It was now the  beginning of March and the weather had begun to change. The snow had mostly disappeared in the Hudson Valley and David had even seen some crocuses pushing through the ground in his garden. He was hoping against hope that winter had killed off the invasive Giant Hogweed plants but that, too, looked like it was coming back.
       He had kept in touch with Rush but no body had been found. The police had spoken to Vargas but learned nothing. They’d also contacted informers they’d used in the past, though, given the corruption among the Palm Beach Police force, most of what they got was of negligible value. There were rumors out on the streets about a murder—murders were almost non-existent in Palm Beach but not so rare across the bridges in grittier West Palm Beach—but no one had any evidence to corroborate it. Rush had also tried to contact the girls who had first spoken to Susannah, but it seemed none of them was any longer on Epstein’s premises.
    Then, one morning, Rush called David with an update.
   “We found out about a girl named Sarah Doyle,” he said. “The FBI checked its data base on missing teenagers and found a girl by that name who had lived in Sealy, west of Houston. From what they could find out from the parents, she’d gone on a trip to New York during school break and never came back, but she did let them know she was okay and mentioned being in New Mexico and Florida. Never mentioned Epstein.”
       “When was this?”
       “She left Texas about five months ago. Last her parents heard from her was about six weeks ago. Since then, nothing.”
       “Didn’t they contact the FBI?” asked David.
       “Well, they knew she hadn’t been kidnapped, so what could they tell the FBI? But at least this helps confirm that there was this girl named Sarah Doyle and that she lived at Epstein’s homes. The Feds opened a file on her. Nothing else in it, though.”
       David knew from experience that that was not enough to get a search warrant to get into Epstein’s premises in Palm Beach. If no one reports a person as missing, there’s no reason to investigate. Without a dead body, there was no crime to investigate either.
       Rush said, “I also spoke with our friend Cherico at the IRS and told him it seemed like Epstein had flown the coop to Cuba so he could check out any transfer of funds. Believe it or not, it’s easier to track illegal money in Cuba than it is to the Virgin Islands or the Caymans.”
       “Find anything?”
       “Not in Cuba, but it seems one of Epstein’s shell companies gave a load of money to the Colombian President he flew to Havana. The transfer came via JP Morgan.”
       “Hedging his bets?”
       “Never a bad thing to have friends who owe you one. That said, it looks like Epstein’s set to fly back to Palm Beach tomorrow. He must feel he’s safe, or maybe protected, from prosecution for the time being. I’m sure he knows that we haven’t found a body, which long ago became fish food in the Atlantic.”
       David felt the remark was pretty crude and said, “If I were still a cop in New York. . .  ”
       “Well, you’re not, David. So please stop with all this bullshit about how you’d handle an investigation. I used to work up there, too, remember?”
       David apologized and said he appreciated all Rush had been telling him thus far.
       “Without someone on the inside talking,” said Rush, “this investigation is stalled.”

       Katie was feeling wholly frustrated by the lack of progress on what she felt sure was a story with a murder in it attached to the horrors of the Epstein perfidies. Now, with Epstein blithely back at the supposed scene of the crime, she wracked her brain as to how to penetrate the shield Epstein had erected around him with the help of highly placed and very powerful men, not just in Palm Beach and the rest of the United States but even outside of it.
       It came as a surprise, then, when she received a phone call from Ghislaine Maxwell, asking if Katie could meet her at her townhouse that afternoon.
       This time Maxwell greeted Katie at the door and brought her downstairs into a room that served as a wine cellar, closing the door behind them.
       “What are we doing down here, Ghislaine?” asked Katie, feeling ill at ease in the cool, temperature-controlled room.
       Maxwell twirled her finger in the air and looked around the room, indicating there were no cameras or recording devices, then said, “No one can hear or see us down here.”
       Katie got a chill from the cold air, and said, “So, why did you want to see me?”
       “I’m telling you this on deep background, all right? No notebook, no recorder.”
       Katie said that was fine, crossing her legs and putting her hands in her lap.
       “So?”
       “Remember I told you that I had very negative feelings about  Angus Pierce? And I said the reasons were personal and had nothing to do with Jeffrey? Well, as you may know, my father Robert was very helpful to Jeffrey at the beginning of his career. By the time my father died, Jeffrey was very well set up and, though he was always on good terms with my father, Jeffrey had developed a very large coterie of powerful friends.”
