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back in his desk chair and his features grew serious. “The park.” He gave them a minute-by-minute account of what had happened. When he was finished he added, “There are three people out there unaccounted for.” He gazed at Beefy. “And do we know the name of the unfortunate jogger?”
    “There were human remains found. Everywhere,” Beefy added, his mouth curled up with distaste.
    “Identifiable?”
    “It won’t be an easy one, but it’s also not insurmountable. Clearly DNA at this point. If he’s on a database somewhere we’ll get a hit. We’ve posted his picture from the video feed on our Web sites and given it to the media to splash around. Someone will hopefully come forward or at the very least report him missing.”
    “The other three?”
    “With the man in the suit and the woman we’re running the video feed taken at the park through facial recognition databases, although the man never looked in the direction of the surveillance cameras. No hits as of four minutes ago. We’ve also placed the images with the media, asking for the public’s help.”
    “Do you see them as perhaps connected to this?” asked Stone.
    “Too early to tell. Maybe they were just lucky they left the park when they did.”
    “And the ganger? Was he a cop?”
    “Did NIC tell you he was?”
    “Not in so many words. But they didn’t deny it either.”
    “I won’t deny it either, then.”
    Stone said, “His tooth was sticking in my head until the doctors removed it. You can get a dental match on that, and possibly a DNA hit.” He held up his sleeve. “And this is his blood. Do you have a kit in the trunk of the Bucar? You can swab for it right now.”
    “That won’t be necessary,” said Chapman.
    Stone turned to her. “And why is that?”
    “Because the tooth belongs to one of our security people who was patrolling the park. The doctors didn’t return it to you, did they? See, my man would actually like it back.”
    “And why was your man in the park last night?”
    “Because before he turned his ankle after tripping on some steps at the White House, my prime minister was scheduled to walk across Lafayette Park on his way back to Blair House, at precisely two minutes past eleven. Lucky for him he didn’t, since he would have had his damn head blown off.”

CHAPTER 10

    A FTER THE FBI AGENTS and MI6 Chapman left, Stone puttered in the cemetery for a half hour, righting tombstones toppled by a recent heavy rain and cleaning debris caused by the same storm. This manual labor allowed him to think clearly. And he had a lot that was puzzling him and no answers. As he was bagging some sticks and small branches, he stiffened and slowly turned around.
    “I’m impressed.”
    He turned to see Mary Chapman come out from behind a bush. “I never moved. What, you have eyes in the back of your head?”
    “Sometimes.” Stone tied up the bag and deposited it next to a wooden storage shed. “When I need to.”
    Chapman walked over to him. “This is amazing cover for an agent. A cemetery worker.”
    “Caretaker, actually. This cemetery isn’t used any longer. It’s a historical site.”
    She stopped, lifted one leg and rubbed some dirt off her plain black low-heeled pump. “I see. And do you enjoy taking care of the dead?”
    “I do.”
    “Why?”
    “They never argue with me.” He headed back to the cottage. She followed. They sat on the front porch. A minute of silence passed as they listened to the chirps of birds mingled with the sounds of passing cars. Stone stared straight ahead. Chapman’s gaze continued to flick at him like an erratic beam of light.
    “So Oliver Stone?” she said at last, with mirth in her eyes. “I’ve enjoyed several of your movies. Are you here scouting another film?”
    “Why did you come back?” he asked, finally turning to her.
    She rose and surprised him by saying, “Got time for a spot of coffee? I’ll buy.”
    She had a car, so they drove to lower Georgetown and found a