I sat in the chair in front of his desk and motioned for him to have a seat.

He hesitated, aware that he didn't have to sit and talk about this, and that he could ask me to get out of his chair, his house, and his life. But he wasn't going to do that. He sat. Technically, I had no jurisdiction here to investigate a homicide-that was still the job of the state police. But Madox didn't seem to know that, and I wasn't about to give him a lesson in constitutional law.

We did the old eye-lock thing, and the guy never blinked. Amazing. How did he do that? Even guys with glass eyes blink.

He asked me, "How can I help you, Detective?"

"Well, it's like this, Mr. Madox. Harry Muller, as you may know, was not here to watch birds."

"You said he was."

"He wasn't. Actually, he was here to watch you."

He didn't feign shock or surprise. He seemed to think about that, nodded, then said to me, "I understand that the government is interested in me. A man in my position would be surprised if the government wasn't interested in him."

"Yeah? Why do you think the government is interested in you?"

"Well ... because of my dealings with foreign powers. Oil pricing." He informed me, "I'm a personal friend of the Iraqi oil minister."

"No kidding? How's he taking this war thing?"

"I haven't spoken to him recently, but I imagine he's not very positive about the imminent invasion of his country."

"I guess not. So, you think the government is interested in you because ... why?"

"Because my interests and the interests of the United States government don't always coincide."

"I see. So, whose interests come first?"

He smiled a little, then answered, "My country always comes first, but my country is not always well represented by my government."

"Yeah. I can buy that. But let's say for argument's sake that the government doesn't give a rat's ass about your dealings with foreign powers. That maybe you're wrong about that. So, why else would they be interested in you?"

"I have no idea, Mr. Corey. Do you?"

"No."

"And why would Detective Miller from the Anti-Terrorist Task Force be sent to spy on me? Does the government think I'm a terrorist?"

"I don't know. Who said that Detective Muller was from the Anti-Terrorist Task Force?"

He hesitated a second, then replied, "He's a colleague of yours. You're on the Task Force."

"Right. Good detective work."

He lit a cigarette, but again blew no smoke rings. "So, what you're saying is that this man Miller-"

"Muller. Detective Harry Muller."

"Yes. Detective Harry Muller was sent here to ... spy on me-"

"And your guests."

"And my guests, and you don't know-"

"It's called surveillance, by the way. Spying is a negative word."

He leaned toward me. "Who gives a shit what it's called?" He finally lost his cool, slammed his desk, raised his voice, and said, "If this man-Detective Muller-was sent here to ... observe me and my guests, then I am damn pissed off about that! The government has no right to intrude on my privacy, or the privacy of my guests, who have lawfully assembled on private property for-"

"Right. Right, right, right. That's another issue. The issue here is murder."

"You say it is. The sheriff says it was an accident. And if it was murder, what does that have to do with me?"

If you tell the guy he's a suspect, then you have to read him his rights, and I didn't have the damn card with me, and if I did, and I read it, he'd say, "You got the wrong guy, Detective. Excuse me while I call my lawyer."

So I said, "I didn't say it had anything to do with you."

"Then why are you here?"

"To tell you the truth"-which I had no intention of doing-"I think it might have something to do with one of your security people."

He really wasn't buying that, but it was good enough so that we could both pretend we were on to something, and continue our cat-and-mouse routine for a while.

He leaned back and said to me, "That's ... that's incredible ... but ... I mean, do you have any evidence of this?"

"I can't discuss that."

"All right. But do you suspect anyone in particular?"

"I can't say at this point." I explained, "If I name a suspect, and I'm wrong, there's hell to pay."

"Right. But ... I'm not sure, then, how I could help."

"Well, the standard procedure is for the FBI to ask you for all your personnel files, then we begin to question your entire security staff, and also your house staff, to try to determine everyone's location, movements, and so forth at around the time of the death."

I went on a bit, and he listened, then said, "I still don't understand why you think one of my staff may have committed a murder. What would be his or her motivation?"

"Well, I'm not sure. Maybe it was a case of overenthusiasm."

He didn't reply.

"Let's call it going beyond the call of duty. Maybe there was an altercation. Maybe what happened could be ruled involuntary manslaughter, or some other lesser offense, like justifiable homicide."

He thought about that and said, "I'd hate to think one of my men could do this. They're well trained, and there's never been an incident before." He looked concerned. "Do you think, as an employer, I could be sued for wrongful death?"

"That's not my area of expertise. You should ask your lawyer."

"I will." He reminded me, "As I said yesterday, lawsuits are ruining this country."