"Very thorough," said Karp, again not surprised. He realized, of course, that Bea Sondergard was one of the anonymous, self-effacing, and ruthlessly efficient people, almost always women, almost always in their middle years, who hold the fabric of modern civilization together by sheer force of will. There must be at least one in every organization, and in order to have any sensible interaction with a bureaucracy, the first step is to find out who she is. Bea Sondergard was the one in Crane's outfit.

"Thank you," said Sondergard. "I trust you won't have any trouble with all that. We're exempt from civil service because we work for Congress-obviously Congress isn't going to burden itself with the nonsense they make the rest of the government go through-but it's twisted enough as it is. Getting purchase orders and stuff through the comptroller-God knows when you'll be able to get furniture."

Karp looked up from "Mother's Maiden Name." "What's wrong with the stuff in the hallway?"

"Oh, that! It's just garbage the previous tenants declared surplus. It's going out to Maryland for storage or disposal tomorrow."

"I'll take it."

"Seriously? It's tacky in the extreme."

"No problem."

"Well, well. You must have flunked bureaucrats school. I thought you looked like class," she said, beaming a smile that showed large teeth and a significant spread of pale pink gum. "I bet you do find out who killed Kennedy."

Later, on the short walk up the slope to the Rayburn, Crane, now in a slick gray suit, said, "Let me fill you in on George Flores. Six-term rep from the Twentieth District. That's Dallas, by the way, and probably not by accident. Flores was not a big enthusiast for starting this committee, but once it got the go-ahead from the House leadership, he moved in fast. Why? Who knows? It may just be that he doesn't want anyone stirring up his patch without being able to look over their shoulder.