Sherlock said, "Could you give us an example?"

Mr. Biaggini looked thoughtful. "I remember hearing him bait his aunt, Marian Lodge, about not preventing his mother's suicide. I will admit, I was appalled and thought that was very unlike him, since he had to know that was very painful for her." He shrugged. "Then his father died and Tommy seemed to change; he looked out for his younger sisters, became more thoughtful, more mature, rather than a spoiled teenage boy spewing out hormones and att.i.tude. I guess you could say he became the man of the house, and Marian seemed pleased to let him a.s.sume that role."

Sherlock said, "Did Tommy Cronin defer too often to Peter?"

Mr. Biaggini blinked. "That's quite a question to ask a father, Agent Sherlock, and it is difficult to answer because Peter and Tommy were so different from each other. What I mean is, my son is a natural leader, and Tommy, well, wasn't. Tommy tended to hang back, as did Stony, to see what direction Peter wanted to go." Mr. Biaggini looked away for a moment, shook his head. "Who knows what Tommy would have done with his life if he'd been allowed to keep it."

She said, "And what do you know about Stony Hart, sir?"

"Stony? The second major member of Tommy's circle, and Peter's good friend as well, I might add. The three of them together since childhood. Unfortunately, Walter-Stony-lacks maturity, something common at his young age, I suppose, but with Stony I always wondered if he was ever going to grow up. He seems much younger than Peter in his behavior, in how he views the world and his place in it, even though he's a year older. Even his father, a rather authoritarian man, still treats him like a teenager in some ways.

"Of the three friends, Stony was the shyest, and the hardest to pry away from his computers. I remember when he was only eleven years old he was caught trying to hack into a local bank." Mr. Biaggini smiled at the memory. "The FBI, if I remember correctly, made it a point to scare the socks off him.

"Stony is a kind soul, though; he seems to feel things more than most others. I've noticed over the years that his father thinks Stony's kindness is a weakness, makes him less a man. But he's wrong."

Sherlock said, "You don't care for Mr. Hart, sir?"

"No, I don't," Mr. Biaggini said. He paused for a long moment, studied his thumbnail, then added, "Wakefield Hart wants Stony to be a chip off the proverbial old block, but he isn't, and never will be."

Savich rose and motioned Mr. Biaggini down the hall. He opened the door to the same interview room Stony had occupied not two hours before.

As with Stony, Coop and Lucy stood silent and grim, their backs against the wall, arms crossed over their chests. Unlike Stony, though, Peter Biaggini was sprawled in his chair, looking loose and bored, his fingers tapping a smart tattoo on the tabletop. He was whistling under his breath and texting on his cell with racing fingers. Sherlock's first thought was that he could be Dillon's younger brother-handsome as sin, dark-eyed like his father-surely strong enough to haul Tommy Cronin over his shoulder and drop him at Lincoln's feet.

Her second thought was that he looked as though he didn't have a care in the world.

When Peter saw his father flanked by two agents, Savich saw surprise and wariness register on his face before he caught himself and smoothed it out. Savich was impressed that a twenty-two-year-old could adjust the controls so quickly. His surprise and wariness were soon replaced by thinly veiled impatience and contempt in the look he sent his father-the Hair Spray King, isn't that what he called him? Savich wanted to haul him out of his lizard pose, but he merely nodded to the young man. His father didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary. Didn't Biaggini Senior see what was written so clearly on the son's face?

"... And Mr. Biaggini, this is Agent McKnight and Agent Carlyle."

After nods and handshakes, Savich pointed to a chair at the end of the table. Before he sat, Mr. Biaggini reached out his hand to his son. "You haven't returned your mother's calls, Peter. Your mother and I are so very sorry about Tommy. Are you all right?"

Peter Biaggini stared at his dad, stared at his hand, darted a fast look at Savich, and gave his father's hand a quick shake.

What are you like when you're alone with him? Savich wondered.

Peter nodded. "I'm all right, though of course I'm upset; none of Tommy's friends can believe it." He nodded toward Coop and Lucy. "Those agents over there told me the cops brought me here to be questioned about his murder. I asked them why, but they wouldn't answer me. I guess they didn't know because they're pretty low on the food chain around here."

Lucy bit her lip to keep from grinning. Good shot, kid.

Peter continued to his father, "They must think we have something to do with it. I know I didn't. Did you have him killed, Dad?"

Savich watched Biaggini Senior literally recoil from the flippant words out of his eldest son's mouth. Then he drew himself up again, and his voice was austere. "That is not amusing, Peter. The agents do not believe that either you or I had anything to do with this tragedy; they simply want to know about Tommy."

Peter never changed his lizard sprawl, and now an ugly sneer marred his mouth. "Tragedy, Dad? Tommy was murdered. Tragedy would be if he died of leukemia. That's like calling 9/11 a tragedy when it was ma.s.s murder. You really think these agents only want our thoughts and advice? I don't think so. I think they're looking for someone to blame. So what happens when they find out you hated Tommy's grandfather, called him a dangerous buffoon? I remember all your harangues about him, about practically the whole financial industry. Looks like somebody finally struck a blow against all the greed you hate so much. Tell me, Dad, are you really sorry?"

Peter Biaggini's contempt seared the air. Sherlock saw Coop and Lucy exchange glances, their thoughts clear on their faces-Why doesn't Biaggini slam that idiot son of his to the floor and kick him a couple of times?

Savich hoped they'd get back to their poker faces quickly, because he'd been watching Peter as he spoke and seen him preen when he got the reaction he'd wanted.

