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THE BILLIONAIRE BLEW THE smoke out. “Is that all, gentlemen?”

I said, “My wife was over in Elko, Nevada, and then in Salmon, Idaho, looking into Ryan’s death, along with a DC homicide detective. They’ve both gone missing. You wouldn’t happen to know about that, would you?”

Mrs. Alcott gazed at me, expressionless, for several moments. “Absolutely not, and I’m sorry to hear she is missing. Why would she go to Elko and Salmon?”

“We’re asking the questions,” Mahoney said. “What do you know about Maestro?”

Her eyes flickered with confusion. “Which one?”

“The vigilante group Maestro,” I said. “The one run by a mysterious figure known as M.”

She stubbed out her cigarette, blew out the last of the smoke. “I have no idea who or what you are talking about.”

Mahoney said, “Maestro is behind the killings of the three judicial candidates on that list, Mrs. Alcott. We have the assassin on video saying, ‘Maestro knows what you’ve done. It’s over,’ before she shot Professor Carver.”

“She?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” Mrs. Alcott said, picking up her drink again. “That’s horrific, but I know nothing about this Maestro. And if you wish to speak with me further, I think I will have an attorney present. Arthur!”

The big Polynesian appeared.

“Our guests are leaving us.”

“I am sorry to hear that, Theresa,” he said as we stood up.

Mahoney said, “One more question before we go? One that does not require an attorney present?”

Mrs. Alcott scowled but nodded.

“Did Ryan have congenitally missing teeth?”

“Yes,” she said. “Both upper lateral incisors. He had bridgework done.”

“Bridgework?”

Alcott said, “Well, bridgework and then implants later.”

“And Sean?”

“The same.”

“Bridgework and then implants?” I asked.

That seemed to throw her. “As a teenager, he had bridgework. After he left, I don’t know.”

We thanked her for her time and left the room, following Arthur. At the door, I said, “How long have you worked for Mrs. Alcott, Arthur?”

“Since her husband died. I owed him.”

“For what?”

“My life. Mr. Alcott saved me when I got caught in seaweed in a free dive. I’d already drowned, but he saved me. I owed him, so I serve her.”

I said, “What did you think of her late nephew?”

Arthur blinked slowly. “A great man. Like his uncle.”

Seeing we would not get more out of him, we hustled back out through the storm to the Tahoe. I immediately checked my phone. Nothing from Bree or Sampson.

It was nine o’clock mountain time. Eleven back east. She was officially twenty-four hours late in calling.

As we drove down the winding road from the ranch, Mahoney said, “That was a key question, whether Sean had missing teeth the same as Ryan.”

“Certainly keeps Bree’s theory alive. And I got the impression Alcott believes Ryan was in touch with his brother.”

“Agreed. She knew more than she was letting on. Maybe even about Maestro.”

“And M,” I said. “And she kind of hedged with the bridges and implants.”

“I remain suspicious.”

“I do too,” I said, yawning. “But if we don’t hear from Bree or John soon, I’m voting we eat, sleep, get up early, and drive to Idaho to pick up their trail.”

“I don’t know if Director Hamilton will like that. We sold this trip to her on seeing Alcott.”

“And we did see Mrs. Alcott and we did hear enough and see enough to know we can’t clear her of involvement in Maestro or the judicial killings.”

Mahoney nodded. “Okay, Idaho, first thing.”

His cell phone rang. He answered it, said, “This is he.” Mahoney listened, nodded, and then thanked whoever it was.

“That was the Bureau’s contact at Verizon,” he said. “They have Bree and Sampson in Hailey, Idaho, then Salmon, and the last time they had a record of either of them was at seven yesterday evening in North Fork, Idaho.”

I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. “Which means they’ve really been out of contact for more than a day.”

“What do you want to do?”

“Get our stuff from the motel, find coffee, and drive through the night to North Fork. Something is wrong, Ned. I can feel it.”

Mahoney hesitated and then nodded. “High-test coffee for me.”

Ned drove toward the lights of Jackson. I pulled out my phone and called up one of my favorite pictures.

It had been taken several years before, when Bree and I and Sampson and his late wife, Billie, were in Jamaica. We were all standing on a cliff in Negril with the Caribbean behind us and umbrella drinks in our hands.

I looked at Bree and John, so damned happy it radiated from their faces. I felt a terrible pang in my heart.

Where the hell are you?