Shadow Man (30 page)

Her words feel right to me. Callie has insight, gets the same little epiphanies that I do. It’s part of what makes her good. I say the only thing that it makes sense to say.

“Then let’s catch them.”

29

I
T TAKES FOREVER
to get back. It was early afternoon by the time we left, and rush hour starts early in southern California. When we arrive in the office, everyone stands up, faces filled with expectancy.

“Don’t ask, honey-loves,” she says, putting up a hand. “Nothing to say right now.” Her cell phone rings and she turns away to answer it. That Callie curtain has been closed again. I’m relieved, and I can tell the others are as well. It means that she’s going to be fine. Everyone would be there for her in an instant, but seeing Callie vulnerable is unsettling. I wonder if this is part of the reason that she closed herself off again. Not so much for herself as for us.

Alan fills the silence. “I’m going through the case file on Annie again,” Alan says. “Something’s bothering me. Not sure what yet.”

I nod, but I’m distracted. Or perhaps just tired. I look at my watch, and I’m shocked to see that it’s near the end of the day. Not that the limits of our schedule are anything but theoretical. The stakes are too high, doing what we do. I always thought this must be what it’s like to be in combat. When the bullets are flying, you shoot back, whatever time it is. And if you have an opportunity to advance on the enemy, you take it, whether it’s four in the morning or four in the afternoon. The other parallel is that you take advantage of times of silence, the opportunities to rest, because you don’t know when they’ll come again.
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C O D Y M C F A D Y E N

This seems to be one of those times, so I make the decision any good general should.

“I want everyone to head home,” I say. “Things may start getting crazy tomorrow. Crazier, I should say. Rest up.”

James comes up to me. “I won’t be in till lunch,” he says, quiet. “Tomorrow’s that day for me.”

It takes me a moment to place what he’s talking about. “Oh!” I grimace. “I’m sorry, James. I’d forgotten. Please give my best to your mom.”

He turns and leaves without reply.

“I’d forgotten as well, honey-love,” Callie murmurs. “Probably because it gives Damien a human side.”

“Forgot what?” Leo asks.

“Tomorrow is the anniversary of the death of James’s sister,” I say.

“She was murdered. They go to her grave every year to pay their respects.”

“Oh.” His face twists into a sour grimace. “Fuck, man!”

It comes out with a passionate vehemence that startles me. He waves it off. “Sorry. I just . . . this shit is getting to me.”

“Welcome to the club, honey-love.” Callie’s voice is not unkind.

“Yeah. I guess.” He takes in a deep breath, lets it out. Runs a hand through his hair. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

He leaves with a last, halfhearted wave. Callie looks after him, thoughtful. “First case is always hard. And this one is especially bad.”

“Yeah. He’ll be okay, though.”

“I think so too, honey-love. I wasn’t sure of him at the beginning of this, but little Leo is coming along.” She turns to me. “So, what are you going to be doing tonight?”

“She’s coming over for dinner, that’s what,” Alan rumbles. He looks at me. “Elaina insists.”

“I don’t know . . .”

“You should go, Smoky. It would do you good,” Callie says. She gives me a meaningful look. “And it might be good for Bonnie as well.”

She walks over to her desk, grabs her purse. “Besides, that’s what I’m going to be doing.”

“You’re eating dinner at Alan’s?”

“No, silly. That was my daughter on the phone.” She pauses. “That sounds strange, doesn’t it? Anyhoo . . . I’ll be eating over there tonight with her and my—shudder at the thought—grandson.”

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183

“That’s great, Callie!” I grin at her. “Or should I say—Granny?”

“Not if you want to remain a friend, honey-love,” she says, airy. She heads to the door of the office, stops and looks back at me. “Go to dinner. Do something normal, with other people.”

“Well?” Alan asks. “You gonna come over or get me in trouble with Elaina?”

“Oh for God’s sake. Fine.”

He grins at me. “Cool. I’ll meet you over there.”

And he and Callie are gone, and I am alone in our offices. I do plan to follow Callie’s advice. The kicker for me had been the comment about Bonnie. It would be good for her. Certainly better than going straight home to my—what had
he
called it?—
ghost ship of a home
. But I want to sit here for a moment. Things have been moving at such a breakneck speed, physically, mentally, spiritually. I am both energized and exhausted. I sum up the past days to myself. I have gone from suicidal to wanting to live. I have lost my best friend in the world. I have reacquainted myself with an even older friend, my gun. I have acquired a mute daughter, who might never recover. I have remembered killing my own daughter. I have found out that Callie has not just a daughter, but a grandson. I’ve discovered that a woman I love, Elaina, has cancer and might or might not be fine. I have become more familiar with the business of pornography than I ever wanted to be. Yes, the bullets have, indeed, been flying.

Right now, though, the chatter of gunfire is absent, and silence rules. Time to use that silence, like a good soldier. I get up and leave the office myself, locking the door behind me, heading down the elevator. On the way down, I realize that my silence is different from the silence of the average, everyday person. It’s an opportunity to rest, true. But it’s a silence filled with tension and waiting. Because you never know when the gunfire will start up again.

