Page 8 of Holmes, Margaret and Poe

I said, “Did he control the laptop with a phone?”

“Maybe,” Kershaw said. “Probably. But I think he would have been too far away to do it by Bluetooth. It would be cellular.”

Mahoney said, “Or satellite. Either way, we should be able to find a data record.”

“That’s out of my wheelhouse,” she said and yawned. “We will know after my metal detectors get —” Kershaw paused when afemale ATF agent came up with a bent, twisted, and punctured chunk of metal that looked like a crumpled magazine. “What have you got, Burns?”

“Can’t get it open, boss, but I think it’s one of those thin metal clipboard boxes construction guys carry with their estimate forms inside. My dad used to have one.”

“Okay.”

Burns turned her flashlight beam on the metal box and into those punctures and gashes, revealing paper inside that had been more baked than incinerated, coal black in places but the rest of it the color of cured tobacco leaves.

“You can read some of what’s on it through the big hole there,” the ATF agent said and she altered the angle of her flashlight.

We all peered into the hole. Sampson got it first.

“Avis,” he said. “The van was a rental.”

CHAPTER 10

BREE WAS HOVERING INa groggy, half-awake state just before her alarm went off when Alex came creaking up the staircase of their home on Fifth Street in Southeast DC. He opened the bedroom door and slipped inside.

She came alert and pushed herself up on one elbow. Alex was in the shadows, but Bree didn’t have to see her husband’s face to know how things had gone. The night was there in his posture.

“It looked terrible on the news,” she whispered as he started to take off his clothes.

“Carnage,” he said dully. “I’ve never seen anything like it. You almost didn’t know where not to look, if that makes sense. Heartbreaking in every direction.”

“Speaking of — how are you feeling?”

“I’m okay. Really.”

“Was the plane shot down?”

“Ned will announce it later this morning. Fifty-caliber remote-controlled machine gun and a fertilizer bomb to destroy evidence.”

“No one taking credit?”

“Not that we’ve heard.”

Bree pulled back the blankets on Alex’s side of the bed. “Come get some sleep.”

“I’ve got to get the smell off me or I won’t sleep a wink.” He went into the bathroom.

Her phone buzzed. A text from Elena Martin, her boss. At 6:15 a.m.? Bree thumbed the screen. The text came up.

Need you ASAP, Bree. Address to follow. This is urgent.

Bree rolled out of bed just as the shower went on. She went in with Alex.

“Here,” she said. She grabbed a large sponge, poured body wash on it, and soaped him from head to toe.

“I can’t remember the last time someone washed me,” Alex said.

“You looked like you needed it,” she said. “Now rinse off and get some sleep.”

Alex mock saluted her, then kissed her. “I don’t know where I’d be mentally if I didn’t have someone like you to come home to.”

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