“Do you think Chasse sent his son to kill Angie?”
“It’s just as possible he only wanted to find out what she suspected. And so he dispatched C. J. to get the information. But the father should’ve known his son well enough to realize how violent he was.”
“As long as he suffers for her death.” I began to count off the charges that could be brought against Chasse Lamontaine on my fingers: “Accessory to homicide, criminal conspiracy, multiple counts of attempted murder—”
Charley reached out to close my hand. “They’re both going to pay, Mike.”
“But not for Chasse’s original crime. He’s going to get away with being a party to Scott’s murder.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” my friend said with a hint of the old mischief. “Roland is facing mandatory sentences on drug trafficking charges. He’s likely to be more amenable to a plea than he was fifteen years ago, especially when he learns it was Chasse who betrayed his father.”
“Speaking of which…” I found the waterlogged square of paper in my wallet. Pierre’s bearded face had already begun to dissolve. “I’m afraid your photo got wet.”
He pointed at a garbage can beside the fence. “Throw it in the trash where it belongs.”
“I have a question about the inscription on the back.”
The ink had run, but I was able to read the words to him: “‘In battle, in the forest, at the precipice in the mountains, on the dark great sea, in the midst of javelins and arrows, In sleep, in confusion, in the depths of shame, The good deeds a man has done before defend him.’ Ora says that’s a quote from the Bhagavad Gita.”
“I got it out of a biography on Robert J. Oppenheimer,” he said, almost with embarrassment. “The head of the Manhattan Project. It was a favorite verse of his. I figured the man who brought the atom bomb into the world knew more about shame and self-doubt than most people. The picture was so I would remember what I had done, and the quote was so I would forget.”
A flock of black-capped chickadees landed in the bushes at the edge of the dirt parking lot. Among them was a bird who sounded as if he had a sore throat.
“Hear that?” Charley said, whispering lest he scare them off. “There’s a boreal chickadee in there with his black-capped cousins. You only get that species up north.”
“I know, Charley. You taught me that a long time ago.”
“Right.”
He coughed and looked at the grass beneath his boots.
“Was it worth it?” I asked. “Angie Bouchard dying? Kellam facing prosecution? Edouard Delhomme staring at deportation, now that his protector is gone? Was it worth it for you to have closure?”
He raised his eyes to meet mine. “You’ve never had a son, Mike.”
“Neither have you.”
“That’s not true. I have had two of them. Someday, when you’re a father yourself, you’ll understand.”
47
When Stacey arrived in Charley’s plane, I wasn’t sure if she was going to punch him or hug him. She did both. The punch was playful but not light, delivered to the old man’s sternum. It was the hug that caused him pain. He’d received a bruise in the back from the impact of C. J. Lamontaine’s bullet against the steel plate in his body armor. It was a good thing his daughter didn’t see the grimace when she tightened her arms around his torso.
“You scared Mom and me half to death—again,” she said.
Charley groaned an apology.
“And your bald head!” She couldn’t resist running a hand over her father’s stubbled skull. “It’s hideous.”
“We never knew what a master of disguise your dad was,” I said.
Stacey spun around at the sound of my voice. “And you!”
I wasn’t sure what treatment I was going to receive, but I prepared myself for the punch. Instead she wrapped her arms around my waist and pressed her face against my neck so that I was looking down at the top of her head. Her thick brown hair smelled of the lavender shampoo I remembered having used in her shower.
“Thank you, Mike,” she said in a voice close to choking. “Thank you for being here when he needed you.”
I disengaged myself from her embrace.
“He’s done the same for me,” I said. “More times than I can count.”
“Nick and I had it all in hand,” said Charley. “But we appreciated the young man’s help.”
Nick, hoping to head off an embrace, had lit another American Spirit as a diversion. He held out his free hand for Stacey to shake. She took it in both of hers. Nick Francis was clearly not a hugger.
“I’m sorry to have brought you all the way up here from Florida,” said Charley.
Stacey lifted her aviator sunglasses and positioned them on top of her head. In the strong morning light, her eyes were the palest shade of jade.
“Didn’t Mike tell you? I’m applying for the position of chief warden pilot. I heard the lead candidate was forced to drop out. Who better for the job than the daughter of the best man ever to hold it?”
“Stacey!”
I hadn’t seen Charley look that excited in years, not since he’d learned his daughter and I were dating.
She brought a hand to her mouth. “No, Dad.”
“What?”
“I was joking. Me, a game warden? That’s nobody’s idea of a good idea. Besides which, the department fired me, remember?” Once more, she turned her green gaze on me. “They don’t need another troublemaker on the state payroll, not when they have Bowditch here.”
“I do my best,” I said. “Is it true about Wheelwright being eliminated from consideration?”
“Mom heard it directly from the colonel.”
Maybe Major Pat Shorey had had a moral awakening. More likely others had persuaded him that hiring the hotshot pilot wasn’t worth the risk to the service’s reputation.
Stacey hugged her dad again. “If it’s any consolation, I’m thinking of sticking around for a while.”
Her father couldn’t suppress his eagerness. “How long?”
“Indefinitely.”
She didn’t look at me when she spoke the word. She seemed to make an effort
