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“Energy stocks?” said Poe. “You think Milver is funding Oliver Paul along with representing him?”

“Actually,” said Virginia, “Milver is representing him. Stapleton is financing him.”

“But the energy market is crashing,” said Holmes. “Investors hate uncertainty. They especially hate not knowing when the next bomb might go off.”

“Your guy is way ahead of that,” said Virginia. “Check this out.” She tapped a few more keys and brought up a complex company spreadsheet.

“How did you find this?” asked Poe. “You hacked into his encrypted account?”

Virginia shrugged. “It’s not that hard, Mr. Poe. I’ve watched you do it.”

Holmes stepped closer to the screen and scanned the statement. Dates. Transactions. Inflow and outflow. “Of course. It’s obvious. He’s shorting the market! Look at these trades. Whenever energy stocks take a hit, he records a huge gain. He’s profiting from death and destruction.”

Poe nodded. “And probably funneling some of the profits to Paul to fund the next operation.” He turned to Virginia. “Good work. At least we got something out of today.”

“No problem.” Virginia felt the color rise in her cheeks. Impressing Auguste Poe was no easy task.

Holmes turned and headed out toward the kitchen. “Right. This is big. I’ll go fill Margaret in—assuming I can pry her away from the oven.”

Perfect, thought Virginia. She’d been hoping that Holmes would leave first. She waited until he was all the way out the door, then she rose from her seat and walked over to close it. She edged up close to Poe and pulled out her cell phone. “I know you’re busy,” she whispered softly, “but I need to show you something…”

She clicked to an image of the sign for the monster truck event.

Poe’s eyes widened. “Where did you see this?”

“Archer’s Branch. Just past the general store.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Big arena. Looks legit.”

Virginia could feel Poe trying to contain his excitement. He took the phone from her and studied the image. He put his hand on her arm.

“Investigate further,” he said in a low voice. “But not a word to Helene.”

Virginia nodded. As a rule, she never kept secrets from Detective Grey. But in this case, she was willing to make an exception.

CHAPTER 53

AGNES MATTS SAT on the foam-covered slab that served as her bed and shouted out every curse word and foul expression she knew. There were a lot of them. The stream of obscenities was like her private meditation, something she did every few hours to keep herself focused. Aside from pushups and pacing back and forth across her small cell, there was nothing else to do.

Compared to this underground lockup, Bedford had been a health spa. Down here, there were no windows or bars. The walls were seamless concrete. The floor was coated with a solid sheet of speckled epoxy. A metal toilet-and-sink combo jutted from the wall across from the bed. The heavy steel door hung on hinges as thick as rolling pins. In the middle of the door, there was a rectangular food slot, eighteen inches wide and four inches high, sealed with a metal plate. It was the only opening to the outside, and it was open for only a few seconds at a time.

No sounds penetrated the walls in this place. No vibrations. It was like a sensory-deprivation chamber. For all she knew, Matts was the only prisoner down here. And she felt like she was slowly, surely losing her mind.

After a humiliatingly invasive strip search, the guards had trimmed her fingernails and toenails down to dull nubs. Her prison jumpsuit had no buttons or zippers, only Velcro straps.

Matts leaned her head back. Twelve feet up, far beyond the reach of her highest jump, a tiny lens poked out from a corner of the ceiling. No privacy. Not even on the goddamn toilet.

She had been trying her best to maintain an internal clock, but now she felt the time slipping by in a haphazard pattern. With no natural light for reference, Matts’s circadian rhythm was totally off-kilter. By her best estimate, it should be about 2:00 p.m. now.

The metal slot rattled.

Wrong. It was dinnertime.

The metal plate on the other side of the slot slid open. Matts rushed over and knelt on the floor so that her eyes were level with the slot. She glimpsed the face of a guard on the other side—just a quick flash of eyes and nose. New guy. As he passed the metal tray through, she noticed the watch on his thick wrist. It was a high-end military model. Flat black, carbon fiber.

Matts pulled the tray in and tossed it onto the floor. A pile of chicken nuggets and soggy french fries scattered on the speckled surface. She pressed her face against the opening. “Hey! Hey! I like your timepiece.”