No doubt, in some small town in northern Minnesota everybody was real tickled that little June with the pretty blond pigtails was now a handpicked bodyguard for the President of the United States. Every year the high school principal probably informed the incoming frosh that if you cracked the books and kept the wrong sorts of noxious substances out of your nose, a desk in the Oval Office might be a stretch, but a seat on Air Force One wasn't, because one of our fine students did it, and doesn't that make you all proud?

Clearly, a walk in Lacy's footsteps would no longer be the galvanizing inspiration it once was.

I glanced up at Agent Margold, who, incidentally, looked like the class-valedictorian-school-president-most-likely-to-succeed type. "She never had time to react."

"Don't feel sorry for her, Drummond. Had she been on her toes this would never have happened."

A priori, I couldn't argue that point, nor did I try. In my experience women tend to be harsh about other women. Whereas I, a male, was a bit conflicted. It's no longer PC to regard men as the protectors and females as the protected, implying as it does a relationship of the stronger and the weaker. We're all interchangeable and androgynous these days-all sensitive, caring creatures, who share cooking duties, child-rearing, and thankfully not childbirth or monthly periods. I even remember to put down the toilet seat at a lady's house. But I was raised an Army brat and spent my life on Army bases, where the fifties are eternal. Point is, I find it a little difficult to get my arms around all the contemporary mantras on these things, and I was very pissed that somebody put a bullet through June's throat.

I noted the sparkly engagement rock on her finger. Two more weeks and the knot would've been tied; the bridal gown surely was fitted and bought, the church reserved, the RSVPs collected-the guests wouldn't even have to change their travel plans, just their moods and wardrobes. I was tempted to adjust her skirt for dignity's sake, but Margold and her pals would probably get lathered up and cite me in a report or something.

I squeezed June's shoulder, stood up, and informed Margold, "Let's reconstruct."

"Fine. You start."

"All right. At 6:15, Lacy's probably waiting in the foyer for Elwood to arrive. Maybe she's seated on a stair-the guys downstairs announce through her earpiece that Elwood's headed up the walkway-ding-dong, she walks to the door, opens it, some guy's holding a pistol, and before she can speak or react, bang-no, not bang, but pssssht-z bullet passes through her throat. Right?"

"Right. Had to be a silencer."

"She flies backward. Two, maybe four guys enter, and… and.. ."

"And what?"

"Maybe not all the killers were men."

Margold gave me a weird look. "Yeah… possibly. You're thinking they brought along a woman to stay at the door and talk so the Belknaps would hear a feminine voice and not suspect anything amiss."

"It's a possibility we need to consider."

She looked down at Lacy a moment. "Interesting theory. Wouldn't that presuppose they knew a female agent would open the door?"

We both allowed that vagrant thought to hang for later. Margold suggested, "Next one shooter goes into the living room, and one or two more sneak downstairs to the basement. One remains here by the door. Say it's a she… she goes straight to the kitchen and gets into position… she gives the signal and they all open up." She faced me. "Like that, right?"

"Be careful with the exact numbers. Say two to four, and wait till forensics and ballistics confirm the exact count." I added, "Where are the spent shells?"

"You're thinking they used catchers on the guns?"

"If they used silencers, that means automatics, and that means the shells should've ejected. Tell your forensics people to look under every rug and inside every crevice. Of course, I doubt they'll find any"

"Right."

We returned to the dining room, where the two agents still loitered against the wall. Margold looked at them and said, "You two getting paid for sitting on your asses?"

The heavy one said, "Ah, don't bust our balls. We've sealed it off and we're waiting for forensics. Just following the manual and making sure we don't contaminate the site." After a moment he added, "You'd be well-advised to do the same."

Margold shook her head and began walking around the table.

I asked, "Why aren't the ME and forensics here already?"

The skinny guy said, "We were ordered to avoid locals. No quality control or evidence transfer issues." After a moment, he added, "So the teams have to come all the way up from Quantico." He shook his head. "Welcome to Washington. They're caught in traffic. About five minutes out."

Margold was moving around the room, testing out the shooters' positions, I guess to confirm my theory about a second gunman. She looked at me and said, "I'm done. Anything else?"

"Uh…" There was something. But what?

She looked at her watch and asked, again, "Are you done?"

I studied Mr. and Mrs. Belknap. We were overlooking something, I was sure. I said, "Ben mentioned Elwood arrived at 6:15 every morning."

"Yeah. And he came five minutes late this morning."

"You should think about that five minutes."

"On my list already"

"Also… well… Belknap probably had to wake up at five.. . maybe five-thirty, so he could shower, shave, dress, and have breakfast."

"What's your point?"

"You married?"

"No… why?"

"Ever been married? Cohabited?"

"No, I've…" But apparently I had struck a sensitive nerve, because she snapped, "If you have a point, get on with it."

"Conjugal habits, Agent Margold. The guy's an early bird; she didn't have to be. How'd they know these two get up and eat breakfast together?"

I was sure she got my point, but she did not acknowledge it. In fact, she said, "Let's go back to the basement. Now."

She stopped halfway down the stairs, turned to me, and whispered, "No more of those observations in front of the others. Obviously, if the killers knew how to skirt the security, and obviously if they knew about the security room in the basement, and… I'm not stupid, Drummond. Inside knowledge, right?" She looked me in the eyes and added, "But don't confirm that to anybody Understand?"

I didn't understand. But I did appreciate that there was more here than met the eye-either a cover-up or not everybody in this house was trusted, or this lady had a few bats in her attic.

Ben had also returned to the security room, where he was replaying the tape of Elwood over and over, like if he watched it enough times the past would change and he'd still have a career. I sort of felt sorry for the guy The killers had not played fair; they had found the kink in Ben's armor, and broken it off in Ben's butt.

The rule of thumb in his business is that guarding moving targets is the tough part. Home truly is a man's castle, and when you construct a deep moat around it, and you man the ramparts with stouthearted souls, it should be safe and impenetrable.

Should be. Unless the moat becomes your worst enemy. From the moment that black limo pulled into the driveway and entered into the castle proper, so to speak, it was accepted by the watchmen in the basement for what it appeared to be and in fact was not. The system instills confidence, nullifies distrust, and erases the wariness. June Lacy didn't die because she was careless, June Lacy died because her bosses told her to trust the electronic moat to do her work for her.

Every Washington institution plays by its own rules, and the Secret Service has a less forgiving mentality than most. Ben was headed for an early pension, unless he was a wicked bullshitter, in which case he'd end up handing out tickets at the White House tours office. But it was better than the cold morgue drawer where his team and the hapless Mr. and Mrs. Belknap were headed.