Joan shook her head. "I thought there would be, but actually no. The three worst organizations he helped break up have no active members on the outside. He did prosecute some local gangs in Philly after he left D.C., but they tended to operate within a two-block radius with little sophistication beyond guns, knives and cell phones. They wouldn't have had the brains or resources to snatch Bruno right out from under the Secret Service."

"Okay, we rule out enemies from when he was a prosecutor and those for political gain, and we have left pure financial motivation. Was he worth enough to take that risk?"

"By himself, no. As I said before, his wife's family has money, but they're not Rockefellers either. They could pay a million dollars but not more than that."

"Well, it sounds like a lot, but a million bucks just doesn't go as far as it used to."

"Oh, how I'd love to find out," said Joan. She glanced at her file. "Bruno's political party has funds, but still, there are lots of other targets with far bigger payoffs."

"And ones that don't have the Secret Service guarding them."

"Exactly. It's like whoever took Bruno did it for-"

King broke in. "For the challenge? To show they could beat the Secret Service?"

"Yes."

"They must have had inside info. Somebody on Bruno's staff."

"I've got some possibilities. We'll have to check them out."

"Great. But right now I'm going to grab a quick shower."

"I guess exploring your past is a dirty business," she said dryly.

"Boy, it sure can be," he shot back as he walked up the stairs.

She called after him. "Are you sure you want to leave me alone? I might hide a nuclear bomb in your sock drawer and get you into real trouble."

King went to his bedroom, flipped on the bathroom light, turnedon the shower and started brushing his teeth. He turned to close the door, lest Joan get any weird ideas.

As he put his hand on the door and gave it a push, he sensed it was heavier than it should be. Far heavier, as though it had been weighted down with something. His adrenaline instantly surging, he eased it open with his hand and as it swung by, peered around curiously. The door's momentum, together with its increased weight, caused it to come around and close firmly. He didn't even hear the smack of the door against the jamb. His focus was entirely on the source of the extra weight.

He'd seen a lot of unsettling things in his life. Yet the sight of the Wrightsburg socialite and his former client Susan Whitehead hanging on the back of his bathroom door, her dead eyes staring at him, a large knife plunged right through her chest, almost dropped him to the floor.

30

An hour later King sat on his stairs as the investigative teams finished up and the body of Susan Whitehead was removed. Chief Williams came over to him. "We're done here, Sean. Looks like she was killed around five o'clock this morning. She goes for walks around then, I was told, and we're assuming she was taken at that time and killed immediately. That's why there wasn't any blood on the floor in your bathroom. She bled somewhere else. Anything you can tell me?"

"I wasn't here. I just got back from North Carolina."

"I don't mean that. I'm not implying that you killed Ms. Whitehead."

There was just enough emphasis on the word "you" for King to look up and say, "And I didn't have her killed either, if that's what you're so subtly implying."

"Just doing my job, Sean. I've got a damn crime spree going on, and right now nobody's above suspicion. I hope you can understand that. I know that Ms. Whitehead is your client."

"Wasmy client. I handled her last divorce, that's it."

"Okay, I might as well ask you this because, well, there's been talk around town." King stared at him expectantly. "There's been talk that maybe you and Ms. Whitehead were, well, seeing each other. Were you?"

"No. She might have wanted a relationship, but I didn't."

Williams's brow furrowed. "Was it a problem for you? I mean I know how the woman could be. Pretty overwhelming."

"She wanted something between us and I didn't. Simple as that."

"And that's all, you're sure?"

"What exactly are you trying to do here? Build a case that I had the woman killed because, what, I didn't want todate her? Give me a break."

"I know it sounds crazy but, well, people do talk."

"Especially around here."

"And Ms. Whitehead was very prominent. Lots of friends."

"Lots of paid friends."

"I wouldn't go around saying that, Sean, I really wouldn't." He held up the note that had been pinned to the chest of the unfortunate Whitehead. It had been placed in an evidence bag.

"Any ideas about this?"

King looked at the note and shrugged. "Only that it's from someone who was at the Ritter assassination or knows a lot about it. I'd give it to the FBI, if I were you."

"Thanks for the advice."

As Williams walked off, King rubbed his temples and contemplated taking a bath in pure bourbon and drinking half of it. The phone rang. It was his law partner, Phil Baxter.