'Against the person on the paternity report? Unidentified Male?'
'Unidentified Male,' I said.
'You've been busy.'
'Me and him both.'
'Yes, I can get the analysis run. To determine if the same person who chewed that gum fathered that child.'
She walked to the couch, and I followed her. Pillow back in her lap, she took in the update.
When I finished, she ran her hands through her dark hair. She took a deep breath and tilted her head to the ceiling as she exhaled. 'Caruthers is the better candidate for president. You know it and I know it. And you have something sure to stop him.'
We sat with the weight of that for a moment. It seemed like a stupendous choice, but it wasn't much of a choice at all.
Induma's pragmatism finally got the better of her. 'How are you planning to put this out in a way so the public gets onto it?'
'Can you have the DNA results back by Thursday morning?'
'Why Thursday mor-' Comprehension flickered across her face. 'Oh, no, Nick. The debate? You can't be…?'
'Town-hall format, remember?'
'The debate's a farce, Nick, like everything else. The questions are all vetted, and the people asking them'H be screened six times over. They're only gonna let VIPs and preselected demographic types even get inside the building. All that on top of the fact that the Secret Service, which'll be de facto running the event, will be on the lookout for you.' She shook her head, her hair swaying. 'There's no way for you to get the ultrasound inside Royce Hall without being seen.'
'Well,' I said, 'there is one way.'
She studied me, an eyebrow arched with curiosity. But she didn't ask. Instead she said, 'I thought you were going to disappear, mail this in, let someone else handle it.'
I looked over at that sandalwood Buddha, still laughing in the alcove. My throat was dry.
I said, 'There's no one left to handle it.'
The enormity of the challenge sat between us, fearsome and overwhelming. But we started to talk through my plan, one step at a time. Induma brought back the gear I needed from her garage-workshop and rigged it to her satisfaction. Nightfall came shortly, but neither she nor I moved to turn on a lamp. Maybe we were too distracted by what we were contemplating, but more likely a part of us welcomed the dark. These were unsafe ideas, better murmured in unlit rooms where they were no more than words without owners, where we were faceless shadows on a couch.
Suddenly Induma's silhouette stiffened. With alarm I looked over my shoulder, following her gaze, and through the front windows I saw the band of light that had sprung into existence, illuminating the street end of her walk. Something had tripped the motion sensor down there by the curb. Gnats pinged around in the emptiness between the waist-high bamboo lining the concrete path. We watched, breathless.
A pair of men in suits emerged from the dark of the street, piercing the cold, white glow.
Agents. I recognized them from when I'd had that kid run my credit card at Starbucks.
The high-tech lights blinked on in succession, broadcasting their approach.
Induma half stood, one knee on the couch. We were frozen. Their voices became audible as they stepped onto the porch.
The doorbell rang, breaking whatever spell had paralyzed us.
Induma hissed, 'Go.'
'I don't want to leave y-'
'They came up the front walk-they're just here to poke around and harass me. Believe me, I can handle this. But you need to go now, or we both run out of options.'
I started for the rear door, hesitated.
Induma said, fiercely, 'If they catch you here, it's over.'
The doorbell rang again.
I scrambled out the back. Someone-another agent-was fussing with the latch, trying to open the side gate. I sprinted across the lawn, vaulted the boxwood hedge, and skidded down the canal slope, water seeping through my shoes.
As quietly as possible, I sloshed the length of four houses, stooping under footbridges, dodging sleeping ducks with their heads turned to rest on their backs. A flashlight beam played briefly in Induma's yard, but no one crossed the barrier to check the canal. I misjudged my proximity to a cluster of mallards, and they exploded up in a spray of water and pinfeathers, scaring me senseless. I bolted up onto someone's deck and cut through an easement overgrown with foxtails.
Induma's house was no longer visible, but still I crept through front yards to avoid stepping out into the open. The Jag was where I'd left it, in the shadows between streetlights. I drove away, forcing myself not to speed. My hands shook as I called my mom. Steve answered.
I said, 'They're closing the net. I had to warn you they might come-'
He cut me off. 'Yeah, Janice, she can't talk right now. We've got some people here asking about her son.'
He hung up.
I pulled over and sat in the car, breathing hard. Caruthers's men were beating the bushes, cutting down my options, forcing me to keep on the run where I'd be likely to make a mistake. I had to find somewhere to bed down until everything blew open. But I had nowhere left to go.
Except back where it all started.
I blended in with the slipcovered furniture, breathing the familiar air, becoming a part of this house that had become a part of me. The walls echoed with memories. Sitting in the armchair of the otherwise-empty living room, sheltered by this structure that had sheltered me as a child, I closed my eyes, and in the sweet musk of dust and rotting wood, past became present and present past. Here Frank had embraced me and called us a family. Here he'd bled to death in my arms. Here I sat, waiting to duplicate my walk of seventeen years ago, from back door to pitcher's mound.
I rose.
It was time to meet Frank's killer.
Chapter 47
In the dark on the pitcher's mound, I breathed in the smells of my youth. Damp grass, rosin dust, and the vintage blend of infield dirt-silt, sand, and red clay. It seemed inconceivable that I'd played on these grounds, that I'd lost my virginity on this very spot. I hadn't been back to Glendale High, not since that night.
I was waiting in the great wide open. Given that everyone knew what cards I was playing, my strategy had changed. Mr. Pager would have been long tipped off that I was the enemy. If he came here expecting Tris Landreth and saw me instead, he'd be unable to resist confronting me, finding out where I'd stashed the evidence, and killing me.
Or he'd just shoot me from a distance. That would render my plan less effective.
In right field a sprinkler chopped away, going it alone. I couldn't see the streams, just the moist gleam of the darkness over there. I thought about my first glimpse of Isabel McBride on the mound, the breeze plastering her sundress against her contoured form. How different she was now. How different we all were.
My shoes, and pants from the knee down, were still damp from the canal. I was wearing a jacket I'd bought earlier, but it wasn't for comfort alone. Aside from some white-noise traffic and the staccato beat of the sprinkler, the school was quiet. Desolate, even. A few distant streetlights. The buildings, flat blocks against a moonless sky. The glow of my cell phone showed 12:18 A.M. Mr. Pager, true to form, was fashionably late. Scouting me out this very moment. Crosshairs leveled at my head, perhaps, or maybe he was placing a call to two Eastern European