       Katie wanted to say, “Friends he entertained at sex parties and expected favors from,” but she thought it better neither to bring up the obvious nor put Maxwell at on the defensive.
       Maxwell went on: “One of those men was Angus Pierce, whom my father despised, as they both did Rupert Murdoch. I think one of the reasons Jeffrey wanted to buy New York magazine was to own a tiny piece of the  kind of media those men controlled in abundance.”
       Katie interrupted. “Excuse me for stopping you there, but did Jeffrey ever show any interest in buying McClure’s?”
       Maxwell shook her head. “Not that he ever mentioned to me.”
       Katie said, “Please go on.”
       “Well, as you know, my father was in some financial trouble the year he died, but, as I told you, that was not the first time and he would always laugh such things off. My father had an ego, and he could be very tough. He loved getting out of tight spots. So, when it looked like he was close to bankruptcy, there were suitors to buy this or that piece of his media empire, and Angus was one of them. But although my father entertained some of the offers he had, he swore to me and said publicly, he would never sell so much as a copy of a newspaper to Angus, no matter how sweet the offer.”
       “And that hatred of Pierce carried over into your own opinion of him?”
       “I didn’t really have much of an opinion of him at first. But when he had my father murdered, I obviously developed a deep-seated hatred for the man but could not act on it.”
       Katie shook her head. “Hold on, hold on. You’re saying you believe Pierce had your father thrown off the ship at sea?”
       Maxwell’s eyes became watery. “In my heart of hearts I’m sure of it. But there was what was said to be a very thorough investigation that could not determine how his going overboard occurred. They couldn’t discount the possibility someone pushed him over or that he committed suicide or that he simply fell somehow, but they could not come up with a conclusion.”
       “Did you tell the authorities you thought it was Pierce who’d ordered a hit?”
       “I told them I was positive it was a murder but I was too scared at that point to make an accusation. There I was, not knowing what was going to happen to me, financially and otherwise—I never saw my father’s will and was sure it would go through endless probate—but I was also scared of what Angus might do to me.”
       “Couldn’t you turn to Jeffrey for help?”
       “I hadn’t even met Jeffrey by then. And when we finally did get together and Jeffrey helped me financially, he was already friendly with Angus. I hadn’t the power or clout to tell Jeffrey to push Angus out of his circle—they’d become very close, and Angus had helped him out, probably more than my father had by then.”
       “And you never told Jeffrey you thought Pierce had your father murdered?”
       “I did,” said Maxwell, “but there was no proof, and Jeffrey accepted the conclusion—or non-conclusion—of the official investigation. He told me he wasn’t going to break off his friendship with Angus on the basis of what he said was only my hunch.”
       “So, why are you telling me this now?” asked Katie.
       Maxwell wiped her eyes with a tissue, took a deep breath, paused and said, “Because, Katie, I do think it was Angus who had a role in that girl’s death. Maybe it was an accident, but it happened, and I’ve been devastated ever since I heard about it.”
       Once again, Katie sat in disbelief at hearing people like Sanchez and Maxwell express being appalled at crimes committed within webs of wickedness they themselves had helped spin.
       “Did you ask Jeffrey about all this?”
       “Yes, and he said there had been an accident—a girl overdosed —but he refused to say Angus was involved. And there I was again, scared of what Angus might do to me or anyone who knew about the incident.”
       “You mean the other girls in the house?”
       “Yes. Jeffrey sent them off to his island and to Zorro. I suspected why, but couldn’t be sure. It seemed impossible to conceive of Angus murdering each of them. Jeffrey most certainly had not been involved in any such actions.”
       “You really think Pierce is capable of intentional murders like that?”
       “I told you. I’m sure he had my father killed, just to get hold of his empire. Why wouldn’t he kill to cover up something like this? A lot of Jeffrey’s friends get away with murder in a figurative sense all the time, but not real murder. If Angus were found out, all Jeffrey’s friends would turn on both of them in order to show they had not ever been involved in such a horrific thing. And Katie, another reason I’m telling you this is because I don’t want you to get into Angus’s cross hairs. I don’t know if he knows how involved you are in your investigation, but if he finds out he’s going to try to stop you somehow.”
       “He already has,” said Katie.
       Maxwell’s eyes widened. “What do you mean? You’ve been threatened?”
       “No, at least not yet, but I’m pretty sure who’s trying to buy McClure’s.”