T he private plane Joan had engaged was like an upscale club with wings and jet engines. It had mahogany paneling, leather seats, a TV, full galley, bar, accompanying steward and even a small bedroom, where Joan had gone to catch a nap. King remained in his seat, eventually dozing off. The funeral home had yielded nothing helpful. The plane was taking them to Washington, D.C. Joan had wanted to check some things at her office before heading out again.

As the plane began its final approach, Joan burst out of the bedroom. The steward called out to her, "Ma'am, you have to take your seat now-"

She gave him a withering look and kept running up the aisle.

She reached King, who was still asleep, and shook him.

"Sean, wake up. Now!"

He didn't budge. She straddled his legs, so that she was on his lap face-to-face, and started to slap him. "Wake up, damn it!"

He finally came around, groggy. When he focused on her and saw she was sitting, barefoot, skirt hiked and thighs spread, across his lap, he said, "Christ, Joan, get off me. I'm not looking for membership in the mile-high club."

"You idiot. This is about Mildred Martin."

Sean sat up straight now, and she climbed off, taking a seat next to him and buckling up.

"So talk!" he demanded.

"You told me Mildred said that Bruno called recently to tell Bill Martin about his running for president? And that she talked to him too?"

"Right. So?"

"So you heard the woman's voice. It's like a foghorn. Are you telling me that if Bruno recently heard that voice that someone could have later called and impersonated her voice and he wouldn't have known the deception?"

King slapped his armrest. "That's right! I mean how do you do that voice unless you've been smoking and drinking for fifty years?"

"And have adenoids the size of golf balls."

"So she lied to us. She did call Bruno and asked him to come and see her at the funeral home."

Joan nodded. "And that's not all. I called Agent Reynolds with the FBI. He wasn't exactly candid with us. They thought from the start that her story was phony. He's checking out something that will definitely tell us whether she was in on it or not. Now, the Martins didn't have a lot of money, so how could they afford a caregiver?"

"Well, I don't know. Maybe they could."

"Granted, they might have, but if they did, because of their age they're also entitled to some partial reimbursement under Medicare."

King quickly got it. "So Medicare would have a record of that. But if Mildred didn't file for that assistance, if she claimed she paid the woman out of her own pocket…"

She finished his thought. "Then her bank records will show that. That's what Reynolds is checking. When he asked her about payment to the woman to try to get an ID, Mildred waffled badly. He said nothing because he didn't want her to get suspicious. He has agents watching her street, far enough away so she won't get her radar up. He doesn't want her bugging out on us."

"So if all this is true, she may know who has Bruno."

As the plane landed and came to a stop, Joan's phone rang.

"Yes." She listened for a minute, said thank you, clicked off andturned to King with a smile. "God, the FBI can work miracles sometimes. No Medicare filing, no checks to the caregiver and no cash withdrawals. And the kicker is, Bill Martin had a half-million-dollar life insurance policy. And Mildred is the sole beneficiary. Since Bill Martin had had the insurance policy for years, the FBI didn't think, by itself, it was a legitimate motive to kill him. After all, she just had to wait a few months and she'd get it anyway when he died. They're going to pick up Mildred. She made that call to Bruno, probably from a phone booth."

"I can't believe she'd kill her husband for money. She seemed so devoted to him."

"Sean, for all your intelligence and sophistication, sweetie, you really know shit about women."