“They were,” Jeff said.
“No one deserves to go out like that,” she said.
“That’s where we agree,” Jeff said.
“My husband,” Jennifer said, “he’s a good person. I know you don’t believe that. He loves his son. He’s a caring person. A very caring person.”
For some reason, Jeff didn’t doubt that. He’d listened to all the wiretaps they had on him from his meetings with the boys — even the last one — and what Jeff took away was that he seemed. . professional. Had an okay sense of humor. They’d even caught him briefly, and unexpectedly, on a wire a few months earlier, when they were working on the Russians, and he’d spent a good fifteen minutes standing outside a Subway near the college talking on his cell phone about cough medicine. Called his wife “baby.” Told her that he loved her before he hung up. Went inside and ordered a tuna fish sandwich. Just like a normal person.
“Your husband,” Jeff said, “is a hit man for the Family.”
“He’s never been arrested, do you know that?”
“Of course,” Jeff said.
“You know these people you call the ‘Family’ threw his father off of a building? So why would he work for people who did that to him?” Jennifer began to tear up, and Jeff wondered how hard it would be to live her life for one day. He didn’t try to empathize with the people he investigated, generally speaking, but then Jennifer wasn’t someone he was investigating.
“I’m not here to harass you,” Jeff said.
“The cops keep showing up whenever I go out. They don’t come here, because they probably know you guys are listening to everything, but they’ll roll up behind me when I’m out getting groceries. William, he loves it. But you know Chicago cops. They aren’t investigating anymore. The ones that stop me now, they think Sal is off somewhere going state’s evidence, so they’re here making sure I’m doing okay, asking me if I need anything, offering me money or whatever. Last guy? He came up to me at Tino’s pizza down the street, asked me what I needed, so I told him the best thing he could do would be to pay my electric bill. I was just joking, though I wonder if he did it, you know? Maybe next time I’ll ask him to get my cleaning.”
“Is that what you think?” Jeff asked. “That he turned state’s?”
“I think if I sit out here and talk to you, Ronnie will send his wife over to talk to me again.”
“Would that be why you didn’t hold a funeral?” Matthew asked.
Jennifer cocked her head and regarded Matthew with a look that Jeff thought was a mix between amusement and utter sadness. “Look at you,” she said. “Have you ever wanted for anything in your life?”
“Everyone wants something,” Matthew said, the young agent composed, cool, maybe a touch condescending, which was okay; he was FBI, after all. Then Jeff saw for the first time that Matthew had a wedding ring on his finger, and it all made some sense. He might have been a young agent, but he still had a life, still had more shit going on than Jeff, really. “It boils down to how they go about getting what they want, doesn’t it? For me, anyway.”
“Aren’t you smart, with your Brooks Brothers suit and your class ring. You think that gives you the right to talk to me like that? You’re not even old enough to valet my car.”
“Let’s take it easy,” Jeff said.
“No, to answer your question,” she said. “I didn’t have a funeral because I don’t want to believe he’s dead. Don’t want his son to believe he’s dead, either. Maybe he did turn state’s and he’s living out in Springfield or something, eating steak every night and telling you everything he knows about his cousin Ronnie’s used-car business.”
“Is that what you want?” Jeff asked.
“It’s what I hope,” she said. “It’s the best-case scenario. Otherwise I have to believe the shoe box of ashes in my hall closet is my husband, and I can’t handle that.” William came around the front of the house again on his Big Wheel, his legs pumping away on the pedals. Jennifer stood upright and watched as he spun around the car again before heading toward the backyard. “William, be careful,” she said, though it wasn’t loud enough for him to hear. It seemed almost reflexive.
“Your son has a lot of energy,” Matthew said. “My son is about his age. Never gets tired. My wife, Nina, is always looking for new ways to wear him out.”
“Get him a puppy,” Jennifer said absently. “Or a brother.”
“He’s adorable,” Matthew said.
“Right now he is,” Jennifer said. She shook her head just slightly, and then her pinkie went back into her mouth. She was only thirty-five, still a young woman, but Jeff wondered how much pressure she could take. Jeff took off his seat belt and got out of the car then, not bothering to put on his suit coat. He didn’t imagine she had a lot of allies in this world. He wanted to put an arm around her, let her know it was going to be okay, though of course he knew it never would be. So, instead, he handed her his business card. She looked at it briefly and then stuck it in her back pocket.
“Your husband,” Jeff said, “is not in state custody, and that body? That’s not him, either.”
“You have his DNA or something?”
“No,” he said. “But I don’t need it. I know the truth.”
“What’s that?” Jennifer said.
“We’ll get a court order and DNA your son at some point, compare it to the samples we have, and then it will be a big deal in the newspapers and such. It wouldn’t be good PR to do it now. Might not even be good PR for another year.”
“I don’t know where he is,” Jennifer said. “I don’t care if you believe me.”
“I believe you,” Jeff said.
“You do?”
“You’ve got no reason to lie,” he said, though of course she did. Everyone Jeff had ever known had a good reason to lie; it’s just that those reasons rarely panned out in the long run.
Jennifer Cupertine nodded twice and then took a deep breath through her nose and let it back out slowly through her mouth, then did it again. It occurred to Jeff Hopper that he shouldn’t have come here. Not because he didn’t appreciate the small amount of information he’d received, but because he was sure that this was another bad day Jennifer Cupertine would remember for the rest of her life. Another in a series of shitty days, this one featuring Special Agent Jeff Hopper and Kid Agent Matthew Drew, the lacrosse superstar who was now in the middle of his own career suicide, or would be once he got back to the office and was quizzed by the senior agents about what the fuck he was doing out at Sal Cupertine’s house when he was supposed to be running boxes.
“Why are you here?” Jennifer asked.
“I wanted you to know your husband was alive,” Jeff said. “And to tell you to keep away from Ronnie Cupertine and his people. They don’t have your son’s best interests, Mrs. Cupertine. This is a chance for you, for him. Make a different life. Get out of Chicago. This is your opportunity to get away from this gangster bullshit, Mrs. Cupertine.”
“No,” she said. “This house is paid for, and I’m going to stay in it until Sal comes back.”
“Sal comes back, he’s going to prison,” Jeff said. “If he’s lucky.”
“That’s fine,” she said, “but he’ll come here first, and I will be here, no matter when that is.”
“Fair enough,” Jeff said. He extended his hand toward Jennifer, and, surprisingly, she took it. “You hear from your husband, call me. I can help him.”
This made Jennifer laugh. “Okay,” she said, “I’ll be sure to do that.”