Are Jack Jr. and friend doing the same thing right now? Resting up before their next murder?

When Alan answers the door, I go on alert. He looks upset, enraged, fighting tears and the desire to murder at the same time.

“That
motherfucker,
” he hisses.

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C O D Y M C F A D Y E N

“What?!?” I ask, alarmed, brushing into the house past him. “Is Elaina all right? Bonnie?”

“No one’s hurt, but that fucker . . .” He stands there for a moment, clenching his fists. If he was not my friend, I’d be terrified. He rushes over to an end table, picks up a legal-size manila envelope, hands it to me. I look at the front. It’s addressed,
To Elaina Washington: R.I.P.
I go cold.

“Look inside,” Alan growls.

I open it up. There’s a typed note, clipped to a series of pages. When I look at the pages, I understand.

“Shit, Alan . . .”

“Her fucking medical history,” he says, and begins pacing back and forth. “All about the tumor, the doctor’s notes.” He grabs the packet from me, flips a few pages. “Look at this part that he highlighted for her!”

I take it back from him and read what he’d indicated.
Mrs. Washington is stage two, bordering on a stage three. Outlook good, but
must ensure the patient understands that full stage three still possible, though un-
likely.

“Read his fucking note!”

I look at it, see the familiar salutation.

Greetings, Mrs. Washington!

I wouldn’t call myself a friend of your husband. More of a . . . busi-
ness acquaintance. I thought you’d appreciate knowing the truth about
your current situation.

Do you know what the survival rates are for stage three, dearie? I
quote: “Stage III: Metastasis to lymph nodes around the colon, a 35–60
percent chance for five-year survival.”

Goodness! If I was a betting man, I’m afraid I’d have to bet against
you!

Best of luck—I’ll be keeping an eye on your progress!
From Hell,

Jack Jr.

“Is this true, Alan?”

“Not the way he put it, no,” he snarls. “I called the doctor. He said
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185

that if he was
really
concerned about it, he would have said so. He wasn’t withholding anything. Shit, the note was written to remind himself what to tell us during her next visit.”

“But Elaina saw it as written, with no explanation.”

I get the answer from the misery in his eyes.

I turn away from him for a moment, putting a hand to my forehead. An almost blinding rage has flared up inside me. Of all the people he could hurt, other than Bonnie, Elaina is perhaps the most undeserving. I remember this morning, the way her presence alone broke through Bonnie’s barriers. I remember her with me, in the hospital. I want to kill Jack Jr. He continues to gain access to our lives, to the personal parts of us. Bugs in Hillstead’s office to get to me. Now what? Breaking into a hospital to get Elaina’s medical records? What else does he know?

I turn to Alan. “How is she?”

He takes a sudden seat in an easy chair. Looks lost. “First she was scared. Then she started crying.”

“Where is she?”

“Up in the bedroom, with Bonnie.” He gives me a tired look. “Bonnie won’t leave her side.” He puts his head in his hands. “Goddammit, Smoky . . . why her?”

I sigh, and move to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Because they knew it would hurt you like this, Alan.”

His head snaps up, eyes filled with fire. “I want these fuckers so bad.”

“I know.” Boy, do I. “Listen, Alan. I know it probably won’t help . . . but I don’t think Elaina’s in any physical danger from Jack Jr. and company, at least not right now. I don’t think that’s the purpose of this.”

“What makes you say that?”

I shake my head, thinking about what Callie had said earlier today.

“This is a part of their game. They
want
us to hunt them. And they wants us at our best. To give us a personal stake in this.”

His face grows grim. “It’s working.”

I nod. “No shit.”

He leans back, sighs. The sigh is belly-deep and full of sadness. He looks up at me, eyes pleading. “Can you go up and see her?”

I touch his shoulder. “Of course I can.”

I dread it, but of course I can.

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C O D Y M C F A D Y E N

*

*

*

I knock on the bedroom door, open it, and peek my head in. Elaina is lying on her side, back to me. Bonnie is sitting next to her, stroking her hair. Bonnie looks at me as I enter, and I stop. Her eyes are full of fury. We stare at each other for a moment, and I nod in understanding. They’d hurt her Elaina. She was mad.

I move around the bed, sitting down on its edge. The memory of the hospital flies into my mind. Elaina’s eyes are open, staring off at nothing. Her face is puffy from tears. “Hey,” I say. She glances up at me. Goes back to looking at nothing. Bonnie keeps stroking her hair.

“Do you know what upsets me the most, Smoky?” she says, breaking the silence.

“No. Tell me.”

“That Alan and I never had children. We tried and tried and tried, but it just never happened. Now I’m too old, and I have to deal with cancer.” She closes her eyes, opens them. “And this man gets to invade our lives. Gets to laugh at us. At me. Make me afraid.”