“Yes. We need you to meet Charlie in Tokyo tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow? Do I have a choice?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact you do. Would you prefer to fly on Aeroflot or Air France?”
24
Amanda Rauci clutched her fingers together, trying to stave off the urge to put another mint Life Saver in her mouth.
They were a dead giveaway that she had been drinking in the middle of the day.
Bloodshot eyes weren’t exactly camouflage, either, but there was nothing she could do about those.
“The director will see you now,” said the secretary.
Amanda nodded, and rose from her seat. Despite her earlier resolution, she reached into her bag and took out a mint, popping it into her mouth before entering Frey’s office.
“Please sit down,” said Frey.
The icy tone told her everything. She forced a smile to her face as she pushed one of the modernistic seats up close to the director’s desk. The chair felt uncomfortable, oversized; Amanda’s feet didn’t reach the floor. She bit the candy she’d just put in her mouth, swallowing the tiny pieces in a single gulp.
“I can’t believe you would hinder an investigation by withholding important information,” said Frey. “I can’t believe it.”
Amanda said nothing.
“Why? Why didn’t you say anything? Surely you knew Jerry was dead.”
“What was there to say?”
“When did you last see him?” Frey asked.
“A few nights before he died.”
“During your vacation?”
“Before my vacation started.”
“Was he depressed?”
Amanda shook her head.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” asked Frey again. “Didn’t you think it was relevant?”
Because if she said anything, then it would be real. Then he would be gone, really, utterly, truly gone. And she was gone as well.
“Where were you the night Jerry died?”
“I was at a hotel, waiting for him.”
“Waiting for him? Where?”
“A few miles from… I guess… where…” She had to stop to control the sobs. How much was she going to tell Frey? Everything? Or just part?
Part. What ever she could get out before despair took over.
“We spoke,” Amanda said. “He told me to wait. I was in the bar awhile. I was there, I guess, when he—” Sobs erupted from her chest so violently that she shook and couldn’t continue.
Frey offered no sympathy. “That’s it?” She nodded. Clearly if she told him she’d been there—
God, if she told him she’d been there, he’d have her charged with murder.
“You still have vacation days left?” asked the director.
Amanda formed her fingers into fists, then ground them into her cheeks to stop the tears and sobs. “Yes,” she managed.
“Then take them. Hand in your credentials, and your weapon. Leave them here.”
“I’m suspended?”
“What do you think?”
25
Lia and Dean stopped at a small family-style restaurant not far from the Foresters’ house for an early dinner. Lia immediately regretted it. The restroom was filthy, in her experience never a good sign. But Dean had already ordered for both of them by the time she got to the table.
“You really think you know what I want?” she asked him.
“Turkey wrap.”
“Maybe I wanted a hamburger.”
“That would be a first.”
It wasn’t so much that he was right as the fact that he was smug about it — quietly smug, of course — that annoyed her.
“I felt bad for the kid,” said Dean.
“Yeah.”
“I’d hate to see that happen to my son.”
“What son?”
“If I had one.”
Lia, confused, said nothing until the waitress came with their drinks — seltzer for Dean, iced tea for her.
“You knew I wanted iced tea, too, huh?” Dean nodded.
“I’m that predictable?”
“Only about food.”
“Do you have a son, Charlie Dean?”
Dean stared at her. The words had blurted from her mouth, almost of their own volition. She’d stopped being Lia DeFrancesca, Desk Three op. She was just… herself.
“I don’t have any children,” said Dean. “You know that.”
“Yeah.”
“What I meant was, when I
Lia didn’t hear the rest of what Dean said.
With her?
Was that his plan? Was it her plan? Did she want kids?
After her week at Tina’s, children were even further than usual from Lia’s thoughts.
But did she want kids?
The question was too much to think about right now. Lia forced her attention back to what Dean was saying. She’d missed the transition, but he was talking about Mrs. Forester.
“Maybe she’s right,” said Dean. “He might have told people at the Secret Service that he wanted custody of the kids, but that might have been bull.”
“Why do you say that?” Lia asked.
“Because of what he did. Because if he really loved the kids, he wouldn’t have killed himself.”
“I don’t think it was suicide,” said Lia. “And neither does Rubens — that’s why we’re going to Vietnam. Whoever tried to kill McSweeney killed Forester first.” Dean didn’t say anything, which usually meant he disagreed.
“I doubt she bought those NASCAR tickets,” said Lia.
“He must’ve loved the kids.”
“Taking somebody to a car race doesn’t mean you love them,” said Dean.
“How would you know?”
Dean frowned — then changed the subject. “How was your friend?”
