DC By the Book

Excerpt: For almost an hour, Fraser idled against a building that faced the Surratt house on H Street.... In front of the house, carriages flowed back and forth. Gaudy yellow streetcars rocked by. The traffic paid no heed to the evil that had been hatched behind the walls of that house.... To Fraser, the Surratt house looked oddly normal, squatting on an ordinary street. Painted white with dark shutters, A flight of stairs led sideways up to the formal entrance; a low door granted entry on the level below. A mansard rood with two gabled windows crowned three levels of double windows. How could those conspirators fit in that plain house?

Excerpt: Fraser admired the lobby of the National Hotel. Oversized leather chairs and couches remembered former splendor but did not cling to it, their arms worn to the cross-hatched softness of chamois cloth. Sprawling chandeliers burned under a light coat of dust, providing the sort of indirect light favored by aging courtesans. It was a large space, but still provided intimate corners suitable for conversations that might later be denied.

Excerpt: ...the carriage pulled onto the gravel drive of a brick home at the corner of Seventeenth and Rhode Island Avenue, the home of General Longstreet. Tulip poplars, their leaves yellowing with the season, rose far above the three-story house.... Townsend walked to a door that led to the rear of the house. After a moment, an old man limped through it. Sporting extravagant side whiskers, he leaned heavily on a cane of dark wood. His right arm hung limply.... "I'm informed that you have contrived an interest in the activities and connections of John Wilkes Booth. That's so?.... I never met that young fool Booth, but I can tell you certain things that may put your minds at ease about the current state of our republic. Or perhaps not. That will be up to you."

Excerpt: Cook ran down the alley around a shabby building.... He fingered the revolver in his pocket.... Carefully, Cook tried the knob on the door into the building. It gave to his pressure. He pushed the door in. He stood in a warehouse, a jumble of wooden tables and overstuffed chairs, wooden shelving tipped at odd angles. The air was damp.... Cook reached a staircase at the building's front and crept up it.... The second floor was stuffed with more crates of paper records. It had to be a government warehouse. This much paper meant tax records, or maybe veteran pensions. The second level was only a half-floor. It opened out to a view of an old theater stage, which also was piled high with boxes and crates. Of course. It was Ford's Theater. A cold wind passed through Cook's heart.