"I guess you're staying overnight," she said, as he got into the car.

"I guess I am. Thanks for the offer."

"Anytime. What's up?"

"Did you bring the material from the Morris investigation?"

"It's at the house, and Ham's waiting for us."

"I'll bring you up to date when we get there. No need to do it twice."

They drove the rest of the way chatting desultorily, or mostly, in silence. When they got to the house, Holly pointed at the living room coffee table. "Everything is there, except the corpses," she said.

"I'll go over it later," Harry replied.

Holly got them all a drink, and they sat down.

"Okay, first of all, Ham's phone is bugged, and only his phone, not the rest of the house. However, Ham, they can listen to what's going on there, even when the phone is not off the hook. I wouldn't say anything in the living room or on the phone that you don't want these people to hear."

"Okay," Ham said.

"I guess I'm not bugged," Holly said, "if we're talking about this."

"That's right. Your place is clean, but be on the alert for signs that anybody has been here. They might decide to add you to their surveillance list." He pulled a small box from his pocket. "See the needle there?" he asked, pointing to a meter.

"Yep."

"You can wave this at a phone, and if it's bugged, the needle will move. You might just check it out now and then, and if you get a reading, let me know, and we'll go over the whole house again."

"Thanks, Harry."

"Now, let's go over the Morris stuff," he said.

Holly fed him the ME's report and her tech's report, then showed him the money. "I guess you'll return that to the bank."

"To their insurance company," Harry said. "They've probably already been paid for their loss." He looked carefully at the fake IDs and birth certificates. "These are pretty good," he said, "but a lot of people could do them with a computer and a laminating machine."

"I'm sorry to hear it," Holly said. She nodded at a cardboard box. "Morris's computer is in there. We don't really have anybody who can go over it, but I'm sure you do."

"Right, I'll take it back with me," Harry said. "It could be important."

Holly got up and started dinner, while Harry and Ham talked. He still hadn't told them why he was there.

When they had finished their steaks and were having coffee, she asked. "Harry, you haven't told us why you wanted to come all the way up here."

"We've come up with something," Harry said, "and it isn't good."

"What?"

"I mean, it's good for the investigation, but it's not good for Ham."

"Tell us," she said.

"Ham, you remember you said that when you were out at Rawlings's house, they drank a toast?"

"Yep.'On the day.'"

"That's right. We ran it through one of our databases in Washington, and we came up with something."

"You came up with something from three words?" Holly asked, surprised.

"Yes, the Bureau has come across it before."

"Where and when?"

"Several years ago, in an investigation in Atlanta. There was a right-wing militia group called The Elect, based in Atlanta, but with, apparently, other outposts. Ham, did anybody ever mention The Elect?"

"Nope. I think I'd remember that."

"Well, don't ever mention it to Rawlings and his people, but if they mention it to you, I want to hear about it."

"Okay."

"Anyway, 'On the day' was a kind of motto with these people. They killed a Republican candidate for the U.S. Senate, and they made an attempt on Will Lee's life, when he was running for Senate the first time."

"Did they have anything to do with the attempt on his life when he was running for president?"

"It's possible, but we're not sure. There was a little nest of these people in Idaho, and they may have had a connection to the Atlanta outfit. We never had any firm evidence to that effect, because when we went after this guy, the others bolted, and we've never found them. They had been robbing armored cars and, generally, getting up to mischief. One of them actually made two attempts on Lee's life."

"How many of them?"

"Three families."

"And you've never found a trace of them?"

"They were apparently well prepared, had escape routes and identities all worked out ahead of time. It was all very slick."

"But you got the man who tried to kill President Lee?"

"The man's son shot him. We questioned the boy and his family, but we never got anything out of them connecting him with The Elect."

"Spooky," Ham said.

"Yes, it is, and Ham, if you get any indication of these people at Lake Winachobee being part of The Elect, I want to know about it instantly."

"Okay," Ham said.

"Ham, I'd love it if we could take down the group, but if these people are part of it, then they're very, very dangerous. You keep that in mind."

"Okay," Ham said.

"God, I'd love to bust them," Harry said.

Ham raised his coffee cup. "On the day," he said.

A month passed. Holly noticed that the emotional detachment she felt from the experience of Jackson's death when she was working had begun to lap over into the hours when she was not.

She still had moments when she couldn't stop the tears, moments when she was alone in the dunes with Daisy, or sometimes when she woke up in the middle of the night and reached for Jackson, but they seemed to come less often and with less intensity. If she wanted to really feel sorry for herself, to feel what she had felt when Jackson had died, she could, but it took more and more effort. She wondered if time really healed all wounds, or if she was just becoming a harder person. She didn't want to become a harder person, but how else could she protect herself from the pain?

She found work less and less interesting, particularly since she had not been able to connect the Morris murders to the Winachobee group, or anybody else, for that matter. And as for the Winachobee group, they had gone very quiet. Ham had not heard from them, and they had not come to her attention again, except through an occasional call from Harry Crisp, and those were coming less and less frequently.

The Morrises themselves remained an enigma. Their fingerprints were not known to any law enforcement computer, nor were their photographs. The name Franklin Morris, with its corresponding birth date, did not appear on any legitimate birth certificate known to any county database in Florida or in any other state. The young couple were a blank, and none of the names they had used on various identity papers rang any bells with anybody, either. It was Holly's slowly developed opinion that they were not connected with the Wina-chobee group; rather, that they were a couple of freelance hustlers who were either new to the game or who had never been caught. Still, they were working with someone, she believed, or else why would anyone have had a motive to kill them? They had failed to share their ill-gotten gains with whomever they had promised to share it with and had been killed for it. Also, they must have learned what criminal skills they had-car theft, fake identities, loan embezzlement-from somebody, but who? Holly had no idea.

The phone rang. "Holly Barker."

"It's me," Ham said.

"Hey, Ham." She had not seen as much of him as usual, because it seemed better not to, if they were under scrutiny from the Winachobees.

"I'm on a pay phone. I got a call at home from Peck Rawlings," Ham said.

Holly's heart skipped a couple of beats. "Tell me," she said.

"They're having another one of their gun shows tomorrow, and they invited me to come out there. You, too."

"Great," she said.

"I said I'd ask you, but I think it's better if you don't come."