The next morning, Agents Vicky Chan and Eve Watson arrived just before seven. It was surreal for Lisa, saying goodbye to Taylor, Ethan and Rita just as she did a week ago.
Because this time she did it as a federal witness to four murders and this time she did it in mourning clothes.
She took a deep breath.
Chan and Watson wore blue conservative blazers and skirts.
Aside from threads of small talk, the car was quiet as Chan pulled on to I-95. The drone of the freeway traffic fit with the funereal mood and residual tension. After all that she’d given the FBI, Lisa was feeling shut out from the case. She had wanted to ask the agents if the FBI was any closer to making an arrest, but killed the thought. Earlier, they’d made it crystal clear to her that if something had happened they would not tell her. They’d got what they needed from her—at least that’s how she interpreted it.
Any new information Lisa got came from the press, particularly Jack Gannon—that good-looking wire-service reporter. Her face reddened. She shouldn’t be thinking about him like that. Anyway, this Gannon guy knew things, she thought as they rolled through suburb after suburb.
Lisa was happy they had finished with the hotel, glad to be home with the kids without the FBI living with them, smothering them. She had declined Dr. Sullivan’s offer to accompany her to the funeral. “Events like this can be traumatic. They can rip open wounds, resurrect pain,” Dr. Sullivan cautioned.
Lisa was determined to face this on her own terms.
She had resumed piecing her life together. She’d already put in a few shifts at the supermarket. Funny, when they made her a new photo ID to replace her old one, it felt as if she had started over. Here was the new Lisa, her first official “after-Bobby” photo.
None of the girls at the supermarket pressed her too hard for missing a few days. Most of them knew she’d gone upstate to sell the cabin. And when she added the cryptic “unexpected family issues,” nobody inquired. Some may have speculated that it probably had something to do with the kids or the cabin. For the most part, everyone tended to leave Lisa alone, and her boss was happy to have her back. The FBI agent’s funeral fell on her day off, so it worked out. With the exception of Rita, no one knew she was the FBI’s key witness to the armored car heist.
Being back at her checkout was both therapeutic and depressing. Lisa had glanced at the older cashiers, the near-retirement lifers, then at the new girls, and for the first time she saw the timeline of her life at the Good Buy Supermart. This was all there would be for her. She thought of what she’d endured; realized how life was so fragile, so short. Then she thought of her old dream and her chance to start a new chapter of her life in California.
About an hour after they’d left Queens, they approached Bridgeport, Connecticut. Chan guided them to Saint Patrick’s Church using the GPS unit on the car’s dash. Traffic was backed up already, uniforms from Bridgeport P.D. were directing.
“It’s not just the director who’s coming from HQ,” Watson said as they inched along North Avenue, “it’s the U.S. Attorney General and a ton of dignitaries. I heard they were expecting two thousand people from law enforcement.”
“Full ceremonial honors,” Chan said, nodding to the corner of the parking lot and the satellite trucks and news crews from New York, Boston, Hartford, Philadelphia, New Haven and many others, including some of the national press from Washington, D.C.
After parking, they’d come up to Morrow and Dr. Sullivan talking with others gathered near the large overflow canopies. They’d been erected on the lawn next to the church over rows and rows of folding chairs, big-screen monitors and speakers linked to microphones set up in the church.
“How are you holding up?” Dr. Sullivan asked Lisa.
“Okay, I guess. I’m taking it moment by moment.”
“That’s all anyone can do.” Morrow squeezed her shoulder.
“How is Jennifer Dutton doing?” Lisa asked.
“Not so well, as you might imagine. But she wanted to be here for Greg. Her father is at her side and her doctor is here,” Morrow said before he was approached by a grave-faced man.
“Excuse me, Agent Morrow, but the director is ready for your briefing now. He wants to make a press statement afterward.”
After Morrow left, Lisa, Chan and Watson entered the church. Seating was prearranged; theirs was midway, left side, at the main aisle. The church smelled of candle wax and fresh linen. Whispers and nervous throat clearing echoed. A choir sang hymns. Lisa looked at her funeral card and the program, which was outlined in calligraphy.
Agent Gregory Scott Dutton smiled at her from the cover.
She touched her fingertips to his face.
The service commenced with the procession of altar boys and the priest, the casket rolled behind them, trailing the fragrance of the flowers that draped it. The casket was followed by Jennifer Dutton, seven months pregnant, sobbing while her father, the former detective, held her close to him as they walked. They passed only a few feet away…Lisa could feel Jennifer’s gasps, saw the talons of agony cutting into her face with such force something in Lisa’s heart gave way. Lisa gripped the wooden pew in front of her as a wave of anguish overwhelmed her, sending her tumbling back…back to that horrible moment…when her telephone rang in her kitchen…
…
The light.
Lisa twisted her wedding rings and gazed up at the light streaking through the beautiful stained-glass window. Wishing all of this was a bad dream as she tuned in to the eulogy given by the director of the FBI.
“…Greg did not hesitate to take action in order to save others, even if it meant sacrificing his life. He gave us the ultimate gift for which we suffer an unbearable loss…”
Several pews from where Lisa grappled with her anguish, Agent Frank Morrow wrestled with his anxiety for Beth and Hailey, who were facing a life without him.
They were still in shock, still reeling from learning of his terminal condition. He wished to hell he could alleviate their suffering and help them through this. God, all they needed was a break. One break to clear this case, then he could deal with his own life and the time he had left.
