“Fuck,” Evans said as he holstered his gun. The curse had been elicited by the nude body sprawled across the black silk sheets on Kyle Peterson’s bed. Duct tape sealed his mouth, and Peterson’s hands had been cuffed behind him, causing his back to arch. The law clerk’s body was disfigured by burn marks and razor cuts.

“Keith!”

Evans turned and saw an agent pointing at something in Peterson’s closet. He and Sparks walked over and looked down at a stack of racist propaganda: newsletters from white-supremacist groups mixed with neo-Nazi literature and anti-Semitic tracts.

“Pardon the pun,” Evans said, “but it looks like our boy was a closet racist.”

“What’s that?” Maggie asked as she pointed toward a black mound stuffed into a corner of the closet.

Keith prodded it with his toe, and a black turtleneck flopped over, exposing a black ski mask and black slacks.

“It looks like Lezak did see Peterson stuff a ski mask into his attaché,” Maggie said. “Do you think his buddies decided they couldn’t trust him when he muffed the hit on Moss?”

“That’s one theory,” Evans answered.

“What’s another?” Sparks asked.

“I don’t really have one, but Brad seems to. It’s useless to press him. I know he’ll tell us what he knows when he’s ready. Right now, let’s ask Justice Price about his law clerk.”

“Ridiculous!” Millard Price said. “Kyle wasn’t a racist.”

“There’s a lot of evidence to the contrary in his apartment.”

“Then someone planted it. Do some police work. Check into his history. I’ve known him for years, and I’ve never seen him do anything or heard him utter a word that would make me believe he is-was-a bigot.”

Price shook his head. He appeared to be genuinely shaken by the news that his clerk had been murdered.

“We will follow up, Justice Price, but we have a witness who saw Mr. Peterson stuffing a ski mask into his attaché case right after Justice Moss was attacked, and we found the ski mask and clothing that matches the clothes the assailant wore in Mr. Peterson’s apartment.”

“I just can’t believe it.”

“It would explain how the killer disappeared,” Maggie Sparks said. “All Peterson had to do was strip off his clothes in an area that wasn’t covered by a surveillance camera, return to his office, and leave the Court as he would normally.”

“Have you reviewed the tapes to see if that’s what happened?” Price asked.

“We have someone on it right now.”

“I’m betting you won’t find any incriminating evidence on the tapes. This is a setup.”

“So you never saw anything that would lead you to believe that Kyle Peterson would do something like this?” Maggie asked.

“That’s what I’ve been telling you.”

“I understand your reaction,” Keith said. “When you work with someone every day, and you think you know him, and something like this happens, it can be very disconcerting. We get the same reaction from the neighbors of serial killers.”

“It’s inconceivable to me that Kyle was a racist, let alone a killer,” Price insisted.

“I hope there’s another explanation,” Keith said. “We certainly won’t stop investigating. Thank you for taking the time to talk to us.”

“Of course.”

“If you do think of something, please call,” Maggie said as she handed the judge her card.

As soon as the door closed behind the agents, Price closed his eyes and leaned his head against the back of his chair. Dennis was behind this. He was sure of it. That poor young man. Kyle was a decent, hardworking sort. He didn’t deserve this.

Price leaned forward and put his head in his hands. Was Kyle murdered by the person who tried to kill Felicia Moss? Price was overwhelmed with guilt because he was responsible for getting Masterson’s assassin a job at the Court. Dennis had told him he needed someone to keep an eye on the case. He’d never said anything about the law clerk being a trained killer. If he’d only refused, Price thought. There probably weren’t enough votes to grant cert in Woodruff. And what if the case did get a hearing? Was it worth killing people to keep the China Sea operation hidden?

Price ran a hand down the side of his face. He didn’t know what to do. Maybe the killing was over. Maybe this insanity would stop if the FBI decided that Kyle was the person who tried to kill Felicia. If Audrey Stewart became a member of the Court, the Woodruff case would die, and everything would be OK. That was a hope he had to hang onto.

When her phone rang, Daphne Haggard was getting ready to leave the police station to join Brett for dinner at Inverness ’s only Thai restaurant before attending a student production of Frost/Nixon. She checked her watch and debated whether to take the call. Her sense of duty trumped her hunger pangs.

“Is this Detective Daphne Haggard?”

“Speaking.”

“I’m Jim Haynes, an orthopedic surgeon in Madison. I understand you’re looking for the name of one of my patients.”

“Does this concern an orthopedic appliance made by Orthosure?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you for calling,” Daphne said excitedly. “I am very interested in identifying your patient.”

“What’s this all about?” the surgeon asked.

Daphne told him how the appliance was discovered.

“God, that’s terrible,” Haynes said.

“It is, and I’m hoping you can give me the information we need to identify the victim.”

“I can definitely do that.”

Dr. Haynes gave Daphne a name and said that the patient would be twenty-eight now. They talked a few minutes more before Daphne thanked the doctor and ended the conversation. It was too late to do anything tonight, but Daphne finally had a name.

Even though Kyle Peterson was dead, Brad was relieved to find a police officer sitting outside Justice Moss’s chambers. If Kyle was part of a white-supremacist group, there was nothing to prevent them from making another attempt on his boss’s life. But Brad was not convinced that Kyle was a racist. He could have been set up by the real killer, or he could have been the assassin, but his motive for trying to take out Justice Moss might have been tied to the Woodruff case.

“How was Texas?” Brad asked.

“I always get a kick out of talking to law students before the real world has corrupted them.”

Brad laughed. “I never knew you were such a cynic.”

“Life’s knocked me back and forth between cynicism and optimism. I prefer the latter. Then I hear about Kyle Peterson, and I want to give up on people altogether. Do you think he was the person who tried to kill us?”

Brad hesitated.

“You have some doubts?” Moss asked.

“I think it’s possible. Kyle was tall and lanky. His build is vaguely similar to the man I fought with. And they did find the clothes in his closet. What do you think?”

“I thought the man who attacked me was thinner than Peterson. I even entertained the thought that the killer might have been a woman.”

Brad frowned. “I never thought of that.”

Justice Moss shook her head. “I was looking at that gun. Then I was trying to pick it up. I only concentrated on the person who attacked me when I was trying to get off a shot, but he was up the ramp by then, some distance away. I just don’t know.”

“I guess we’ll have to wait until the investigation is complete.”

“I heard Peterson died very violently,” Justice Moss said.

“That’s what Keith-Agent Evans-told me. It sounded pretty gruesome.”

“Does the FBI have any idea who killed him?”

“Their working hypothesis is that Kyle had a falling-out with the other people in the assassination plot.”

“If Kyle was part of a white-supremacist group, it looks like I was wrong to suspect Millard of being involved with the attack. But what if Peterson isn’t the assassin? What if the clothing was planted in his apartment by the real killer?”