MAGGIE waited until Tully left to meet his daughter. Then she began unearthing every scrap of information she could find on Walker Harding. She pounded the computer’s keys, searching FBI files and Internet sites. The man had virtually disappeared after announcing his ambiguous medical problem almost four years ago. Now she realized Keith Ganza might never find a fingerprint record, either.

From what little she had read, she knew Harding had been the brains of their business, a whiz with computers. But Stucky had taken all the financial risk, investing a hundred thousand dollars of his own money; money he had joked about winning in Atlantic City. Maggie couldn’t help noticing that the start-up of the business happened the same year Stucky’s father died in a freak boating accident. Stucky had never been charged though he had been questioned in what looked like a routine investigation, and only because Stucky had been the sole beneficiary of his father’s estate, an estate that made that hundred thousand dollars look like pocket change.

Harding appeared to have been reclusive long before his business venture with Stucky. Maggie could find nothing about his childhood, except that he—like Stucky—had been raised by a single, overbearing father. One directory listed him as a 1985 graduate of MIT, which made him about three years younger than Stucky. The state of Virginia listed no marriage license, driver’s license or property owned by a Walker Harding. She had begun a search of Maryland’s records when Thea Johnson from down the hall knocked on the door.

“Agent O’Dell, there’s a phone call for Agent Tully. I know he left for a while, but this sounds important. Do you want to take the call?”

“Sure.” Maggie reached behind her for the phone. “What line?”

“Line five. It’s a detective from Newburgh Heights. I believe he said his name was Manx.”

Maggie’s stomach took a dive. She sucked in a deep breath and punched line five.

“Detective Manx, Agent Tully is at lunch. This is his partner, Agent Margaret O’Dell.”

She waited for the name to register. After a sigh, there was a pause.

“Agent O’Dell. Barge in on any crime scenes lately?”

“Funny thing, Detective Manx, but here at the FBI we usually don’t wait for engraved invitations.”

“When’s Tully gonna be back?”

So that was the way he wanted to play.

“Gee, you know, I don’t remember if he told me. He might not be back until Monday.”

She waited out his silence and imagined the scowl on his face.

“Look, Tully talked to me last night about this McGowan woman down here in Newburgh Heights that’s supposedly missing.”

“She is missing, Detective Manx. Seems you have a problem with women disappearing in your jurisdiction. What’s up with that?” She was enjoying this too much.

“I thought he should know that we checked out her house this morning and found a guy snooping around.”

“What?” Maggie sat up and gripped the phone.

“This guy said he was a friend and was worried about her. He looked like he was getting ready to break in. We brought him in for questioning. Just thought Tully might like to know.”

“You haven’t released him yet, have you?”

“No, the boys are still chatting with him. I think we got him pretty damn scared. First thing, he insisted on calling his fucking lawyer. Makes me think he’s guilty of something.”

“Don’t release him until Agent Tully and I have a chance to talk to him. We’ll be there in about a half hour.”

“Sure, no problem. Lookin’ forward to seeing you again, O’Dell.”

She was almost out the door before she realized she should probably call Tully. She patted her jacket down until she felt the phone in the pocket. She’d call him from the road. This wasn’t breaking any of Cunningham’s new rules. She simply didn’t want to ruin Tully’s lunch with his daughter.

That was what she told herself. The fact was, she wanted to check this out on her own. If Manx had Albert Stucky or even Walker Harding, Maggie wanted him all to herself.