Mr. Biaggini was pale and still. It was obvious to Savich he was used to his son's abusiveness. When he finally spoke, his voice was a model of tolerance, probably used for so long with his son it was an ingrained habit. "I doubt Palmer Cronin would agree anyone deserves what happened to Tommy. He's devastated, Peter; so is Tommy's grandmother. I imagine he would gladly have taken Tommy's place if he'd been given the choice."

Savich said, "I'm sure you're quite upset, Peter. After all, Tommy Cronin was one of your best friends since when? You met when you were six years old and he was four, right?"

Peter Biaggini shrugged. "Tommy was lame as a kid, and he never really changed, but he was part of our group, right?"

Sherlock said, "So you're saying you're not upset that Tommy was murdered?"

Peter Biaggini turned dark eyes to her, very close to the color of Sean's eyes, she thought, and it scared her that she'd noticed that. Could the malignancy that brimmed in Peter Biaggini possibly be lurking in Sean? Did a parent ever really know what would develop in her young child's mind? Could a parent ever do more than guess and hope that her child would grow up to be honorable?

Peter's fingers stopped their tapping, and he leaned toward Sherlock. "Of course I am upset. Even if you didn't admire a person you grew up with, it would still leave a hole, don't you think? A very deep hole. I'll miss him." They kept staring at each other, and Savich wondered, What is Sherlock seeing in him?

Savich asked, "Peter, you knew Tommy's father? His mother?"

Savich watched a sneer mar his mouth again. It made him look common and mean. "Of course I did. Both of them liked to show off their money, but I've got to say they always treated Tommy's friends well, took us all to Redskins games, sailing on the Potomac, clamming and big bonfires on the beach. When Tommy's mom killed herself, I remember Mr. Cronin brought in Tommy's Aunt Marian and everything continued on as it always had-barbecues and parties, whatever his dad and aunt could come up with-only with a change in moms."

Savich said, "It sounds to me like you don't think Mr. Cronin missed his wife that much."

Peter Biaggini's cell buzzed a text message. For a moment, it seemed he would answer, but he only touched the phone, then let his fingers drop away. "How would I know? It was weird, though, what happened. A year later, Tommy's dad dies in his kick-a.s.s red Ferrari. Who could see that coming? But I'll tell you, good old Aunt Marian kept going, like neither of Tommy's parents had ever really been all that important. I mean, the house kept going, everyone kept hanging out there, and Tommy got all into himself since he saw himself as the new boss man of the house. Aunt Marian smiled behind her hand, let him strut around and act all serious about the electric bill."

Mr. Biaggini looked both embarra.s.sed and pained. He cleared his throat, bringing Savich and Sherlock's attention back to him. "It was a dreadful time. Barbara Cronin was a lovely woman, an excellent mother to Tommy and his sisters. I was shocked and frankly surprised she would kill herself. I knew of no reason for her to do such a thing."

"She was shacking up with the guy who remodeled the kitchen," Peter Biaggini said, slouching down farther in his chair. "All the kids knew about it; we thought it was funny."

Sherlock said, "Did Tommy think it was funny?"

"No, he'd leave whenever anyone said anything." He said to his father, "Come on, Dad, don't go all righteous and disapproving. Since all the kids knew it, surely you and Mom did, too."

"There is always gossip," Mr. Biaggini said, his body as stiff as his voice, "but if one has any sense and maturity at all, one discounts it. I do not believe and never believed Tommy's mother was unfaithful to his father. What does any of this have to do with Tommy's murder?"

Peter rolled his eyes and began tapping his fingers again. Another message came in on his cell and he began quickly pressing keys. Savich reached over, took the cell from his hand, and tossed it to Coop, who turned it off and slipped it into his pocket. Peter Biaggini froze. He started to say something but thought better of it.

Savich knew Barbara Cronin wasn't the point here, but her suicide bothered him, Sherlock, too, and so he said to Mr. Biaggini, "Indulge me. Now, something must have triggered her suicide. Do you remember anything out of the ordinary happening at the time, sir?"

Mr. Biaggini shook his head. "I was very busy with my business around that time, with expansion, new franchises going up throughout Maryland and Virginia. My wife and I hadn't seen the Cronins in some time."

Peter gave an ugly laugh. "Yeah, you had to get all the rich old ladies more beauty products, right, Dad?"

Savich was pleased when Mr. Biaggini slowly rose to his feet, spread his hands on the tabletop, and leaned toward his son. "You mock me for the fine house you've lived in all your life? You mock that your mother and I care for you, that we have provided for you, given you the best education possible?"

But not a new car? Savich knew Peter drove a five-year-old Honda, which meant Mr. Biaggini did have some limits, probably because of his son's DUIs.

Peter looked his father up and down. "Yeah, thanks for the Cheerios, Dad. But you didn't give me my education. I worked for it. I would have been valedictorian at Columbia High School if that jerk Noah Horton hadn't kissed up to all his teachers. And I could have gotten scholarships to college if you hadn't coughed up the tuition for Magdalene. I even earned that job with Caruthers and Milton on my own." Again, he shrugged, looked at Sherlock, then back to his father. "Have you ever thought you should have spent more time with us, Dad, rather than making hair spray?"

Mr. Biaggini had heard this before, too many times, Sherlock thought. He stared at his son, his hands working, but he did nothing, said nothing more, his look stoic. The story of Peter's life growing up? A brief show of indignation, then nothing? Sherlock wanted to leap over the interview table and plant her fist in Peter Biaggini's sneering mouth. She said, her voice as sharp as gla.s.s shards, "Tell us, Peter, about how you and Stony Hart tried to anonymously upload that photo of Tommy's dead body at the Lincoln Memorial on YouTube? That photo we tracked to Stony's computer?"