You can’t be here all the time.
“No, but I could have stayed here last night. Will you be okay until I get back?”
Yes.
But he seemed anxious. Lefebvre began talking to him about the Cessna and asked him if he thought he might like to learn to fly when he was feeling better. Seth said yes and began asking him questions about the requirements for a pilot’s license.
With his typical perceptiveness, Seth wrote: You miss flying. Haven’t done it because I’ve kept you grounded here with me.
“I do what I like,” Lefebvre said. “I stayed here because I like spending time with you — you know that’s true. I’ll get to fly again soon enough.”
Take me with you someday?
“As soon as you are well enough to leave here, you can be certain I’ll take you up.”
And Elena?
“Are you playing matchmaker again?”
Seth smiled at him.
“Yes, Elena, too. If I can convince her to come along.”
She’ll like it.
Tory returned then, her makeup repaired, her manner reserved. Lefebvre took his leave.
It was dark by the time he parked in the underground lot at department headquarters. He sat in the car for a moment, hesitant to go inside. The building had changed, he thought. Yesterday, it was a place where he felt completely at home. Today, it was an enemy’s lair.
“You are being foolish,” he told himself. “Almost everyone in there is your ally, not your enemy.”
But that, he knew, was also foolish.
He looked about him but saw no one. Still, by the time he reached the property room, his nerves were stretched taut.
The evidence technician smiled as she handed the sign-out sheet to him. He had just finished signing his name when he heard her say, “Back already?”
“Yes,” he said, trying for a smile — then paused when he saw his own name already on the sheet — supposedly signing for the Randolph case evidence at 6:01 P.M.
An excellent forgery of his signature.
The tech turned away from him to help an officer who was checking in evidence from a drug bust. With cold fingers, Lefebvre lifted the lid of the box. It was empty except for one item — a wristwatch.
He shut the lid and managed to say to the tech, “Not your usual night, is it?”
“No,” she said absently, still concentrating on the incoming evidence. “This is Bill’s shift, but he had to go home.” She glanced over at him. “He was probably looking kind of green around the gills when you saw him.”
Lefebvre didn’t answer.
“You’re not looking so great yourself,” she added. “Must be something going around.”
“Must be.” He walked away without taking the box.
“Hey!” she called. “Don’t you want—”
“Changed my mind,” he said, hurrying out of the building.
He held down the urge to race through traffic and drove back to the hospital at a sedate pace, not wanting to attract police attention to his car.
He tried to seem casual as he walked through the hospital lobby, cautiously looking around him, wondering how long it would be before a call was made to Internal Affairs saying he had stolen the evidence in the Randolph case.
The guard on Seth’s room was away from his post, talking to the nurses at the nurses’ station. When he saw Lefebvre, his eyes widened, and for a moment Lefebvre thought he might be placed under arrest by this incompetent jerk. But the guard merely took up his place at the door of the room, avoiding eye contact with Lefebvre.
Lefebvre was surprised to find the room almost completely in darkness — only the soft glow of Seth’s computer screen provided light. By it, he could see the boy’s sleeping face.
He sat next to the bed, holding his head in his hands. He thought of paging Elena, but if IAD learned of it, she would fall under suspicion, too. He might have only a few more minutes of freedom; he could not just sit here. Keep moving, he told himself.
“Seth?”
The young man didn’t stir.
“Seth?” he said, a little louder.
When there was still no response, he reached to gently waken him.
The boy’s skin felt cool beneath Lefebvre’s hand. No, not cool. Cold.
“Seth!” He felt for a pulse. Seth had none — his own was racing.
“No,” he murmured, disbelieving. “No…” Panicking, he looked for the call button — but suddenly remembered the forged signature, the stolen evidence.
