Ellie tuned back in just as Dixon laid a brown mailing envelope with a New Iberia postmark on the conference table. The package was going to help Dixon tie all the pieces together. It had been delivered by the U.S. Postal Service around the same time Ellie’s Kevlar vest was saving her life. Ellie found it in her mailbox when she came home from the hospital. Enclosed were several yellowed photographs of boys and girls of various ages, each picture accompanied by a Post-it note of the shaky writings of an aged hand. On one of the photographs, Helen Benoit had written, The third boy on the left, Jasper, liked computers. He had a mean streak too. Even in his early teens, Jasper looked a lot like Jason Upton.
Also enclosed in the envelope were copies of all of Helen Benoit’s foster parent contracts with the Louisiana Department of Social Services. At the same time she’d cared for Edmond Bertrand, she’d also taken in Jasper Dupre, date of birth 10-16-74. Jason Upton had the same birth date. As did the Edmond Bertrand arrested in Boston six years ago.
Jason Upton had lied about his education, wealth, motives – even his name. Charlie Dixon was still tracking down all of the various aliases that Jasper Dupre had used since he left Louisiana.
By the time Dixon was done telling the official version of the story, and Ellie was finished corroborating the details, it sounded like it took both of their separate investigations to come to the full truth. Ellie, of course, knew the real truth. She was not troubled, though, that the official version made Dixon sound more resourceful than he was, and she slightly less. Dixon needed the credit more. He was staying on the job.
ELLIE RETURNED to her apartment to find her suitcase open on the bed, just as she’d left it. Without bothering to remove her coat or boots, she began folding the last few pieces of clothing that remained in a pile on top of her dresser. Jess eyed her from the bedroom doorway as she placed the items in the suitcase.
“You sure you want to do this?” Jess asked.
“Yeah, I’m sure. This is what I need right now.”
Two days earlier, she’d gotten the call from the lawyer in Kansas. Now that the dust had settled on William Summer’s conviction and sentence, the Wichita police were finally prepared to permit the family of deceased detective Jerry Hatcher to have a supervised look at the evidence. Ellie had booked an early-afternoon flight. She was even trying to arrange a private visit with Summer at the El Dorado Correctional Facility while she was down there.
“And what are you going to do about Clark Kent?”
Ellie took it as a sign of approval that Jess had come up with a nickname for Peter. “Lots of phone calls. He says if I’m away more than three weeks, he’s flying down there himself. He’s already got a story proposal in the works so the paper will pay for it.”
“What about when you get back? Don’t you need to tell the department what you’re doing?”
“I’ll get right on that – just as soon as you know what you’ll be doing for work in a month.”
Ellie was still on paid leave, but Lieutenant Jenkins was already inquiring as to when she might return to her old post at Midtown North. In the last two weeks, she had trusted too many of the wrong people, been suspicious of the others, and had orchestrated an apocryphal, illegal cover story because she came to believe it was the only way to obtain justice. She had watched her partner get shot, and then held him as he died. She knew better than to make a decision prematurely, but she no longer pictured herself as a police officer. At least not yet.
“And you’re sure it’s okay I stay here while you’re gone?” Jess asked.
“Please. You know you’d stay here anyway.”
“A vacant apartment in Manhattan is a terrible thing to waste.”
Jess helped Ellie zip the suitcase and then carried it to the front door. Ellie looked at her watch.
“I better go.”
“Ellie, wait. You’ve thought through this decision, right? About going home? I mean, what if it turns out – you know, what if we’ve been fooling ourselves about Dad?”
“Yeah,” she said, nodding. “But we need an answer. Mom needs to finally move on after all these years. And I’ll be there to get her through it. I’m ready to do that.”
She heard her voice breaking, so she said good-bye to Jess one last time before she hugged him and carried her suitcase to the street. She waved down the next available cab and helped the driver load her oversized bag into the trunk. As the taxi made its way to the Midtown Tunnel, she took in the streets of Manhattan, as she had when she first arrived in the city, knowing she would miss them and that everything would be different when she returned.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A former deputy district attorney, ALAFAIR BURKE now teaches criminal law at Hofstra Law School and lives in New York City. She is the daughter of the acclaimed crime writer James Lee Burke. Her three novels in the Samantha Kincaid series, Judgment Calls, Missing Justice, and Close Case are available in paperback from St. Martin’s Press.
