“Good,” Martin said. “Good.” There was more relief in his voice than satisfaction. Finally, for him, it was over. Except for his dad.
He and Savich watched the state troopers haul out Sheriff Harms’s unconscious body. When they were alone, Savich laid his hand on Martin’s shoulder. “Your father, Martin. I spoke to the Boston police yesterday. In addition to everything else, they also have the evidence of over twenty years of payments to the sheriff. You can bet that Sheriff Harms will roll hard on him.
“The Boston police are waiting for me to call again before they pick him up.”
“You knew my father had to be in on it, didn’t you, Dillon?”
“Yes, it was the only thing that made sense. I have to call them, Martin.”
“But you didn’t say anything about it to me.”
“No.”
“Because you didn’t think I could handle it.”
“No, I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d have doubts. It had to come from Sheriff Harms.”
Martin Thornton nodded as he said without hesitation, “He paid this man to murder my mother. Make the call, Agent Savich.” Martin heard Janet’s voice, and turned to see her running ahead of Sherlock into the sheriff’s office. He was smiling as he caught her up in his arms.
EPILOGUE
GEORGETOWN WASHINGTON, D.C.
END OF JANUARY
SAVICH SAID, “Who was that on the phone?”
“Lily. She and Simon have decided to get married in March.”
“Why March, for heaven’s sake?”
Sherlock shook her head, smiling. “She said it just felt right and besides, she’s made him suffer enough. She laughed, said Simon’s agreed they’ll live here in Washington for six months and New York for six months. We’ll see how long that lasts. Oh yes, No Wrinkles Remus has been picked up by Newsday.”
“Good. Someone there’s got a brain. It’s one of the best political cartoons I’ve ever seen. And what a relief. She’s finally picked the right man, thank the good Lord.”
Sherlock handed him a sleeping Sean, who gave a little snort when he felt his father’s big hand stroke his back.
“I heard from Janet and Martin Thornton today. They’re doing fine. Martin’s on some meds, as you know, but he said his shrink doesn’t think he’ll need them for much longer, given what’s happened. I think he’s smart and insightful. Best of all, he’s got Janet. She’s working on getting him to contact his stepmother and his two half-sisters. Maybe they can help each other. Hey, sweetheart, you ready for bed?”
“Well,” Sherlock said, “Sean certainly is. I was thinking about a nice hot shower. You know, I haven’t scrubbed your back in a while. Not since Wednesday night when you came in all sweaty from the gym. What do you think?”
Savich kissed her ear. He was whistling quietly as they walked upstairs. In the shower, Sherlock soaped up her hands and washed his back. He was leaning against the tiled wall, feeling almost relaxed enough to collapse and drown, when she said, “Are you satisfied we did the right thing about Günter?”
Savich stilled a moment. “Yes. I’m very glad you suggested we discuss what happened before we talked to anyone else. We saved Margaret Califano and Callie endless pain, and protected Justice Califano from a scandal that would have destroyed his name and harmed the Supreme Court itself.”
She nodded against his shoulder. “I still wonder, though, if Günter acted alone.”
“Remember Günter said he’d tell us a bit of truth? And so, I think, he did. Let it go, sweetheart. I have.”
He turned around to face her. Hot water cascaded down over them. “I decided to label that file Pandora’s box to remind me that Mr. Maitland is satisfied that Günter acted alone. So, yes, I’m going to keep that box tightly closed.”
She let the water pulse against her back as she lathered her hands to scrub down his chest. She raised her face. “I sure don’t want the key to that box. Let’s forget there is one, Dillon, okay?”
IT WAS LATE, deep in the night, when Savich shook his wife’s shoulder. “Wake up, Sherlock, wake up. You’re dreaming.”
Sherlock jerked awake, blinked at his face above hers. “What? Dillon? What’s the matter?”
“You were moving around, dreaming. A nightmare?”
Sherlock shook her head back and forth on the pillow. “No, no nightmare. Actually, for the very first time, I dreamed about Samantha.”
He pulled her tightly against him, and said against her hair, “I dreamed about her as well. Did she say or do anything in your dream?”
“No, she was there, in my line of sight, and she was smiling. What was your dream about Dillon?”
He turned over on his back, his arms crossed under his head. “She gave me a beautiful smile, too, and then nodded to me and patted my arm. I felt this wonderful feeling of warmth and contentment come over me. Then she was gone, and I woke up to hear you thrashing about.”
“Do you think you’ll tell Sean about her someday?”
Savich laughed. “Doubtful, but who knows?”
“I wonder if there were things your father never told you that happened to him.”
“I’d bet the bank on it.”
Sherlock settled back down for sleep, her head on her husband’s shoulder. “The oddest thing, Dillon, I think I smell jasmine.”
Savich didn’t say anything. He wasn’t about to say the words out loud. He breathed in the subtle scent, and closed his eyes.
CALLIE MARKHAM’S APARTMENT
GEORGETOWN
THAT SAME EVENING
BEN RANG the doorbell.
A good three minutes later the front door opened and Callie stood there, wearing old sweats and thick socks on her feet. Her hair was uncombed, and her face was scrubbed clean. She squeaked. “I should have known you’d catch me looking like the rag queen. You’re early. I haven’t put on the little black dress yet.”
He stepped in, pulled her against him, and kissed her. “I don’t care. I wrapped up a case early and I wanted to see you, maybe celebrate with a good-quality beer.”
“I’ve got some Coors stashed in the fridge for our Super Bowl party.”
As he followed her through the living room and into the kitchen, he was struck, as he usually was, by the number of books. They were everywhere, on every surface, overflowing every bookshelf, even though three entire walls of the living room were covered with built-ins. And there were flowers, three vases of them, Christmas cacti blooming wildly, and at least half a dozen different kinds of ivy, all trailing happily over surfaces to the floor. A good dozen bright pillows were tossed on every chair and sofa. Even the rugs that covered the wooden floor were bright, each a different style. It was warm and inviting. He liked being in the room, watching TV, reading, making love with Callie. It felt like home. He lightly touched his hand to her shoulder. “Have I told you how much I like your apartment?”
“Sounds to me like you’re laying down some pretty broad hints here, Ben.”
“It’s bigger than my place. You’ve got a guestroom, and your office is really too big for you. You need another body in there to make it feel like home.”
“You mean like Dillon and Sherlock’s?”
“Something like that. Remember you told me I was a natural?”
“Yes, I remember.”
“What did you mean by that?”
She looked at the white curtains splotched with red poppies covering the kitchen windows that Janette had sewn for her. She closed her eyes a moment, drew a deep breath, and looked down at her nails. She needed a manicure.
“Well? What do you say? You want to marry me?”