“Let’s say this story of yours is true,” he said. “Carlo Vachon is Thomas’s guardian angel. Was it Vachon who had him looking for the window?”
Which was the better answer? Yes, Vachon was on to them, or no, he didn’t know a damn thing about it? Maybe, if I’d had some idea of who’d actually died in the apartment, I’d know which answer to give. At one point we’d thought Allison Fitch had been murdered there, but she’d only died in the last day. Lewis had said the words “Bridget’s body” to Howard when he had arrived. I had no idea who Bridget was, but wondered if she’d been the Orchard Street victim.
While I was thinking, Thomas said, “I found it on my own. I told you.”
Howard leaned back in his chair and took a long breath. “I swear, I don’t know what to make of this.” He turned so he could look directly at Lewis. “If this is some random event, if this Rain Man freak here really stumbled upon that image on the Web site by chance, then our problems end here.”
“Yeah,” Lewis said.
“The Clinton thing, the e-mails to the CIA…debunking those details eases my mind in ways I will not bother to elaborate on.” He rubbed his chin contemplatively. “But this other matter, of Vachon…”
“I’m not buying it,” Lewis said.
Howard spun his butt around on the seat so he could address Nicole. “You’ve been rather quiet.”
She didn’t respond.
“Have you any thoughts on this matter?”
She thought a moment. “I think, if they were keeping tabs on Thomas, they’d have rescued him by now. If you feel your other concerns have been addressed, then all you have left to do is get rid of these two.”
“Yes,” Howard said. “You may be-”
I think it’s fair to say all of us just about jumped out of our skin at that moment. Someone was banging on the front door of the shop.
“Jesus,” Lewis said.
Howard looked at me. “Is that them?” When he found me speechless, he asked the same question of Thomas.
Thomas said, “Maybe.”
The banging continued. Then, shouting: “Howard! Howard, I know you’re in there!”
Howard’s eyes went wide. In that instant, he looked truly rattled, more than any other time since he’d arrived.
“Dear God,” he said. “It’s Morris.”
SIXTY-TWO
Shortly after putting his phone away, Morris Sawchuck said to his driver, Heather, “I’m not waiting any longer. I’m gonna find out what the son of a bitch is up to.”
“I’ll be here,” she said.
Morris got out of the town car, stormed across the street, and banged on the door of the toy shop. “Howard! Howard, I know you’re in there!”
Morris put his eyes up to the glass and cupped his hands around his head. There was a light on in the back of the shop. Then a curtain was pulled back and Howard strode toward the door. He turned back the dead bolt and opened the door six inches.
“You’re up and around,” Sawchuck said.
“Morris, Jesus, what are you doing here?”
“Open the door,” Morris said.
“Morris, you can’t-”
Morris threw his shoulder into the door and knocked it wide open, tossing Howard back and causing him to trip on a child’s pedal car from the 1950s. Sprawled out on the floor, he found himself looking up at Morris.
“What’s going on here?” Morris demanded.
“You have to leave. You don’t want to be here. You have to-”
“I’m not going anywhere! You lied to me, Howard. You lied to me about being sick, about what you’ve been doing tonight. And I’ve got a feeling you’ve been lying to me for a long time. I swear to God, if you don’t tell me what’s going on, I’ll-”
He looked to the back of the store, and the light coming through the curtain. He could see shadows moving behind it.
“What’s going on in there?”
Howard, pleading, said, “You have to leave. This is what I do for you, Morris. I keep things from you. I get things done. I make the sausages. Nobody likes to know how they’re made, but I do it for you, to protect-”
“Oh, fuck off,” he said. “This is different.”
Morris took a step toward the curtain and Howard clutched his leg. “No!” he said.
Morris stumbled and kicked, catching Howard under the chin with the toe of his Florsheims.
“Shit!” he shouted, releasing his grasp. Morris made it to the curtain in under two seconds, threw it back, and stared.
A man he recognized-Lewis, who had done work for Howard for years-and a woman, standing at the back of the room, he did not.
And two men bound into chairs.
“Hello, Morris,” Lewis said as the attorney general stared, openmouthed, at the scene before him.
Howard, out of breath, his chin bloodied, stepped through the curtain.
“Morris, I told you-”
“Who are these men?” Morris asked.
“I’m Ray Kilbride,” said one. “And this is my brother, Thomas.”
“Who are you?” Morris asked the woman.
“The fuckup,” she said.
“Untie these men,” Morris ordered. He wasn’t giving the order to anyone in particular, but it was clear he expected Lewis or Howard to respond.
Howard said, “It’s not that simple.”
“Oh, I think it is,” Morris spluttered. “I don’t know what the hell is going on here, but this is kidnapping. You can’t hold these men here against their will.”
“There are things you don’t know,” Howard said.
“Then tell me,” he said.
“It’s…complicated.”
Morris’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Howard. “Maybe if you talk really slow I’ll be able to understand.”
“It’s about the murder,” the one named Thomas said. “On Orchard Street.”
“What murder? What are you talking about?”
“Shut up!” Howard said. “Morris, we’re leaving right-”
From behind, Howard grabbed him by the arms and tried to steer him out of the room, but Morris shook free.
“What murder?” he asked again.
The one named Ray said, “We don’t know, but it might be someone named Bridget.”
SIXTY-THREE
The moment I uttered the words, it was like the air had suddenly been sucked out of the room. Something palpable happened to Howard, Lewis, and Nicole at that moment. Their breath was taken away and they didn’t
