"I understand that your daughter went on a tour of the White House the day she..." He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence.
"Yes. She - she was on a tour with her school friends. She was very excited about meeting the president."
Lonergan kept his voice casual. "She was going to see President Russell?"
"Yes. I arranged it. We're old friends."
"And did she see him, Governor Houston?"
"No. He wasn't able to see her." Her voice was choked. "There's one thing I'm sure of."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Paul Yerby didn't kill her. They were in love with each other."
"But the police said - "
"I don't care what they said. They arrested an innocent boy, and he - he was so upset that he hanged himself. It's awful."
Frank Lonergan studied her for a moment. "If Paul Yerby didn't kill your daughter, do you have any idea who might have? I mean, did she say anything about meeting anyone in Washington?"
"No. She didn't know a soul here. She was so looking forward to...to..." Her eyes brimmed with tears. "I'm sorry. You'll have to excuse me."
"Of course. Thanks for your time, Governor Houston."
Lonergan's next stop was at the morgue. Helen Chuan was just coming out of the autopsy room.
"Well, look who's here."
"Hi, Doc."
"What brings you down here, Frank?"
"I wanted to talk to you about Paul Yerby."
Helen Chuan sighed. "It's a damn shame. Those kids were both so young."
"Why would a boy like that commit suicide?"
Helen Chuan shrugged. "Who knows?"
"I mean - are you sure he committed suicide?"
"If he didn't, he gave a great imitation. His belt was wrapped around his neck so tightly that they had to cut it in half to bring him down."
"There were no other marks or anything on his body that might have suggested foul play?"
She looked at him, curious. "No."
Lonergan nodded. "Okay. Thanks. You don't want to keep your patients waiting."
"Very funny."
There was a phone booth in the outside corridor. From the Denver information operator, Lonergan got the number of Paul Yerby's parents. Mrs. Yerby answered the phone. Her voice sounded weary. "Hello."
"Mrs. Yerby?"
"Yes."
"I'm sorry to bother you. This is Frank Lonergan. I'm with the Washington Tribune. I wanted to - "
"I can't..."
A moment later, Mr. Yerby was on the line. "I'm sorry. My wife is...Newspapers have been bothering us all morning. We don't want to - "
"This will only take a minute, Mr. Yerby. There are some people in Washington who don't believe your son killed Chloe Houston."
"Of course he didn't!" His voice suddenly became stronger. "Paul could never, never have done anything like that."
"Did Paul have any friends in Washington, Mr. Yerby?"
"No. He didn't know anyone there."
"I see. Well, if there's anything I can do..."
"There is something you can do for us, Mr. Lonergan. We've arranged to have Paul's body shipped back here, but I'm not sure how to get his possessions. We'd like to have whatever he...If you could tell me who to talk to..."
"I can handle that for you."
"We'd appreciate it. Thank you."
In the Homicide Branch office, the sergeant on duty was opening a carton containing Paul Yerby's personal effects. "There's not much in it," he said. "Just the kid's clothes and a camera."
Lonergan reached into the box and picked up a black leather belt.
It was uncut.
When Frank Lonergan walked into the office of President Russell's appointments secretary, Deborah Kanner, she was getting ready to leave for lunch.
"What can I do for you, Frank?"
"I've got a problem, Deborah."
"What else is new?"
Frank Lonergan pretended to look at some notes. "I have information that on October fifteenth the president had a secret meeting here with an emissary from China to talk about Tibet."
"I don't know of any such meeting."
"Could you just check it out for me?"
"What did you say the date was?"
"October fifteenth." Lonergan watched as Deborah pulled an appointment book from a drawer and skimmed through it.
"October fifteenth? What time was this meeting supposed to be?"
"Ten P.M., here in the Oval Office."
She shook her head. "Nope. At ten o'clock that night the president was in a meeting with General Whitman."
Lonergan frowned. "That's not what I heard. Could I have a look at that book?"
"Sorry. It's confidential, Frank."
"Maybe I got a bum steer. Thanks, Deborah." He left.
Thirty minutes later, Frank Lonergan was talking to General Steve Whitman.
"General, the Tribune would like to do some coverage on the meeting you had with the president on October fifteenth. I understand some important points were discussed."
The general shook his head. "I don't know where you get your information, Mr. Lonergan. That meeting was called off. The president had another appointment."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. We're going to reschedule it."
"Thank you, General."
Frank Lonergan returned to the White House. He walked into Deborah Kanner's office again.
"What is it this time, Frank?"
"Same thing," Lonergan said ruefully. "My informant swears that at ten o'clock on the night of October fifteenth the president was here in a meeting with a Chinese emissary to discuss Tibet."
She looked at him, exasperated. "How many times do I have to tell you that there was no such meeting?"
Lonergan sighed. "Frankly, I don't know what to do. My boss really wants to run that story. It's big news. I guess we'll just have to go with it." He started toward the door.
"Wait a minute!"
He turned. "Yes?"
"You can't run that story. It's not true. The president will be furious."
"It's not my decision."
Deborah hesitated. "If I can prove to you that he was meeting with General Whitman, will you forget about it?"
"Sure. I don't want to cause any problems." Lonergan watched Deborah pull the appointment book out again and flip the pages. "Here's a list of the president's appointments for that date. Look. October fifteenth." There were two pages of listings. Deborah pointed to a 10:00 P.M. entry. "There it is, in black and white."
"You're right," Lonergan said. He was busy scanning the page. There was an entry at three o'clock.
Chloe Houston.