T he interrogation went on for most of the night. The police refused to listen to Michelle's pleas to allow her to leave to try and find the man she had seen in the truck. They clearly had other priorities, and when she tried to explain about the man being the person who'd kidnapped John Bruno, their expressions grew very skeptical. "That'll keep," the sheriff said firmly.

She then spent a very unpleasant hour having her pride wounded by Walter Bishop of the Secret Service. After being told of her detainment by the North Carolina police, he'd flown down to read Michelle the riot act.

Bishop thundered, "I thought when I reminded you of how fortunate you were to still be with the Service that it would have made an impression on you. Now I find you're involved in things that don't concern you. I don't see how you could have messed up any more than you have." He looked at King. "Oh, but I'm wrong about that, because now you're keeping company with one of the Service's legendary losers. You can start a club, the screwup club. You have the king of them right here. Isn't that right, Sean?"

King had loathed Bishop when he was at the Service, and Bishop had been one of the loudest voices in crucifying King. The intervening years hadn't mellowed the ex-agent's feelings one jot.

"Careful, Walt," said King. "I won a libel case and I can win aslander case, and the pleasure it would give me to pickle your teeny-weeny dick in a jar, I can't begin to tell you."

"I'll have your soul!" Bishop roared.

"I'm not with the Service anymore, so save the histrionics for somebody who actually cares, if you can find one."

"You can't talk to me that way!"

"I'd rather talk to a pile of horseshit than waste one minute of my life with a lightweight peckerhead like you!" King snapped back.

"I never let a presidential candidate die because my head was up my ass!"

"Your head's always been in your ass! At least I came up for air."

And the conversation pretty much went downhill from there. To such an extent, in fact, that just about everyone in the building, prisoners included, strained to listen.

Michelle had never heard anyone talk to Walter Bishop that way, and it was all she could do not to burst out laughing at some of the things coming out of King's mouth. It was as though he'd been saving up verbal ammo for the last eight years.

After Bishop stormed back to Washington, Jefferson Parks and the local sheriff joined Sean and Michelle as they sipped bad coffee from the vending machine.

"So what are you doing down here?" King said to Parks.

The deputy marshal was visibly upset. "I told you not to leave the jurisdiction. And then my men tell me you're not only in another state, but you're nosing around the town where Clyde Ritter bought it. And on top of that, I get a message that your partner over there"-he inclined his head at Michelle-"is mixed up in some murder involving a local woman. Now, one more time: you left the jurisdiction after I asked you not to because…"

King snapped, "I wasn't under arrest. And it's not like I jumped on a plane to Fiji with my retirement plan in cash. I went to North Carolina in a truck filled with sporting equipment and half-eaten power bars. Big deal!"

"And we were fortunate enough to be able to capture those convicts," said Michelle. "We did help you out there."

"I do appreciate that," said the sheriff, "but I'd also like to understand better your connection to Ms. Baldwin. We haven't had a murder down here, well, since Clyde Ritter, and I don't like it one bit."

Michelle explained once more her conversation with Loretta.

The sheriff rubbed his jaw and hitched at his pants. "Well, I just don't figure it. Loretta didn't seem to say anything to you that implicated anybody."

"Right." Michelle had fibbed a bit and left out the part about the black lace panties and the activity the night before in King's room, for which King gave her a grateful look. "So I'm not sure there is a connection to my meeting her. It might just be an enormous coincidence."

"And the money in her mouth, you said that was your cash?"

Michelle nodded. "At least I think so. I gave her a hundred dollars in twenties because she'd helped me." She paused and added, "I had nothing to do with her death."

The sheriff nodded. "We've already checked your alibi. People remembered seeing you up in Virginia at the time Loretta was killed."

"So what was the motive?" asked Parks. He held up his hands when they looked at him. "What you've just described is a motiveless crime. Unless the lady had some enemies you don't know about. Or maybe it's a random killer, but my gut tells me it isn't. Money in the mouth: this was personal."

The sheriff shook his head. "Loretta Baldwin was the last person who would have any enemies. I mean, okay, she had a sharp tongue, and the gossip that came out her mouth, it was eye-opening, though usually right on the money. But it was little stuff. Nothing anybody would murder her over."

"Well, you never know," said King. "What may seem little to you might be really important to someone else."

The sheriff nodded but looked unconvinced. "Maybe." He stood. "Okay, I've got your statements. You're free to go."

As they started to leave, Michelle went over to the sheriff.

"The Fairmount, do you know who owns it now?"

"Last I heard it was some Japanese company bought it, wanted to turn it into a country club with a golf course." He chuckled. "I guess they didn't do their homework. The hotel has a lot of land, but most of it is wetlands. And there's not more than a handful of folks around here who know what a golf club even looks like."

"Do you know the name of the security service that guards the hotel?"

He looked puzzled. "What security service?"

Michelle hid her surprise and rejoined King and Parks.

"So how'd you get down here so fast?" King asked him.

"My men were following you."

"Take my advice, that's a waste of resources."

"Yeah, it's been pretty damn boring so far."

Michelle said, "Marshal, there's something that happened tonight. It has nothing to do with the murder of Loretta Baldwin, but I believe it has something to do with John Bruno's disappearance."

"Bruno?" Parks looked puzzled. "How the hell does Bruno figure into this?"

Michelle told him about the man she'd seen.

He shook his head. "How can you be sure it was him? You barely caught a glimpse of a man in poor light."

"I'm a Secret Service agent. Reading and remembering faces is what I do."

Parks still looked skeptical. "Well, okay, then tell the FBI. It's their case. I'm just trying to find out who killed one of my witnesses." He glanced over at King. "And also trying to keep tabs on this fellow, and he's not making it easy," he growled.

"You want me to wait around until you collect enough evidence to hang me?"

"I have enough to arrest you right now if I wanted to. So don't tempt me." He glowered at them both. "So you two heading back to good old Virginia?"

King said, "Well, I've pretty much had my fill of good old Bowlington."