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President.”
    “Yes. Very sad. And she was how old?”
    Hoover shrugged, unsettled. “Twenty-five, twenty-six. I don’t know. She was just a hatcheck girl.”
    Typical, Roosevelt thought. Sanctimonious and callous in the space of a heartbeat. Hoover was an odd fellow—emotionally unstable, in Roosevelt’s opinion; paranoiac and a hypocrite and quite probably a liar; but wickedly intelligent. He saw wheels within wheels. The trick lay in knowing when to stop listening.
    “The point is,” he was saying, “that Katie O’Donohue was a lead in this German money case. And now she’s gone. The mick she was dealing with has done a bunk, too. Nobody’s seen him for days.”
    “Then he probably killed her and took the cash.” Roosevelt sighed. “And your tail saw nothing?”
    The FBI chief moved restlessly in his chair. “He was stationed in front of the Stork Club, waiting for her shift to end. She left by the back alley instead.”
    “Your tail would have recognized the . . .
mick
, as you put it? If he had entered the club by the front door?”
    “Or even the alley. Sure. Hammond’s a good op—he’d have picked up Jimmy Riordan right away. But the only guys Hammond saw were the usual types who hit the Stork. Well-dressed. Respectable. Walter Winchell and his crowd.”
    “And the cash hasn’t surfaced?”
    “Not yet.”
    “What about a personal motive? Love gone wrong?”
    Hoover shook his head. “The wound’s not the work of an amateur. It was a trained thrust, straight through the ribs to the heart.
Military
, one of our forensic boys said. And there’s another thing: a swastika was cut into her left breast.”
    Roosevelt whistled faintly. “Hardly subtle.”
    “We think it’s a deliberate warning.” Hoover dropped his voice. “From the Germans. We think they know we’re onto them—and they’re rolling up the network.”
    “If German agents came all the way to New York to kill this girl,” Roosevelt pointed out gently, “then someone at your shop has talked too much. This man Hammond, perhaps?”
    “No.” Hoover was emphatic. “Or
he’d
be the one with the knife through the heart. Maybe Katie talked—or had light fingers. A girl doesn’t make much these days, checking hats.”
    “So what will Hitler do?” Roosevelt mused. “Silence a few more bagmen? Find another Katie? Or concede my third term?”
    “Hitler’s got eighteen months before the next election and plenty of cash to spend, Mr. President. He won’t concede.”
    Roosevelt set the newspaper clipping on his desk. “Poor child. Why did you even notice her in the first place?”
    “Because of the company she kept.” Hoover smiled wolfishly. “She was one of Joe Kennedy’s girls.”
    * * *
    AFTER THE FBI CHIEF LEFT the White House, Roosevelt sat for a while staring at nothing. There were issues on his plate—he’d asked Congress for $525 million to buy planes and train pilots, but the Hill was taking its time. Nobody wanted to vote for defense and look like they were voting for war. He wanted to amend the Neutrality laws this term, so he could help France and Britain if Hitler turned west, but it was risky—the isolationists would eat him alive. And then there was
Eleanor
. His wife was demanding repeal of Jim Crow laws segregating blacks and whites in the South. He couldn’t push the issue now and win reelection next year. He needed too many Southern Democratic votes.
    So why, with so much to handle, was he obsessed with Hoover’s parting words?
    He rolled irritably across the uncarpeted floor. His study was oval in shape and next to his bedroom. By the connecting door was a table where he worked on his stamp collection—he was concentrating on Central and South America at the moment, but he was thinking of starting a special war album. Stamps of countries annexed by the German Reich, countries that would cease to exist by the end of the summer. How rare those stamps would be!
    He had just picked up the envelope