We were quiet for a minute. I thought about the ramification.
“Doesn’t necessarily prove anything, does it? Crayer as much as admitted he’d been there. Remember? He told us he was there when the senator was killed.”
“Nope. Doesn’t prove anything. But it means there were only two people in the full-time group that had the ability to kill the senator. If a full-timer committed the murder.”
I leaned back on my elbows and saw just a hint of color in the sky. It was probably my imagination. “So Stan and Crayer were in
“They were.”
“So was Styles.”
“Styles didn’t kill Senator Long.”
“You never know. Em and I have some thoughts on who he might be.”
“Oh, come on.” James sounded put off.
“And Styles, Crayer, and Stan weren’t the only ones in D.C. on that weekend.
“Who else?”
“Em.”
“No shit?”
“No shit.”
“Hey, Skip.”
“Yeah, James.”
“I drank that son of a bitch under the table.”
“Hey, James?”
“Yeah, Skip.”
“You owe that son of a bitch seven hundred bucks and I don’t know where you’re going to get that kind of money.”