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“I guess it’s something for Luther’s family. But not enough. It’s never enough.”

“Ben,” Savich called out, “check him for I.D. Find out who he is.”

Günter lay on the sidewalk on his back, his gun still in his hand. Both Jimmy Maitland and Ben went through all his pockets. They came up with nothing at all, not even a fake driver’s license. Slowly, they both rose. Ben called out, “Nothing, Savich. Nothing at all.”

“It’s not a surprise,” Jimmy Maitland said, staring down at Günter. “He lived with another man’s name and died with no name at all.”

Savich had bared Sherlock’s arm. “The bullet came real close to your knife scar.”

“I’ll be fine. Dillon, before you turn the paramedics loose on me, I think you, Ben, and I should talk. You know we do.”

“Yes,” he said slowly. “Yes, of course you’re right. Ben, could you come into the house for a minute?”

Ben nodded.

Savich picked her up and carried her inside over her protests, leaving the paramedics to wait in the ambulance for another ten minutes before Savich called them in.

Jimmy Maitland wondered if Savich would ever tell him what the three of them discussed.

CHAPTER

37

TUESDAY NIGHT

IT WAS JUST after eleven o’clock when Ben pulled his truck into Margaret Califano’s driveway.

“I can’t believe it’s over,” Callie said. “And you never said a word to me. I could have stayed outside with the other agents.”

“I couldn’t, direct orders from Savich. You’ve been saying that all evening. I guess that means I’ll never hear the end of it, will I?”

“Probably not. But I’ll forgive you since Savich gave me that great inside interview for the Post this morning. Coombes is dancing on the file cabinets, high-fiving everyone he runs into, an idiot grin on his face. You said you liked my story, but what do you really think? Did you notice it was above the fold on the front page? Right there with my own byline?”

She was so proud, he smiled. “Yes, I really did like your story. It was excellent. Congratulations. So this means your job is safe?”

“Oh yes. Suddenly I’m valuable to him again. I was relieved to see Sherlock looking back to normal, well, nearly so. Dillon kept going on about the sling.”

“He told me it reminded him of a night he didn’t want to remember. He wouldn’t tell me about it.”

“Maybe I can get it out of Sherlock.” Callie settled back against the seat and closed her eyes. “It’s all happened so fast, I still can’t quite process it, even after writing my story. I’m glad Günter’s dead, but the fact that he picked my stepfather by chance? It didn’t matter which Justice he murdered? Stewart was such a fine man—” She stopped and drew a deep breath.

Ben repeated what he’d been saying over and over to her that evening, “He was crazy, Callie, just plain crazy. He wanted to go out in a blaze of glory. How better to get attention than to murder a Supreme Court Justice, any Supreme Court Justice, and all his law clerks?

“You want to know something else? When he realized that Savich had set a trap for him, he wasn’t about to die ignominiously in an FBI agent’s living room. He wanted to continue his blaze of glory last night, and that meant getting outside Savich’s house to take on a dozen FBI agents trying to bring him down. It was very much in character for him.”

Callie said after a moment, “And you believe he picked up a woman in a bar as camouflage?”

“Being crazy didn’t make him stupid. That was real smart of him. Who’d be looking for a couple?”

“He’d been Günter Grass for so many years,” she said. “I guess he never even knew who he actually was.”

“As Jimmy Maitland said, he used another man’s name in life and died with no name at all. Callie, before you go in, I want to say something. I sure liked that black dress you wore the other night. Can I see you wear it again sometime?”

She gave him a small smile. “I’m moving back to my apartment tomorrow. My mom says now that it’s over, she doesn’t need me with her anymore.”

“Ah.”

“Ah good or Ah bad?”

“Do you know it’s only a thirty-eight-foot walk from my front