"What other avenues?" I asked.

"Soon," she said.

"And under no circumstances should you contact Welle again without clearing it with me first."

"How about talking with some people who knew the girls? Would that be okay?"

"No one in Welle's camp?"

"No"

"Fine. And Alan? You're doing a great job."

"Oh, A. J.? One last thing."

"Yes."

"I'd like to talk with Hamamotos other daughter"

"I assumed that would be your next request. You're convinced it will add something?"

"She was old enough when her sister was murdered to be a reliable informant about her sister's lifestyle. And there are no records of interviews with her in the material you sent me."

"None? You're sure."

"I've checked twice."

"Go ahead and plan it. I'll talk to the committee and let you know if there's a problem."

The moment I hung up with Simes the phone rang again.

"It's me. Dorothy. You survive all the excitement?"

"Yes. You find your hotel okay?"

"I did, I did. If you're ever looking for it, it's a black glass box behind a bank. What I'm calling about is… I just want to know your impression of what you saw today. Now that things have settled a little bit. No more bullets whizzing past our heads. Was Welle really the target? What do you think?"

I was silent while I thought about how I wanted to answer. Just when I was about to speak, she said, "Don't worry. We're still on background." I heard her take a bite of something.

"Room service isn't bad here. It's Italian. I love room service. Don't you love room service?"

"I have a cop friend here in Boulder who thinks that if Welle was the target of an assassination then the target shoot was pure amateur hour. Wrong weapon at the wrong distance fired at the wrong target in the wrong circumstances."

"You agree with your friend?"

"I just know what I saw. Somebody shooting at the doorway of a building where a controversial congressman was raising campaign funds to run for the Senate. It doesn't make sense to rule him out as a target. It doesn't make sense to assume he was the target, either."

"That's what I'm thinking, too. I'm trying to put together a list of the other people who were close to the doorway so I can rule them out as possible targets.

I have the names of the two people who were hit by debris and a few others' names, too. Do you know who any of those people were?"

"Sorry. I don't run in the rich-white-guys-over-forty-five circles. But I'll bet the Denver papers and the local TV station shows manage to run most of them down for you."

"Figured you wouldn't know, but thought I'd ask. I've got the Channel 2 news on right now. They're not giving out names. And I can't wait for the Denver papers to fill out my piece. I only have half an hour till deadline." I heard her light a cigarette.

"At least they still let you smoke in hotel rooms in this state.

That's something, right? I was afraid I'd be out on the roof with coyotes or something." She sucked hard and exhaled before she continued.

"The shooter's escape was well planned today, don't you think? Have you thought about that? The getaway? Not amateurish at all. And you were right about the white van being found at that grocery store close by. King Soopers? What kind of a name is that, anyway? I thought Winn Dixie was a stupid name for a supermarket. But King Soopers? In case you care, the van had been stolen the night before in… Aurora. That's like a suburb, right? No witnesses yet who saw anybody switch vehicles in the parking lot. I bet the guy just got out of the van, walked in one door of the store, walked right out another, and got into his second vehicle."

Made sense to me.

"Are you heading back to D.C. in the morning?"

"I could. But I have some people to see in Steamboat Springs on Monday about this campaign-finance thing. How far away is that? Looks close enough on the map. I may just spend the weekend there."

"If you drive, it's over three hours by car assuming you don't get lost in the mountains."

"You mean I have an alternative? I can fly there? There's an airport?"

"Yes. Yampa Valley."

The nicotine was invigorating her.

"Cool. Maybe I'll do that. That's Yampa spelled how? Y-a-m-p-a? Like it sounds?

Bet you it's one of those little planes though, isn't it? I don't really like them. Too… tubey. And I like jets more than propellers. I wonder why that is…"

I didn't know why it was but I suspected Dorothy didn't need to hear that from me.

She plowed on.

"Do you know Ray Welle hasn't done a single interview-broadcast or print-about his wife being murdered since he was elected to Congress? I find that kind of strange, don't you? He wouldn't shut up about it when he was on the radio every day. And do you know her parents-I'm talking about Welle s dead wife, now-you remember about her being taken hostage and executed, right?

Her parents live a few blocks away from where we were this morning. Okay, they don't actually live there-people that rich don't actually live in just one place-but they have a house there. She grew up there. Gloria did. Right around the corner from where the Coors kidnapping took place. Bad neighborhood for having your rich kids kidnapped. Oh Christ! There's another one. Hold on."

"Another what?"

"My hotel room has been invaded by these kamikaze moths that buzz around like they're drunk. They dive-bomb right at you, flap all over the place. And they're covered with dirt."

I laughed.

"They're miller moths. They're pretty harmless. They're migratory; they'll all be gone in a few weeks."

"Ahhh. Shit. It almost flew in my mouth. Gross. This one will be gone before that, I promise you." I could hear her whacking at it.

"Got it!

Yes!"

I hadn't known that Gloria's parents-Lauren's ex-in-laws-lived so close to the Phipps Mansion. I also couldn't see how it meant anything significant.

"Who are you going to see in Steamboat?"

Her tone switched from conversational to suspicious. She said, "You connected up there?"

"Not at all, no."

"Then why do you want to know who I'm going to talk to? And why do I keep getting the feeling that you're more withholding than my two-year-old niece when she's constipated?"

"I was just asking."

"No you weren't. You weren't just asking. We're going back to class for a minute so pull out your syllabus. Here's lesson number two in Journalism 101.

Let me show you how this is done. Okay? I'm actually going to answer your question.

This is what it sounds like when somebody actually answers a question. Is your pencil ready? Pay attention. The reason I'm going to Steamboat Springs is to talk with some people who were involved with the ski area a few years ago. I need to talk with them about the campaign-finance irregularities I've been investigating. At the time, a big Japanese company controlled the resort. Does any of that information ring any bells for you?" She gave me two seconds to respond, then said, "Hello? I'm still listening for the peal of those bells."

I swallowed and hoped she didn't hear me.

She said, "Near the end there? A moment ago? That was a question. Now it's your turn to answer." Pause.

"You know, you're not very good at this" I knew I was about to lie to her. I didn't want to tell her I'd been in Steamboat only a week ago and that I'd already interviewed someone who had been one of the local managers of the ski area back in the late eighties. I said, "No. No bells. What? Are you looking for foreign money being shoveled into Welle's campaign? Japanese money?"

"Should I be?"

I didn't answer. She said, "Were you always this bad in school? How the hell did you ever get a Ph. D.? Let me try an easier one for you. If I do go to Steamboat for the weekend, where should I stay? Keep in mind, there's a possibility this will be my dime."