you?”
“Calls and e-mails can be traced. This can’t. We’re the only two people on the planet who even knew it existed.”
“She could have just knocked on your door,” said Theo.
“Not if she didn’t intend to stay. Obviously, she didn’t. She ran as soon as we made eye contact.”
A million questions came to mind, but Jack was speechless, not sure what to ask. “Why did she run in the first place?”
“I don’t know,” said Mays.
“Because she thinks she can,” said Vince.
Vince had a troubled expression on his face, and Jack worried that it wasn’t his place to probe. But he needed to understand. “What does that mean, Vince?”
Vince patted his guide dog, and Sam sat up straight, as if his master had something important to say.
“It doesn’t matter where I go, what I do, or who I’m with,” said Vince. “I could change jobs, change my name, change my life-change my gender, if I want to get crazy about it. No matter what, I’m still blind. The man who butchered McKenna left me that way. It hasn’t been easy, but I’ve accepted it. Shada-and this is just my take- is another story. She hasn’t accepted anything. She thinks that if she runs far enough and long enough, she can get away from what happened.”
No one spoke, but after a minute or two, Mays was shaking his head. “You’ve known a long time, haven’t you, Vince?”
“Suspected. It was all so amateurish. The sleeping pills in the car. The canoe in the Everglades. Today cinched it for me. You tried to sound surprised, but-”
“I actually was surprised to see her,” said Chuck. “But not because I thought she was dead. I just never thought I’d see her again, after she left.”
“She just left you?” asked Jack.
“It was her idea. But I let her go.”
“What do you mean you let her go?”
“Shada was a mess. She lived in fear of McKenna’s killer coming back for her. She blamed me for leaving the country and not doing something about Jamal before it cost McKenna her life. She wanted out of her life, out of everything she’d ever known. I let her go.”
“Why did she come back? Why now?”
“She didn’t say in her message.”
“Exactly what did she tell you, Chuck?”
“She told me that she was sorry it had to be this way. And she told me not to worry.”
“Worry about what?”
“Being charged with murder.”
“Whose murder?”
“Hers, of course.”
Jack blinked hard, not comprehending. “Why would you be charged with Shada’s murder?”
“As much as Shada tried to make it look like she committed suicide, the investigation was homicide all the way. Like Vince said, it was pretty amateurish. Is anyone here really that surprised that it turned out to be bullshit? Jamal was the chief suspect for almost three years, but now we know he was in Gitmo when Shada disappeared. The cops are back to square one. Any time a wife disappears, square one is the husband.”
“So when Shada told you not to worry, she meant what? She’s officially coming out of hiding?”
“She’s coming out of hiding if-and only if-the same assholes who can’t catch McKenna’s killer try to pin something on me that I didn’t do. Like killing her. Killing Jamal Wakefield. Or killing your friend Neil.”
“Are you saying that she knows who killed Neil?” asked Jack.
Mays didn’t answer. Jack pressed: “Did she tell you that in her message?”
“She told me more than she realizes,” said Mays.
“Stop being so damn coy,” said Jack. “What does that mean?”
“It means that Shada’s message reveals enough for me and my computers to figure out where she’s been for the past three years. And that’s key for everyone here. Because I believe she’s spent all that time-every minute of every day for the past three years-looking for the monster who killed McKenna and blinded Vince. And I think that same son of a bitch is the guy who murdered your friend.”
Jack had the same suspicion, but he had no proof. And until now, he had no conceivable way of getting it. “What are you proposing?” asked Jack.
“I’m proposing that you get off the dime. We’re right back where we left off before you buried your friend. Except now the pot is sweeter.”
“How much sweeter?”
“My supercomputers are only as good as the data I input, and now all the pieces are within reach. I know I can find Shada. If I can add what Shada knows to what I know, what you know, what Jamal told you, what Jamal’s mother knows… bingo. This fucker is mine.”
“You mean mine,” said Vince.
“He’s not anyone’s,” said Mays, “unless the rest of us are all on board. So what’s it gonna be, Swyteck?”
A cool breeze whispered through the oak limbs overhead. Day was turning into night, and the shadows across the cemetery were now so dark that the marker on McKenna’s tomb was no longer readable. A strange feeling hit Jack, but it was nothing supernatural. It was the survivor’s paradox that follows every funeral-that moment when you’re faced with a decision because a friend or loved one is dead, and you catch yourself wishing he were there to help you decide.
Jack glanced at Theo, but it wasn’t up to him. Then he looked at Mays, and he went with his gut.
“I’d say he’s ours,” said Jack.
Chapter Forty-three
Brent and Bradley Hellendoorn, please come to the check-in counter,” said the gate attendant.
Shada Mays grabbed her purse and carry-on bag, hoping for her name to be called next. The gate at the Miami International Airport’s Terminal A was jammed with three-hundred-plus passengers, several of whom seemed more than capable of felony assault, if that was what it took to snag an upgrade to business class. Shada had the last available seat in the waiting area. It was right next to a family of seven, and three toddlers were tumbling on the floor in front of her. The 747 was right on the other side of a large plate-glass window, however, so at least she could keep an eye on it and make sure the flight didn’t leave without her. She didn’t normally worry about such silly things, but flying out of her hometown after a day like today was beyond stressful. She’d taken extra precautions to make sure no one would recognize her. Her traditional hijab dress included a half niqab, a veil tied on at the bridge of the nose that falls to cover the lower face. Only Homeland Security officers would see her full face. In hindsight, she should have worn a full niqab to the cemetery.
I can’t believe Chuck came before nine o’clock in the morning.
Shada had disappeared a month before her daughter would have turned seventeen. For three birthday anniversaries running, Shada had returned to Miami to visit McKenna’s grave. Any hour before noon should have been a safe time to make the pilgrimage. Never had Chuck been a morning person-especially a Sunday morning person. Apparently he wasn’t the late-Saturday-night party animal he used to be.
Admit it: You wanted him to see you.
Shada shook off the thought. If she’d wanted it, she wouldn’t have dressed like a Muslim. Shada had never worn the hijab-never practiced any Muslim traditions-as long as she’d known Chuck. The clothing was purely an expedient form of concealment that she’d adopted since her disappearance. It fooled most people. It was funny, however, the way a man could recognize his wife with so little to go on-maybe just the way she cocked her head, the way she lifted her chin, or the tilt of her shoulders. Chuck had recognized her, all right. Even at a distance, she’d felt it register.
“Maysoon Khan, please come to the counter.”
