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would.”
    He nodded. “It was almost nine o’clock when I climbed all those steps . . . Geez”—he looked down at his watch—“that was less than two hours ago. I didn’t see him at first. I was whistling ‘Yesterday,’ you know, the Beatles? Anyways, I was making sure everything looked like it’s supposed to when I nearly stepped on him.” He swallowed. “I really did nearly step on him. I looked down and couldn’t believe it.
It’s a dead kid
was all I could think, and someone took all his clothes and left him lying beside Lincoln and he’s frozen stiff.”
    “Did you see anyone?”
    “Not a soul; no one was out yet in this miserable weather. It was real cold, I was huffing my breath into my gloves to keep my pipes from freezing up, and like I said, I nearly stumbled over him.”
    Sherlock squeezed Franks’s hand again, kept all her attention on his ruddy face, seamed from years in the sun. He looked nearly sixty, a steady man, straightforward, and he was badly shaken. “It’s all right, Mr. Franks. Take your time.”
    “Okay. Like I said, there wasn’t anybody around except for the one guy I saw standing by himself by the Reflecting Pool, looking down at the water. I wondered if the guy was nuts. I mean, why stand there and freeze? I was thinking he wouldn’t want to come trudging up here, not with the wind howling all around the columns and the blowing snow.
    “As soon as I saw the kid, I called 911. It took a good five minutes for a couple of squad cars to arrive. I think the squad car we’re in is one of them. Glad they’ve got the heat cranked up. The officers came running up and we all stood around the kid—the body. Nobody could believe it. I mean, the cops weren’t as shocked as I was, but they were surprised, I could tell. One of them said to the other, ‘Call Detective Raven, he’s on.’ And so they did. In twenty minutes or thereabouts, here comes this big young guy, and he looks down at the body and says, ‘Federal land, FBI,’ and he called you guys, then sent his men to interview anyone they could find.”
    “So it wasn’t long until people started coming up to the memorial?”
    “Folks seem to sniff out when something bad’s happened. I’m sure you know that. They came by ones and twos, and the worst part of it was all of them wanted to rush in and freak themselves out. The cops pulled out crime scene tape, bright yellow, like on TV.
    “There were about twenty people, all yapping to beat the band, wanted to know what was going on, and they were snapping photos like you wouldn’t believe, until the cops managed to get them away again. I don’t know if they got any of the kid, though. I sure hope not. You think about his mama seeing her son like that—”
    Savich kept his voice slow and calm. “You said you saw a man standing by the Reflecting Pool, Mr. Franks. Did you see anyone else nearby? Anyone hurrying away? Running?”
    “No, only that one guy standing by the Reflecting Pool. Like I said, I remember wondering why he was here, I mean, you could freeze your eyeballs early this morning.”
    Savich said, “Can you describe him, Mr. Franks?”
    “He was all bundled up in a dark blue parka with the furred hood pulled up, nearly covered his face. I couldn’t tell if he was fat or thin, he just looked bulky. I was too far away to even guess how tall or short he was, sorry. I’d guess he wasn’t exactly fat; he gave me the impression he was strong, big, but I could be wrong.”
    Sherlock said, “Did you see this man anytime later? Could he still be here?”
    “No, and I’ve looked for him. Haven’t seen him anywhere since before the cops arrived.”
    Sherlock said, “Mr. Franks, when repairs are needed, how do you access the area above the ceiling in the central chamber where Lincoln is sitting?”
    “You don’t; there’s no access. If anything needs attention they’ve got to bring in those really big extension ladders, or put up scaffolding.”
    Savich