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Sampson picked up his phone and showed the screen to them. “That’s a report from the crime lab on the forty-caliber Glock we found in the storage unit. Not only has it been confirmed as the murder weapon in every one of the Family Man killings, but partial fingerprints were discovered, one on the clip and one on a cartridge that was still in the clip.”

I said, “We ran them through IAFIS, the fingerprint database, and got a hit.”

“Thomas?” Liu said.

“Your girlfriend,” he told her.

Moore’s mouth went slack, and her eyes widened with disbelief. “No. That’s not true.”

“But it is,” Mahoney said.

She turned angry, shaking her head, and glared at me. “Look, I ginned the excitement up a little, hired Kenilworth to invade the Allisons’ place. If it was necessary, he was going to go into another house in Northwest DC, the Pan family. I learned from Thomas how to ratchet up the tension in a case.”

“Why did you drop the hair at the Kanes’?” Mahoney asked.

“I didn’t,” Moore said. “I honestly had never been near that house until after the family was murdered.”

I said, “How do you explain Tull’s hair in your room and your prints on the gun that killed more than eighteen people?”

“I …” She looked lost. “I can’t. I—”

A knock came at the door. An FBI agent leaned his head in and informed Mahoney that the two federal defenders were on their way up.

“We’ll leave you now,” I said, standing. “But it’s over for the both of you. You’ll spend the rest of your lives behind bars, and rightfully so.”

Liu’s destruction was complete. She stared at the table and sobbed.

We headed for the door.

Moore shouted, “Wait!”

CHAPTER 102

Manhattan

ON THE SCREEN, BREE watched the assistant district attorney and Detectives Thompson and Salazar return to the hospital room where Dusan Volkov and his boyish-looking lawyer Sergei Andreyev were waiting to hear the Russian mobster’s fate.

“They agree?” Volkov asked. “No life in prison?”

“We haven’t agreed yet,” ADA Ellis said.

Andreyev protested. “My client’s going to be straight with you about many things. You should take life in prison off the table.”

“He does minimum twenty-five or no deal whatsoever,” Ellis said. “And this information has to be solid as concrete.”

Andreyev started to counter, but Volkov waved him off. “I start,” he said. “When you think you hear enough, you take these things off the table, yes? And fifteen years minimum, because I know many, many things about many, many people.”

The ADA folded her arms, said, “I’m listening.”

The Russian said, “One day—I have the date somewhere, but I don’t remember now, maybe six months ago?—I get text on private cell phone and e-mail in private, secure e-mail. Same message saying Duchaine and Watkins are taking over high-end prostitution in Manhattan.”

“Who sent the message?” Ellis pressed.

“He calls himself Maestro and M.”

Bree’s heart started to pound. She sat forward, riveted, and started filming the screen with her phone to show Alex later.

“Who is he?”

“I told you,” Volkov replied. “Maestro and M. That’s it. He uses burn phone and messages through Tor. You know this Tor?”

Ellis sounded irritated when she said, “An anonymous messaging system.”

“Yes, but you are government, you can look at pictures I took of every message he sends me. FBI traces him.”

Arms crossed, Salazar asked, “How do you know this Maestro is behind the killings at Paula Watkins’s house?”

“Because he tries to hire me to do the killings at Watkins’s and I refuse. You will see from pictures.”

“Why did you refuse?”

“Too risky. I mean, eleven people at one time?”

“Who did M hire for that?”

“I have no idea.”

Thompson said, “But you agreed to kill Duchaine for M?”

“After he said money was no object, that he had someone with deep, deep pockets who wanted to make sure Duchaine never corrupted anyone ever again, and then proved it, yes.”

“How much?”

“Twenty million in Bitcoin. Half up front. Half on finish.”

Sergei Andreyev said, “This is enough?”

Ellis shook her head. “Not until I know if Maestro even exists.”

“He doesn’t,” Salazar’s partner said. “It’s bull.”

“I agree,” Salazar said. “And I’m out of here.”

“No deal,” the assistant district attorney said.

“I’m telling you the truth!” Volkov cried.

“I don’t care what you call it, life in prison is what we’re seeking,” Ellis said and she left the room while the two Russians shouted at each other.

Thompson shut off the feed. Bree turned off the camera on her phone, ran into the hallway, and intercepted Ellis, Salazar, and Thompson, who shut Volkov’s door to muffle the shouting.

“Can you believe that nonsense?” Salazar asked Bree.

“Actually, I can,” Bree said.

“What?” Ellis said.

“Maestro exists,” Bree said quietly. “It’s a vigilante group run by someone who calls himself M.”

“C’mon,” Thompson said.