“If you don’t know what to do, it’s because you do know what to do but you don’t want to do it.”
“There are other people involved.”
“There always are. That’s no excuse.”
Charles shook his head. “You don’t even know what this is about.”
“And I still know what you should do.”
“Exactly, Jacob. You really do know everything. Let me take you to your hotel while I think about what it means.”
“Jacob is settled,” Charles said, “cantankerous and fulminating as good as new.”
“He looked dreadful there,” Dorothy said.
“More than usual. But I think he’s revived. He really should get a rest. I hope he does.”
“Are you ready to leave, then?”
“Almost. I’m going to call John Borchard. Sometime we’ll need to finish our conversation.”
“There’s no answer at his house,” Charles said, “and his office says he’s not in today.”
“Did you think he would be?”
“Not really. I’ll have to wait until he’s ready. And I wish the police detective would call.”
“You could call him,” Dorothy said.
“I will tomorrow. They must think I was just a witness to the explosion. They wouldn’t know about the whole Derek Bastien story.”
“John Borchard would have told them.”
“Probably not.”
“Is there anything to do about Patrick White?” Dorothy asked. “It doesn’t seem right to just go on like nothing happened.”
“I don’t know what to do. The only thing I can think of is to talk to the police. But it will have to wait.”
“Are you taking anything to New York?”
“Just the book. I’m planning to travel very light.”
“Mr. Beale?” Morgan was at the office door. “I heard you’re going to New York? I’m swapping a dozen volumes with Briary Roberts. Would you like to take them with you?”
“I’m planning to travel very heavy,” Charles said to Dorothy.
“I could drive you to the train station?” Dorothy said.
“We’ll take the Metro. Angelo can carry the books.”
AFTERNOON
Angelo sat outside on the front steps, waiting.
“Be careful.” She kissed him on his cheek. “I’d miss you if you didn’t come back.” She tried to sound cheerful.
“In that case, I will come back,” Charles answered, trying more successfully. “Good bye, dear.”
“Good bye.”
“And don’t worry,” he said.
“I will.”
“We’ll be back tonight,” Charles said. Morgan handed him a heavy satchel. “Even if it looks like we’re staying until tomorrow.”
“I’ll meet you at the train station,” she said. “Two fifteen?”
“Two fifteen. I’m sorry it will be so late at night.” He opened the door. Angelo pulled himself upright.
“We are going now?” He took the large satchel, and in it the dozen books.
“Yes, finally.”
From the sidewalk, Charles blew the kiss back to Dorothy. He had just a small briefcase, and in it just the Odyssey.
Charles was in thought and not seeing the world, and Angelo was not seeming to see. They walked half the ten blocks to the Metro in silence.
“Who knows you are taking that?” Angelo said, suddenly.
“This?” Charles was startled. “The book?”
“That book.”
“Not anyone here, besides Morgan and Mrs. Beale.”
And then the silence resumed.
At the Metro station, Angelo paused at the bottom of the escalator. Charles waited for him at the top. A train had just arrived, its doors briefly open.
“We can catch this,” Charles said as Angelo reached the top.
“Wait.”
Charles stopped.
“What for?”
“The next train.”
The train doors closed. Angelo leaned against a pillar. Charles stood next to him. Five minutes passed before a new train opened its doors for them.
“Is this one all right?”
“It is okay.”
Charles took a seat and Angelo stood, one hand on a pole. An assorted dozen passengers were already sitting; no one else had come onto the car with them.
The doors closed and the train swayed. Angelo, erect, did not.
“What was wrong with the first train?” Charles asked.
“The train was not wrong.”
“What was?”
“That man.”
Charles looked through the car again. “You saw someone?”
“He is two cars back. He waited when we waited.”
“He followed us from the shop?”
“I saw him the first time when I asked you.”
“What does he look like?”
“He wears blue jeans and a sweatshirt that is dark green. He has a baseball cap and he has a beard.”
“Why didn’t you tell me when you saw him?”
“Then you would look around to see him.” Angelo opened his eyes wide and jerked his head side to side, for just a moment animated. “Like that,” he said, mocking. “And then he knows I have seen him.”
“Well. I probably would have.”
“Do not look when we get out. I will tell you when to look.”
“All right. What if he doesn’t get out when we do?”
“Then we do not see him.”
“How old is he?”
“Not old like you.”
The train slid into the next station. Charles tightened his grip on the briefcase.
Twenty minutes later, they approached the Gallery Place station.
“We’ll switch to the Red Line to Union Station,” Charles said.
The train had become crowded, and when they exited, the platform had at least a hundred people. Charles tried not to look around.
They switched to the other platform, even as a train was coming in.
“He is in the car behind us,” Angelo said as that train left the station.
Union Station was the second stop. They left the train, and Charles set a leisurely pace up through the halls and escalators. They left the Metro platforms and followed the signs and crowds.
