looked up at him. “I don’t smoke.”

Fisher pushed out the chair and sat down, thinking they just didn’t make goons the way they used to.

“You’re with the Genovese family, right?”

“Huh?” said the man.

“Genovese. He’s trying to muscle into the D.C. area,” said Fisher, pulling over the cigarettes. He punched one out of the pack.

“What do you mean?”

“What I said. You’re on DiCarlo’s crew, right? You guys clipped some poor fuck by the river two weeks ago.”

“I had nothing to do with that,” said the man. “And I’m not with the Genovese family.”

“They don’t call it Genovese anymore, right? Those New York guys-that would be like calling it omertà or Our Thing or something, right? I mean, even the word mob, that’s no good.”

“I ain’t with fuckin’ Genovese, right? I’m not from New York. I ain’t with those guys.”

“Word is, you are.”

“What word?”

“Word I hear,” said Fisher. He took a long pull from the cigarette, held it a tick, then let it out. “Word that’s going around the street. And the jail.”

“Hey, screw you. Who are you?”

“Andy Fisher. FBI. I was doing some checking inside. You’re with Genovese.”

“I’m with Sammy Gorodino.”

“Sammy the Seal?” said Fisher. “No way.”

“Hey, bullshit on you, asshole.”

“So, what’s the story on Howe? He owes your boss money?”

The goon glanced at the Virginia detective, then back at Fisher. “You for real?”

Fisher shrugged.

“I just do what I’m told. Sammy tells me what to do and I do it.”

“Sammy’s where?” said Fisher.

“Oh, fuck you. I’m not telling you that.”

Fisher took a sip of his coffee. It occurred to him again that it might have been much better if the cup hadn’t been washed.

“I can find Sammy,” said the detective next to him. “He owns a restaurant in a strip mall out near Circleville.”

The goon’s face twitched ever so slightly.

Fisher pulled out his satellite phone and slid it across the table.

“Call him,” he told the goon. “And tell him you’re going to be released on your own recognizance this afternoon. Tell him there are some rumors going around that he ought to know about, rumors that you were talking about his auto parts business. False rumors, and you don’t want him getting upset. Because you told that asshole FBI agent nothing, and the raid that’s coming had nothing to do with any sort of information you gave out. And you’re being let go free was just some sort of trick by this jerk Andy Fisher.”

The man looked at Fisher, then at the detective, then at the phone.

“There’s a bowling alley,” he said. “It’s over by Kirdwood Park.”

Chapter 20

Alice looked much younger asleep. She had pulled her hair back and tied it so the doctors could treat the small cut on the right side of her mouth. The strands at the top of her forehead looked like the fine threads at the edge of a scarf.

Howe gazed at the down in front of her ear, a shade lighter than the trio of freckles beneath it. Her lips were a soft pink, loosely pressed together; her body moved upward gently with her breathing.

“Who were they?” she said without opening her eyes.

Howe stooped down. “ Alice?”

“Who were they?”

Her left lid opened slowly.

“I’m not sure,” said Howe. “They were after me. I’m sorry they hurt you.”

Fisher had told Howe that the goons had probably started following him sometime the day before and seen where Alice lived. They probably had left someone there to watch her as a backup.

“They thought I was your girlfriend.” Alice pushed her legs off the bed and sat up.

In the hallway Howe heard the footsteps of the detective and FBI agent who’d been waiting to see her.

“You going to be okay?” Howe asked.

“I’m okay.” She was still in her jeans and the T-shirt she’d been wearing earlier. Aside from a bruise where one of the thugs had squeezed her arm, she was unhurt.

One of the investigators pushed back the curtain behind him. “Uh, Colonel Howe,” said the woman. “Excuse us, but we’d prefer if you didn’t talk with Ms. Kauss until we’ve had a chance to interview her.”

“Protocol,” said the other detective.

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” said Howe. He looked at Alice as he spoke. “I just wanted to make sure she was okay.”

“I’m okay,” she told him.

“I guess we have to reschedule,” he said.

“Call my office.”

“I will.” He nodded. He couldn’t tell how angry she was with him, though he figured she must be very angry. “Okay,” he said, leaving.

Chapter 21