He said nothing.

“No children, amicable split, still friendly with the ex.”

“What do you want?”

“To explain.”

“To explain what?”

He lowered his eyes but only for a moment. “What I did to you.”

“I don’t even know you.”

“But I know you. I’ve known you for a long time.”

Scott let the silence in. He glanced at the mirror. Linda Morgan would be behind the glass, wondering what they were talking about. She wanted information. He wondered if they had the room bugged. Probably. Either way, it would pay to keep Scanlon talking.

“You are Scott Duncan. Thirty-nine years old. You graduated from Columbia Law School. You could be making a great deal more money in private practice, but that bores you. You’ve been with the U.S. attorney’s office six months. Your mother and father moved to Miami last year. You had a sister, but she died in college.”

Scott shifted in his seat. Scanlon studied him.

“You finished?”

“Do you know how my business operates?”

Change of subject. Scott waited a beat. Scanlon was playing a head game, trying to keep him off balance or some such nonsense. Scott was not about to fall for it. Nothing he had “revealed” about Scott’s family was surprising. A person could pick up most of that info with a few well-placed keystrokes and phone calls.

“Why don’t you tell me,” Scott said.

“Let’s pretend,” Scanlon began, “that you wanted someone dead.”

“Okay.”

“You would contact a friend, who knows a friend, who knows a friend, who can reach me.”

“And only that last friend would know you?”

“Something like that. I had only one go-between man, but I was careful even with him. We never met face to face. We used code names. The payments always went to offshore accounts. I would open a new account for every, shall we say, transaction, and I closed it as soon as the transaction was completed. You still with me?”