“Dad?” she said.
“What is it?”his buzzing voice replied. A quiet pause in the elevator, then, as if realizingperhaps he’d been too blunt, he said, “It’s,” he cleared his throat on theother end, “good to hear from you. How are you doing?”
Adele suppresseda smile. At least he was trying. “I’m doing fine, Dad. How are you?”
“Oh, cancomplain, but won’t,” he said.
Adele waited,and so did he.
At last, hecleared his throat. “Do you need anything?”
“Christ, Dad, we’vebeen over this. Sometimes I’m just calling to catch up.”
“Oh,” he said,clearing his throat again, “right. Well, yes. I’m, to be honest with you, I’mactually in the middle of something, but, actually, I suppose it could wait. Afew minutes.”
To most, a fewminutes of their father’s time every week might not seem like much, but Adeleknew it was a great improvement. “Thanks,” she said. “Is anything going on backhome? How’s the job?”
The one thing theSergeant cared about most besides politics was his job. “Fine,” he said, “fine.Of course, had some trouble the other night. Couple of drunks came in and oneof them overdosed in the entry hall. Wasn’t pretty. Which, I might add, is whyyou should always stay clear of—”
“Dad, I’m notdoing drugs. Are you watching anything good?”
She knew herfather spent a lot of time watching TV, but he hated to admit it. The Sergeanthadn’t looked fondly on those who watched TV when she’d been growing up, but inhis old age, in an empty house, there were only so many model sets andcrosswords one could do.
“Oh,” he said, “youknow how it is. Mostly the news. How—how is your job?”
Adele smiledfaintly and glanced at the phone. The elevator dinged, and the sliding doorsopened at last. She stepped off into the basement, glancing down the long hall.Before she could turn back and reconsider, the elevator made another noise,suggesting someone had called it back upstairs, and the doors slid shut. Thecompartment rattled, leaving her alone in the abandoned hallway of the DGSIbasement.
“Oh,” she said, “notgreat. Getting a new partner, which isn’t bad.”
There wassilence, and Adele frowned at her phone, wondering if she’d lost reception.After a moment, though, a staticky voice said, “Hello, dear, I can’t hear you.You’re breaking up.”
Adele tilted herhead, pressing her phone tightly against her face. “Sorry, Dad. I’m in abasement. Reception is bad.”
“Sharp? I can’thear you. I’ll call you later. Soup is getting cold.”
“That’s fine,”she said, shouting in order to be heard. “Take care, Dad!”
She paused, thenheard, a muffled, “Goodbye, Sharp.” There was a quiet click and then silence.
Adele turnedaway from the elevator and stowed the phone in her pocket. “Progress isprogress,” she murmured out loud to no one in particular. The only times theyargued now, when her father was trying, was when the topic of her mother’skiller came up. The Sergeant knew Adele still intended to bring the murderer tojustice, but he wanted her to leave the case alone.
Adele put thethought from her mind as she moved through the abandoned hall toward John’s oldmakeshift speakeasy. He had set up a distillery in the basement, which would’vesurprised her in anyone else, but given what she knew about the tall,scar-faced agent, she supposed it was somewhat predictable. John didn’t oftenplay by the rules, but he was a reliable partner when times got tough.
Hesitantly, sherested her hand on the door to the interrogation room. She noticed it wascracked. For a moment, her heart fluttered in her chest and she felt a flash ofexcitement.
She swallowedthe emotions, though, wondering why she was acting like a schoolgirl. Adelereached out, gripped the door handle, and began to ease open the door to John’sbachelor pad. The hinges creaked, and Adele’s excitement culminated, but thenfell.
The room wasempty.
She felt a flashof disappointment. But she suppressed the emotion just as quickly and looked aroundthe room.
There was a cupresting on the speakeasy’s desk. The distillery, with all its pipes and flasksand beakers, looked like it had been used recently. A couple of droplets ofclear liquid dangled from the edge of a spigot, over the floor, which had asingle splash on the varnished wood.
Adele glanced upand down the hall, but there was no sign of her former partner.
The floor wasdusty in the hall, and various footprints ran up and down the space; some werehers from the previous day, and others were larger. Vaguely, Adele wondered ifJohn brought other people down here too. This thought bothered her. She movedback into the old interrogation room, swinging the door shut.
She inhaled theroom, smelling the odor of liquor and the faint hint of dust. She glanced overto the wall where there hung pictures of John with the Commandos Marine—specialforces similar to US Navy SEALs. John often spoke highly of his old crew, butshe had never met any of them. There had always been a sadness to John when hementioned them.
Agent Renee wasn’ta particularly sentimental man, and those two photos of his old crew were allhe had on the wall. There were no pictures of a family or a wife or kids. AsAdele moved into the room, she reached out for the cup on the counter. Sheexamined the inside, decided it was likely clean, and poured herself a drinkfrom the distillery.
She then tookher ill-gotten gains and collapsed onto the lumpy couch beneath the unframedphotos. The couch was more cushion than support; she melted into it andbreathed a deep sigh, leaning back against the cushions.
Adele inhaledthe scent of the alcohol from her glass. It stung her nostrils, and she liftedit to her lips, taking a sip. It nettled as she remembered it had, and her eyeswatered briefly at first, but it was smooth going down.
After
