Balance of Power

    With this, Monk had encapsulated plaintiff 's dilemma. That Lexington claimed—to Sarah's utter disbelief—to have had no record of where they had originally shipped the murder weapon made this even worse; the journey of the P-2 into Bowden's hands was, from beginning to end, a mystery. "In short," Nolan said, "Bowden could have bought the gun on the street, in California."

    Monk shrugged. "We can't rule that out."

    "Or even through a dealer who decided not to run a background check."

    Sitting straighter, Monk stared at him, as though Nolan had pushed him a little too far. "The P-2," he answered, "is banned in California. So you're talking about a licensed dealer breaking at least two laws.

    "I can't cite statistics, Mr. Nolan. But I can tell you that a fair number of P-2s are used in homicides in San Francisco—drug dealers seem to like them. And the point of origin for most of them are sales in Arizona or Nevada."

    Silently, Sarah gave Monk a word of thanks. Nolan sat back, stung. "But you don't have figures, you say. So your 'evidence' for that last statement is anecdotal."

"Yes."

    "Have you ever discussed that 'evidence' with anyone from Lexington?"

    "No."

    "So as far as you know, even if there is a problem, Lexington's unaware of it."

    Monk paused, choosing his words with care. "Mr. Nolan," he answered, "they claim to have lost the record of who they shipped the gun to. I don't know what those people know, or if they care. Do you?"

    "Know?" Sarah inquired with a smile. "Or care?"

    Briefly, Nolan turned to her. "Très amusant," he murmured with disdain, and then fixed his stare on Monk. "In sum, Inspector, you can't tell me how this murderer got this gun."

    "No."

    "Yet in plaintiff's complaint, counsel asserts that the two ads you mentioned caused Mr. Bowden to buy the gun. Given that you can't tell where he got the gun, or from whom, are you aware of any facts which support that allegation?"

    "As I said, we found the SSA publication among his effects, and he went to Las Vegas. There's nothing to tell us that he had any other reason than buying the P-2."

    "Really?" Nolan paused with raised eyebrows. "Did you check out any of the casinos?"

    "No."

    "Then let's stick to the facts at hand. You mention The Defender magazine. Did you find other gun-related magazines in Bowden's room?"

    "Yes."

    "How many?"

    Monk paused to consider this. "Maybe twenty. I didn't count them."

    "Did any advertise this gun show in Las Vegas?"

    "One did, I recall. It had a listing of gun shows in September."

    "All right," Nolan said in a more comfortable tone. "You mentioned The Defender magazine. Was Bowden a subscriber?"

    "No."

    "Or a member of the SSA?"

    "No."

    "Do you know where he got the magazine?"

    "No."

    "Do you, in fact, even know whether he read it?"

    Monk stared at him across the table. "Only by inference. The advertisements as much as said that the P-2 is good for killing people, and that's what Bowden did. That gun sure isn't good for anything else."

    "Do you," Nolan repeated tightly, "know whether or not John Bowden read The Defender magazine you found?"

    Monk gazed at Nolan with a dispassion which somehow conveyed dislike. "No," he answered softly. "Not for a fact."

    "So you don't know—because you can't know—whether he saw that ad."

    Monk sat back. "Under the rules of common sense, Mr. Nolan, I do know. Like you know. Just not under the rules of evidence."

    Silent, Nolan considered him, and then, smiling faintly, turned to Sarah. "Your witness, Ms. Dash. I think that's all I need."

FIVE

When Kerry had first fallen in love with Lara Costello, there were moments when he had felt consumed by the wonder of being with her—her quick grin, the way she turned her head to look at him, and, a rarity in his life, the sense of understanding and of being understood, of being seen for who he was. After a time, there was no thought he feared to express, no emotion he feared to share with her. Seeing her after several days spent apart, he would feel a fresh jolt of excitement, and then the gentler, deeper sensation of being whole. Kerry had been a lonely boy, who gave his trust to few; his trust, once given, was deep, his loyalty complete. But the harsh world of politics had reinforced his instinct that trust, like love, could be painful and fraught with risk. So that Lara became at once a refuge and so central to his life that it began to scare him.

    He had been married then, to Meg. That had cost him a child with Lara. Then two years followed without seeing her, during which he used his uphill, insurgent race for the Presidency as an antidote, until it had consumed him. When Lara at last returned, Kerry, since divorced, discovered that he wanted two things equally—the Presidency, and a life with her.