Finally, she spoke. "I thought you said you were hit in the stomach."

"There, too."

"Max said you had a serious lung wound."

"That, too."

"Any brain damage?"

"Maybe."

"And now you want me to believe you've been neutered by yet another bullet."

"It's nothing a guy would lie about."

"If the furnace is out, why is there still fire in your eyes?"

"Just a memory, Beth-Can I call you Beth? A good memory of a time when I could pole-vault over my car."

She put her hand up to her face, and I couldn't tell if she was crying or laughing.

I said, "Please don't tell anyone."

Finally, she got control of herself and replied, "I'll try to keep it out of the papers."

"Thanks." I let a few seconds pass, then asked her, "Do you live around here?"

"No, I live in western Suffolk."

"That's a long trip. Are you driving home, or staying around here?"

"We're all staying at the Soundview Inn out in Greenport."

"Who's 'we' all?"

"Me, George, Ted, some DEA guys, some other people who were here before… guys from the Department of Agriculture. We're all supposed to work day and night, round the clock, seven days a week. Looks good for the press and the public… in case the fudge hits the fan. You know, in case there's some concern about disease…"

"You mean mass panic about a plague."

"Whatever."

"Hey, I have a nice place out here and you're welcome to stay there."

"Thanks anyway."

"It's an impressive Victorian mansion on the water."

"Doesn't matter."

"You'd be more comfortable. I told you, I'm safe. Hell, NYPD personnel says I'm allowed to use the ladies' room at headquarters."

"Cut it out."

"Seriously, Beth, I have a computer printout here-two years' worth of financial stuff. We can work on it tonight."

"Who authorized you to take that?"

"You did. Right?"

She hesitated, then nodded and said, "I want them back in my hands tomorrow morning."

"Okay. I'll pull an all-nighter with this. Help me out."

She seemed to mull that over, then said, "Give me your phone number and address."

I rummaged around my pockets for a pen and paper, but she already had her little notebook out and said, "Shoot."

I gave her the information, including directions.

She said, "I'll call first if I'm coming."

"Okay."

I sat back down on the bench, and she sat at the opposite end, the computer printouts between us. We stayed silent, sort of mentally regrouping, I guess.

Finally, Beth remarked, "I hope you're a whole lot smarter than you look or sound."

"Let me put it this way-the smartest thing Chief Maxwell has done in his career is to come calling on me for this case."

"And modest."

"There's no reason to be modest. I'm one of the best. In fact, CBS is developing a show called The Corey Files."

"You don't say?"

"I can get you a part."

"Thank you. If I can repay the favor, I'm sure you'll let me know."

"Seeing you in The Corey Files will be repayment enough."

"It sure will. Listen… Can I call you John?"

"Please do."

"John, what's happening here? I mean with this case. You know something you're not sharing."

"What is your current status?"

"Excuse me?"

"Engaged, divorced, separated, involved?"

"Divorced. What do you know or suspect about this case that you haven't mentioned?"

"No boyfriend?"

"No boyfriend, no children, eleven admirers, five are married, three are control freaks, two possibilities, and one idiot."

"Am I being too personal?"

"Yes."

"If I had a male partner and I asked him these questions, it would be perfectly normal and okay."

"Well… we're not partners."

"You want it both ways. Typical."

"Look… well, tell me about yourself. Quickly."

"Okay. Divorced, no children, dozens of admirers, but no one special." I added, "And no venereal diseases."

"And no venereal parts."

"Right."

"Okay, John, what's with this case?"

I settled back on the bench and replied, "Well, Beth… what's happening with this case is that the obvious is leading to the improbable, and everyone is trying to make the improbable fit the obvious. But it don't work that way, partner."

She nodded, then said, "You're suggesting that this might have nothing to do with what we think it has to do with."

"I'm beginning to think there's something else going on here."

"Why do you think that?"

"Well… some evidence doesn't seem to fit."

"Maybe it will fit in a few days, when all the lab reports are in and everyone's been questioned. We haven't even spoken to the Plum Island people."

I stood and said, "Let's go down to the dock."

She slipped her shoes on, and we walked down toward the dock. I said, "A few hundred yards down the beach from here, Albert Einstein wrestled with the moral question of the atomic bomb and decided it was a go. The good guys had no choice because the bad guys had already decided it was a go without any wrestling with the moral questions." I added, "I knew the Gordons."

She thought a moment, then said, "You're saying you don't think the Gordons were capable-morally capable-of selling deadly micro-organisms."

"No, I don't. Like atomic scientists they respected the power of the genie in the bottle. I don't know exactly what they did on Plum Island, and we'll probably never know, but I think I knew them well enough to say they wouldn't sell the genie in the bottle."

She didn't reply.

I continued, "I remember Tom once told me that Judy was having a bad day because some calf that she'd become attached to had been purposely infected with something and was dying. These are not the kind of people who want to see children dying of plague. When you interview their Plum Island associates, you'll find this out for yourself."

"People sometimes have another side."

"I never saw a hint of anything in the Gordons' personalities to suggest that they'd traffic in deadly disease."

"Sometimes people rationalize their behavior. How about the Americans who gave atomic bomb secrets to the Russians? They were people who said they did it out of conviction-so one side wouldn't have all the power."

I glanced at her and saw she was looking at me as we walked. I was happy to discover that Beth Penrose was capable of some deeper thinking, and I knew she was relieved to discover that I wasn't the idiot she thought I might be.

I said, "Regarding the atomic scientists, that was a different time and a different secret. I mean, if nothing else, why would the Gordons sell bacteria and virus that could kill them and their families in Indiana or wherever, and wipe out everyone in between?"

Beth Penrose pondered that a moment, then replied, "Maybe they got paid ten million, and the money is in Switzerland, and they have a château on a mountain stocked with champagne and canned food, and they invited their friends and relatives to visit. I don't know, John. Why do people do crazy things? They rationalize, they talk themselves into it. They're angry at something or somebody. Ten million bucks. Twenty million. Two hundred bucks. Everyone has a price."

We walked out on the dock where a uniformed Southold policeman was sitting on a lawn chair. Detective Penrose said to him, "Take a break."

He stood and walked back toward the house.

The ripples lapped against the hull of the Gordons' boat, and the boat rocked against the rubber bumpers on the pilings. The tide was out, and I noticed that the boat was now tied to pulleys to allow the rope to play out. The boat had dropped about four or five feet below the dock. I noticed now that the writing on the hull said "Formula 303," which, according to Tom, meant it was thirty feet, three inches long.

I said to Beth, "On the Gordons' bookshelf, I found a book of charts-nautical navigational maps-with an eight-digit number penciled on one of the pages. I asked Sally Hines to do a super print job on the book and report to you. You should take the book and keep it someplace safe. We should look at it together. There may be more marks on the book."