“My truck might be a little messy, but I know where everything is.”

“Yeah, about two hours after I eat spicy Mexican I know what’s inside my colon, but that doesn’t mean I want to see it. You want to read the letter from your parents? It might be important.”

“If it were, they would’ve reached me some other way.”

“Do they keep in touch with you?”

Michelle crossed her arms. “So is this parents day with the shrink?”

Horatio held up his notepad. “It says right here that I have to ask.”

“I talk to my parents.”

“But you almost never visit them. Although they’re not that far away.”

“Lots of kids don’t visit their parents. It doesn’t mean they don’t love them.”

“True. Do you feel like you have a chip on your shoulder being the only girl and your big brothers and father being cops?”

“I prefer to think of it as healthy motivation.”

“Okay, do you like the fact that you pretty much can physically dominate any man you come across?”

“I like to be able to take care of myself. It’s a violent world out there.”

“And being in law enforcement, you’ve seen more than your share of that. And it’s men who commit the vast majority of violent crimes, isn’t that right?”

“Too many men tend to lead with their muscle instead of their mind.”

“Do you still want to hurt yourself?”

“You have the most awkward segues of any person I’ve ever met.”

“I like to think of them as something to wake you up in case you were starting to doze off.”

“I never wanted to hurt myself in the first place.”

“Okay, I’ll just check that one off in the ‘I’m lying my ass off’ box, and we’ll move on. So what do you see as the problem? And how do you think I can help you?”

Michelle looked nervously away.

“It’s not a trick question, Michelle. I want you to get better. I can sense you want to get better. So how do we get there?”

“We’re talking, isn’t that something?”

“It is. But at this rate I’ll be long dead and buried and you’ll be sucking your dinner through a straw before we figure out what makes you tick. There’s no rule against going for the point of least resistance.”

Michelle blurted out, “I don’t know what you want from me, Horatio.”

“Honesty, candidness, a real desire to participate in this exercise we call soul searching. I know the questions to ask, but the questions don’t help if the answers to them mean nothing.”

“I’m trying to be honest with you. Ask me a question.”

“Do you love your brothers?”

“Yes!”

“Do you love your parents?”

Again she said yes. But Horatio cocked his head at the way she said it.

“Will you talk to me about your childhood?”

“Is that what every shrink thinks? It all comes down to crap that happened when you were a kid? Well, you’re running down the wrong road.”

“Then point me in the right direction. It’s all up in your head. You know it is, you just have to suck it up and have the courage to tell me.”

Michelle stood, trembling with rage. “Where the hell do you get off questioning my courage, or my ability to suck it up? You wouldn’t have lasted ten minutes in my shoes.”

“I don’t doubt it. But the answer to your problems is between your left and right frontal lobes. It’s a distance of about four inches and quite remarkable in that it contains trillions of bits of thoughts and memories that make you, you. If we get to just the right piece of you stuck away up there we can reach the point where you’ll never pick another fight with a guy hoping he’ll send you straight to the morgue.”

“I’m telling you that didn’t happen!”

“And I’m telling you, you’re full of shit.”

Michelle balled up her fists and screamed, “Do you want me to hurt you?”

“Do you want to hurt me?” he shot back.

Michelle stood there, glaring down at him. Then she let her hands drop, turned and walked out of the room, this time leaving the door open behind her, perhaps symbolically he thought, if unconsciously.

Horatio remained in his chair, his gaze on the doorway. “I’m pulling for you, Michelle,” he said quietly. “And I think we’re almost there.”

AFTER DINNER IN THE MANSION’S dining room Sean and Rivest went back to Rivest’s cottage to drink. After some wine and three vodka martinis Les Rivest fell asleep in his living room armchair after promising to meet with Sean the next day. That left Sean, who’d only sipped on his gin and tonic, to slip out and take a stroll around Babbage Town. Rivest had given Sean a security badge with his photo on it. The badge didn’t enable him to enter any of the buildings other than the mansion unaccompanied, but it would prevent his being stopped and detained by the compound’s security force.

Rivest’s bungalow was on the western edge of the main grounds and off the same graveled path as three other cookie-cutter residences. Near Rivest’s place was a far larger building. As Sean walked past it he noted the sign over one of the two front doors. It read: Hut Number Three. It seemed to be split into two equal premises. Sean watched as two uniformed guards armed with Glock pistols and MP5s came out the left front door and walked off, presumably on their rounds. That was a lot of firepower. But for what?

He reversed direction, passing the rear courtyard of the mansion where an Olympic-size pool was located along with chairs, tables and umbrellas, an outdoor, stainless steel grill and a stone fireplace. A group of people were gathered around the fireplace, beers and wineglasses in hand, talking quietly. A couple of heads turned in his direction, but no one made an effort to greet him. Sean noted one person sitting off by himself nursing a beer. Sean sat down next to him and introduced himself.

The man was young, and looked nervously at his shoes. He had known Monk, worked with him, he said.

“And your field is?” Sean asked.

“Molecular physics, with a specialization in…” The young man hesitated and took a swallow of beer. “So what do you think happened to Monk?”

“Don’t know yet. He ever talk to you about anything he was into that could’ve gotten him killed?”

“No way, nothing like that. He worked hard, like all of us. He has a daughter. She’s sort of, well, she’s special. Super-bright, I mean things she can do with numbers, even I can’t do. But Viggie is one odd bird, though. Guess what she collects?”

“Tell me?”

“Numbers.”

“Numbers? How do you collect numbers?”

“She has all these amazingly long numbers she keeps in her head. And she keeps thinking of new ones. She labels them using letters. You ask her for the ‘x’ number or the ‘zz’ number you get the right one every time. I’ve tested her. It’s astonishing. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Monk ever talk to you about Camp Peary? Maybe wanting to go there for some reason?”

The man shook his head.

“You knew about it, though, right?”

“Can’t hardly miss it, can you.” A few people from the pool area were pointing over at them. The kid quickly rose. “Excuse me, I’ve got to go.”

Sean continued his walk. Nobody at this place was prepared to talk. Yet if Monk Turing had killed himself, there had to be a reason. With enough digging, that motivation would surface, Sean was sure of it.

He stopped near the building with the water tower attached. The sign on this building read Hut Number Two. As he approached the front entrance an armed guard stepped forward and put a hand up.

Sean held out his badge and explained who he was. The guard scrutinized the security badge and then eyed him. “Heard they were sending someone down.”

“Did you know Monk Turing?” Sean asked.

“No. I mean I know what he looked like but fraternization between the guards and the brains is not encouraged.”