“And then?” Cabot asked.
“Someone different applied pressure. Threats.”
Cabot pushed his hair back with one hand and held it there.
“Eamon.”
“Yes.”
“I want to know who applied the pressure.”
“So do we. Patterson said he didn’t know. He said the language in the threats differed from the language Henry used in the warning. Patterson reads voices for a living. He’d stake his work on it.”
“Köhler,” Wiley said.
“Possibly Köhler. Or maybe someone higher up.”
“Eamon, any instructions before you leave?” I asked.
“Nobody moves alone. You don’t go upstairs without telling someone, and you don’t take calls in isolation. You don’t cross the threshold in either direction without a second body in the doorway. When you call Samuel tonight, Wiley, Farrow is in the hall.”
“Do we have enough bodies?” I asked.
“It’s what we have.”
Wiley exhaled.
“Eamon, I want to call Samuel now. Not at the scheduled time. Now.”
Eamon drew the secure handset from his jacket and slid it across. “Five minutes.”
Wiley took it, stood, and walked out toward the hallway without looking at any of us. The door to the small front parlor closed.
I glanced around the room. Eamon nodded, and I followed Wiley, giving him enough space not to crowd but still hear.
He was already on the call.
“I’m okay,” Wiley said.
A pause.
“How was your day?”
Samuel answered on the other end.
“That’s good. That’s good. Did you eat?”
Wiley waited, and then his tone was firm.
“Soup is not eating, Samuel.”
A small laugh.
“Alright. Soup counts.”
There was a longer pause.
“How are you doing? Really.”