“What time was it?”

“Somewhere between four thirty and five. He stayed on the Red Line and got off at the Tenleytown Station. I followed him for about three blocks before I lost him. I didn’t want to get too far from the station; not exactly my neck of the woods, you know.”

“Okay, that’s all I need. I’ll be there tomorrow. I’m assuming you’re tied up all day.”

“All day and all night. We’re doing the Smithsonian tomorrow.”

“Have fun. I’ll text you tomorrow night.”

Theo was relieved to have an adult involved, even if the adult was Uncle Ike. He was worried, though, about the old guy’s appearance. Ike was in his mid-sixties and not aging that well. He wore his white hair long and tied in a ponytail. He had a scraggly gray beard, and usually wore funky T-shirts, battered old jeans, weird eyeglasses, and sandals, even in cold weather. All in all, Ike Boone was the kind of person who attracts more attention than deflects it. He tended to keep to himself, but he was still known around town. If Pete Duffy had ever met Ike, or seen him, there was a good chance he would remember him. Surely Ike would go heavy on the disguises.

In the darkness, and long after the other three had sacked out, Theo stared at the ceiling and thought of Pete Duffy and the murder he committed. On the one hand, he was thrilled to be involved in his capture. But, on the other, he was terrified over what it could mean. Pete Duffy had some dangerous friends, and they were still hanging around Strattenburg.

If it was indeed Pete Duffy, and if they caught him and hauled him back for another trial, Theo would not want his name mentioned.

Ike? He wouldn’t care. Ike had survived three years in prison. He feared nothing.

At nine a.m. Friday, the four buses from Strattenburg pulled up to the east entrance of the Smithsonian Institution and all the eighth graders spilled out. The Smithsonian is the largest museum in the world, and a person could spend a week there and not see everything. In planning the day, Mr. Mount had explained to his class that the Smithsonian is actually a group of nineteen different museums and a zoo, along with a bunch of collections and galleries, and eleven of the nineteen are located on the Mall. It is home to about 138 million items, everything imaginable, and is nicknamed the “nation’s attic.” Thirty million people each year visit the Smithsonian.

The students divided into groups. Theo and about forty others headed for the National Air and Space Museum. They spent two hours there, then regrouped and headed for the National Museum of American History.

At two thirty, Theo received a text from Ike that read: In town, about to check out the Metro system. Theo was tired of museums and wished he could sneak away and do detective work with Ike. By five p.m., he felt as though he had seen at least 100 million items and needed a break. They boarded the buses and returned to the hotel for dinner.

At six forty-five, while Theo was resting in his room and watching television, he received another text from Ike: Downstairs in lobby. Can u come down?

Theo replied: Sure. He told Chase, Woody, and Aaron that his uncle had stopped by the hotel and wanted to say hello. Minutes later, he was walking through the lobby and couldn’t find Ike. Finally, a man sitting in a coffee bar waved at him, and Theo realized it was his uncle. Dark suit, brown leather shoes, white shirt, no tie, and some type of beret on his head that covered most of his white hair. The rest, the long part, was stuffed under his collar. Theo would never have recognized him.

Ike was sipping coffee and smiling at his favorite nephew. “So how’s the great tour of Washington going?” he asked.

Theo gave a heavy sigh as if he were exhausted. He rattled off the adventures of the day at the Smithsonian, and said, “Tonight, we’re watching a documentary film at the Newseum. Tomorrow we do the Washington Monument, and then visit the war memorials. Sunday, we see the Capitol, the White House, and the Jefferson Memorial, and by Monday I think I’ll be ready to head home.”

“But you’re having fun, right?”

“Sure, a lot of fun. Ford’s Theatre was pretty cool. So was the Lincoln Memorial. Did you see Pete Duffy?”

“Are you going to the Vietnam Veterans Memorial?”

“Yes, it’s on the schedule.”

“Well, when you get there, look for the name of Joel Furniss. We grew up together and finished high school at the same time. He was the first boy from Stratten County to be killed in Vietnam, in 1965. There were four others, and their names are on the monument outside our courthouse. You’ve probably seen it.”

“I have. I see it all the time. We studied that war in history, and, I gotta say, I really don’t understand it.”

“Well, neither did we. It was a national tragedy.” Ike took a sip of coffee and seemed to gaze far away for a moment.

“Did you see Pete Duffy?” Theo asked.

“Oh yes,” Ike said, snapping back and glancing around, as if the wrong people might be listening. No one was sitting within thirty feet. Theo glanced into the wide, open lobby and saw Mr. Mount walk through in the distance.

Ike continued, “I camped out in the Judiciary Square Station, two stops before Metro Center, where you guys got on yesterday. I saw no one who looked familiar. The train arrived at four forty-five. Eight cars. I got in number three, looked around as quickly as possible, did not see anyone. At the Metro Center stop, I moved to the fourth car. No one. At the Farragut North Station, I moved to the fifth car, and, bingo. It was crowded, as you said, and I slowly moved closer to the man we’re calling Pete Duffy. He was lost behind his newspaper, but I could see the side of his face. He never looked up, never looked around, he was lost in his own world. I backed away and stayed hidden in the crowd. As we approached the Tenleytown Station, he folded his newspaper and stood up. When the train stopped, he got off. I tagged along and was able to follow him to a small apartment building on Forty-Fourth Street. He ducked inside. I assume that’s where he’s hiding.”

“Why would he hide in Washington? Why not Mexico or Australia?”

“Because that’s where we expect him to be. Often, it’s the guy who’s hiding in plain sight that’s never discovered.”

“I saw a movie one time where this guy was running from the FBI, and he had all kinds of plastic surgery to redo his face. You think Duffy’s done that?”

“No, but he’s definitely changed hair color and grown a mustache. He’s wearing glasses, but they’re fake. I watched him read the newspaper, and he did so while looking over his glasses.”

“So why is he here?”

“Don’t know, but he could be waiting on a fresh set of papers — driver’s license, birth certificate, Social Security card, passport. There are a lot of good forgers here in DC, shady outfits that can produce all manner of paperwork that looks legitimate. It’s not easy leaving the country on the run, and it can be even harder entering another country without good paperwork. Also, maybe he’s staying close to his money. Maybe he has a friend or two here and they’re helping him plan his escape. I don’t know, Theo, but I’ll bet he’s not staying here for long.”

“Okay, Uncle Ike, you’re the adult. What’s the plan?”

“Well, we have to move fast. My flight doesn’t leave until noon tomorrow, so I’m thinking about getting up early and getting back on the train. I’ll try and pick him up at the Tenleytown Station and follow him in, try and see where he goes during the day. I’m going to be very careful because if he gets suspicious he’ll just vanish again. Then I’ll hop on the plane and be back in Strattenburg tomorrow night. Have you ever heard of some software called FuzziFace?”

“No. What is it?”

“You download it, costs about a hundred bucks, and you match up photographs of faces to identify whoever you’re looking for. I’ll find an old photo of Pete Duffy, probably one from the newspaper’s archives, and try to match it with a still shot from your video. If it nails him, the next step is to go to the police. I play poker every Thursday night with a retired detective named Slats Stillman, an old guy who’s still in thick with the police chief. I’m thinking of running it by Slats and getting his advice. I figure the police will move quick. With some luck, they’ll have Duffy in custody in a matter of days. They’ll hustle him back to Strattenburg for another trial.”