Which was over.
A month after he was fired, Robin resigned.
He hadn’t tried to contact her. What would he say?
Who would believe that?
His four Pulitzer nominations and one win were revoked, his name stricken from the official records. All of his other journalism awards, whether won or nominated, were withdrawn. In its online archive the
Especially Robin.
God help her.
She took a beating. Amazingly, she found work at a small community newspaper chain, but her name would forever be linked to his scandal. He often wondered how she was doing.
Would she have grieved at his death?
He stared at the bedroom ceiling. Outside, daylight faded. He should sleep, but a lot of ghosts had come to visit this day. More than he’d ever anticipated. His daughter. Abiram. His former boss. The past.
But only one questioned mattered.
When his gun was returned tomorrow, and after he made sure Alle was okay, should he finish what he started?
———
ALLE TOTED HER SUITCASE OUT OF THE APARTMENT BUILDING to a waiting car.
“Sure you would not like to stay?” Rocha asked, adding a nauseating smile. “We barely have spoken to each other.”
She slid her bag into the open trunk and wanted to know something. “Were you following me tonight? How did you know where I was?”
“I was doing my job. Which was to protect you.”
“Protect me from what?”
He wagged a finger at her. “You’re a most clever woman. You think you ask me enough questions, then I will answer. Mr. Simon told me he would speak with you about all of this once you are in Florida. My job is to safely deliver you to the airport, not to answer your questions.” Rocha opened the rear door for her to climb inside. “This man will drive you.”
She spotted Midnight behind the wheel and cringed.
“There’s nobody else who can drive me?” she asked.
“What? Still upset? He was playacting, like you. That’s all. Now you must hurry. Your flight leaves in two and a half hours. Please claim your ticket at the Lufthansa check-in counter.”
She brushed past him into the rear seat and he closed the door.
“A little kiss before you go?” Rocha asked through the open window.
She mustered the courage to display a single finger.
“I guess not. Do travel safe.”
The car eased down the narrow street, finding the avenue at the far end. There, Midnight turned left and they sped toward the airport.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
ZACHARIAH COULD NO LONGER SLEEP. THE SITUATION WITH Alle Becket had raised too many concerns. Bene Rowe was far more ingenious than he’d ever imagined. Thankfully, as with Tom Sagan, he’d checked out the Jamaican.
Quite a character.
His mother was part Taino, part African, her roots extending back to the slaves imported to work the plantations. His father was African, as pure as a Jamaican slave descendant could get considering the amount of blood mixing that had occurred. Both of Rowe’s parents were Maroons, their ancestors runaway slaves who organized in the mountains and waged enough war on plantation owners that the British finally decided to make peace.
He’d studied the Maroons, trying to gain an understanding. The first slaves were brought to Jamaica by the Spanish in 1517 to supplement the native Tainos, who were dying out. The Africans became herdsmen, hunters, and farmers with a semi-free existence. They learned the land, becoming familiar with the dense, thickly wooded terrain. The Spanish and English fought for years, and the Africans allied with the Spanish. In 1660 the Spanish left the island forever, but the Africans remained, becoming the first Maroons. The English governor at the time predicted that they would one day become a great problem.
He was right.
They controlled Jamaica’s interior. Any colonist who dared to venture far from the coast paid a price.
More slaves came as sugarcane thrived. Revolts were common and many Africans escaped to the hills to join others already there. British farmers wanted the Maroons wiped out. There’d been a First Maroon War in 1731, and
