“There was nothing you could do,” he told her.
“But now there is.”
“Yes,” he said. “Now there is.”
They made love very gently this time. There was none of the passion or the physicality that was there the first time they’d been in this bed together. She gasped when she saw his body-the bruises, how much weight he’d lost-and she kissed him lightly, careful not to hurt him. She made no demands on him, just held and kissed him and touched him until she coaxed him inside her and they came together, shuddering. She held him tightly for a long time after they came. She thought he was asleep in her arms but then he spoke quietly.
“Who was in charge?” he asked. “Who did Leona put in charge?”
He felt her shift her weight and he heard, rather than saw, her smile, could tell from the quiet way she breathed in and exhaled. “Me,” Reggie told him. “I’ve been the acting police chief. It’s a miracle there hasn’t been a crime wave.”
They both started to laugh. He kissed her on top of the head.
“I’ve never been so happy to give up a job,” she said.
But Justin immediately shook his head. “No,” he told her. “Not yet.”
“Why not? You’re back, Jay. No one has any idea what happened. It’ll be fine.”
“I’m just not ready yet. I’d like to stay quiet for a while.”
“Why?” she asked.
He glanced away from her. Instead of answering, he said, “You and Gary getting along?”
“Sure,” she answered. “He’s a nice guy. I mean, he doesn’t like having to report to a woman, but he’s been pretty professional about it. Yeah, we get along fine.”
“He’s the only one you can tell. In the morning. Ask him to come over here around noon. But make sure he doesn’t tell anybody else that I’m back. Okay?”
She raised her head. In her eyes he saw a bit of confusion, an equal amount of suspicion.
“You said it was over,” she whispered.
“I know I did.”
“But it isn’t, is it?”
“It’s almost over,” he told her.
In the morning, he sent her home. Asked her to go about her business as usual, reminded her to say nothing about his return except to Gary. He knew it wouldn’t be a secret for long, someone would drive by his house, someone would spot him through a window, someone would call him up, and it’d be all over town. That was fine. He didn’t need to keep hidden for long. He just wanted a brief period of peace and quiet. All he needed was a little bit of time.
The first thing he did was call Bruno Pecozzi. Bruno didn’t sound surprised to hear his voice. Didn’t seem surprised about anything.
“Bruno,” Justin said, “you remember that envelope I mailed you? From Washington?”
“It’s already in your house.”
“What?”
“Hey, if you’re mailin’ me somethin’ from D.C., I figure it’s somethin’ important. Who knows what these sick fucks are gonna decide to do, maybe they’re gonna search my house just ’cause I know you. I figured they already searched your place, they wouldn’t be lookin’ for nothin’ new after that. So I did a little B and E and put it someplace safe for when you came back.”
“Where is it?”
“The table to the right of your couch. In that drawer. You should find someplace safer to keep your grass, Jay. I mean, Jesus, you’re the chief of fuckin’ police.”
Justin said he’d think about it, then asked if Bruno could come over in the afternoon. All Bruno said was, “Be there,” and hung up.
His next call was to Wanda Chinkle. He tried her at the office, was told she wasn’t around. He didn’t leave his name, hung up, tried her Boston apartment. He didn’t leave a message on her phone machine, decided to next try the number Wanda had given him for emergencies-the gym in Boston. This time Leyla answered herself. He gave his name, she said, “Oh, okay. What’s the message?”
He told the woman what he wanted Wanda to do. She said she’d pass it along, and agreed to call back to confirm.
Five minutes later, Leyla called back. All she said was, “You’ve got the okay. Wait fifteen minutes, then go ahead. But Wanda said she has a question for you.”
“Go ahead.”
“She said to ask you, ‘Do you know what the fuck you’re doing?’”
He said, “Does she want an answer?”
“No,” the woman at the gym said. “She said I didn’t have to get the answer. She said she just had to ask the question. She also said to give you a message.”
“Okay.”
“She said. . Hold on, I wrote it down ’cause she wanted me to give it to you right. . Okay, this is an exact quote: ‘You’re in some serious shit. Try to remember that no matter how it seems, when the time comes I’m on your side.’”
“That’s it?”
“Except for the number you wanted.”
“Okay. Let’s have it.”
“Here’s who you’re supposed to call. .”
After she gave him the information, he hung up, waited exactly fifteen minutes, as instructed, called the number of a north shore police station. He hadn’t wanted to call Southampton. He was too paranoid to go that close to home. No, not paranoid, he thought. Too smart to risk it. “I’m calling for Wanda Chinkle of the Federal Bureau of Investigation,” he said when he reached the officer whose name Wanda had given him.
“Right,” the voice said. “I just got off the phone with her. How would you like us to handle this?”
“I’ll get you the two objects that have to be dusted.”
“Two? She said one.”
“You must have misunderstood. Does she need to call you back to verify?”
“Nah. One, two, what difference does it make?”
“Great. Someone from the East End PD’ll bring it over,” Justin said. “We’ll need a match for both sets of prints-names and addresses.”
“If they’re in the system, we’ll get them.”
“One of them should definitely be in the system,” Justin told the cop. “He’s probably military. Might be military intelligence.”
“What about the other one?”
“Strictly a guess, but I think it’ll be in Immigration.”
“How deep am I supposed to look?”
“As deep as you can.” Justin gave the officer his home fax number. “You can fax the info there.”
“Hey, as long as the FBI authorized it, you got it, pal,” the cop said. “You get me the things, I’ll get you the info.”
“They’re on their way,” Justin said.
He looked at the small paper cup he’d carried with him from Guantanamo Bay. He’d already wrapped it carefully in bubble wrap and placed it in a manila envelope. He went to the end table to the right of his couch, opened the drawer and, sure enough, found the envelope he was looking for, the envelope he’d mailed from a mall near Theresa Cooke’s house, the one he’d addressed to himself, care of Bruno, with the words “hold for pickup” written across the front. Justin put that envelope inside the manila one, stuffing it under a fold of the bubble wrap. He wrote out a simple list of instructions, added his fax number to be on the safe side, taped the note to the bubble wrap, and sealed the envelope.
A few minutes later, when Gary Jenkins arrived, Justin handed him the package, told him to take it to Riverhead, gave him the cop’s name to whom he should hand-deliver it. He could tell that Gary was a little hurt that he was being so curt, so professional after all the time he’d been away and with all the unanswered questions about his disappearance. He softened a bit, said, “Gary, this is really important to me. You’re about the only person I can trust to do this and keep quiet about it. When it’s all over I’ll take you out to dinner and fill you in and answer all your questions, but right now I need you to shut up and get the fuck over to Riverhead.”
The young cop smiled. “Already starting to feel like the good old days,” he said.
“Thanks,” Justin said.
Gary gave him a mock salute, flipped the envelope in a “don’t worry” manner, started to leave.