The night had been a trying one. Though Hannah had seemed fine at the scene, and she’d never once complained, it turned out she’d fractured her wrist when she fell. The ER physician splinted her arm and told her parents that she’d need to follow up with the orthopedic docs in a few days. The gash on Emily’s forehead required twenty stitches. Hannah said they made her look like the bride of Frankenstein-mostly, Jake thought, to get a laugh out of poor Aidan. His leg was badly broken and required surgery. The hours he’d been under were the longest of Jake’s life. But the surgeon said that it went well, and Aidan had been moved to a room shortly after. He’d slept on and off throughout the night but woke up hungry and in good spirits not long ago. The whole family was now camped out in Aidan’s room, which the staff had mercifully allowed them to take over.
Sophia’s brief bout of unconsciousness was still troubling to Jake and Emily, but the baby’s head CT was negative, and the doctor who examined Sophia gave her a provisional thumbs-up, although she recommended they monitor her behavior for a couple days. The doc had insisted it was fine for Sophia to sleep, but Emily found herself unable to let her do so for more than ten minutes at a time. As a consequence, both of them were up all night. Thankfully, Emily had finally nodded off two hours ago, and Sophia had followed suit.
Hannah spent half the night watching the hits climb on her cell-phone video-over two million views, last Jake heard-but eventually her phone died and she was forced to get some rest.
Jake, too wired to sleep, had just watched them until Aidan woke. Then he’d headed out to fetch some breakfast.
Jake rounded the corner toward Aidan’s room and then stopped short. There was a man waiting just outside. He was lean and weathered-fiftyish, Jake guessed. He had on a navy canvas blazer, a white button-down, and well-worn jeans. Cowboy boots, as creased and tan as the man’s face, graced his feet. His thick, wavy hair was dyed a shade too dark to be convincing, gray roots starting to show. A.357 Magnum jutted from a holster on his hip.
The man was scowling at his cell phone when Jake spotted him, but when he sensed Jake’s presence, he tucked the phone into the front pocket of his jeans and broke into an easy grin, the corners of his eyes crinkling, smile lines bracketing his mouth. There was something vulpine about his face, Jake thought.
“Jacob Reston?” he said.
“That’s right,” Jake replied.
The man produced a wallet from the inside pocket of his blazer and flipped it open with one hand, a practiced motion. There was some kind of government ID inside, the man’s face staring back at him. “Chet Yancey,” he said. He put his wallet away and extended his hand. Jake raised the tray a tad to indicate his hands were busy. As Yancey dropped his arm, Jake noted the turquoise pinkie ring the man wore.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Yancey?”
“I had some questions about what happened down at the bridge yesterday, and I thought maybe you could answer them.”
“I already spoke to the police.”
“Course you did. You’re a good citizen. Eager to help. You understand that when an attack like this happens, you’ve gotta step up and do your part. That’s why you’re gonna talk to me too. It won’t take but a minute.”
Jake looked down at the tray in his hands. Thought about telling Yancey to wait a sec while he delivered breakfast to his family. But something held him back. He suspected Yancey would simply follow him, and that didn’t sit right with Jake. So he said nothing and stood his ground.
“Sure,” he said.
“Attaboy.” Yancey clapped Jake on the shoulder. The food on Jake’s tray jostled, but thankfully nothing fell. Yancey removed a small notepad and pen from his back pocket and clicked the latter open. “How’s your family doing, by the way? I peeked in on them, but when I saw your wife and baby were asleep, I thought it best I wait out here for you. I didn’t want to disturb them,” he said brightly.
“Uh, they’re fine. My littlest-”
“Sophia, right?” Yancey interjected, reading from his notepad.
“That’s right,” Jake said, slightly unnerved. “She took a good bump to the head when my wife, Emily, fell, and was unconscious for a few minutes, but the docs say she’s doing okay now. They even let her stay down here with the rest of us, instead of up in Peds, but we’re supposed to keep an eye on her behavior. Emily needed some stitches, but she’s otherwise okay. My son-”
“Aidan,” Yancey said.
“-broke his leg and needed surgery to set it. He’s been groggy ever since he came to, but they cleared him for solid food a little while ago and told us he should heal up just fine. And Hannah-the toughest of us, I think-fractured her wrist, but she barely seemed to notice.”
“Hannah’s your oldest, right?” Jake nodded. “What a pretty, pretty girl. Takes after her mother, if you don’t mind my saying.”
“Actually,” Jake said, bristling, “I kinda-”
“Anyway,” Yancey continued, breezing past Jake’s obvious discomfort, “I’m glad everybody’s doing okay.” His tone didn’t match his words. It sounded hurried, perfunctory, as though Jake’s family’s well-being didn’t matter to him one way or the other. “Now, as my daddy used to say, let’s talk turkey. You live in Eugene, right?”
“That’s right.”
“Nice country up that way. Lots of green. A little chilly for my taste. What brought you and your lovely family to San Francisco today, Jake?”
“We were headed home from Disneyland,” he said, “and thought we’d stop and see the sights.” He had no wish to tell him the story about his parents’ photo.
“Did you visit anyone while you were in town?”
The question puzzled Jake. “No. We just headed to the bridge to get a family picture.”
“A video, you mean.”
“Excuse me?” Jake was thrown by Yancey’s correction. He felt defensive, suddenly, as though he’d been caught in a lie, which was ridiculous-he had nothing to hide.
“You headed to the bridge to get a video. It’s been all over the news.”
“Yes. Right. Of course. Hannah posted it on Facebook when her friends started asking if she was okay-she’d mentioned we were stopping off in San Francisco. One of them put it up on YouTube. The video was supposed to be for my parents. A surprise for their anniv-”
“What can you tell me about the man who shot the video?”
“Come again?”
“The man who shot the video. Is he an uncle, maybe? A family friend? When I poked my head into your boy’s room, I didn’t see him.”
“Uh, he wasn’t with us. We just bumped into him on the path.”
“Is that so.”
Jake waited for Yancey to continue, but for a long while, he didn’t-he just looked at Jake unblinkingly, a silent challenge. Jake withered beneath his gaze like a child called before the principal but said nothing.
“You stopped a stranger on the path and asked him to take a video for you?”
“Yes. It was my son’s idea,” he added lamely, wondering why that made his story-the truth, he reminded himself-sound more believable. He somehow felt like he’d just ratted out his own flesh and blood.
“Why this man in particular?”
Jake shrugged, the food on the tray shifting as he did. “I don’t know. He was walking alone. Everybody else was in a group or busy.”
“What happened to him? After the blast, where did he go?”
“I have no idea. When the bomb went off, I lost consciousness. By the time I came to, he was gone.”
“Did you happen to get his name?”
“No. It was just a quick thing. A chance encounter. If it wasn’t for the explosion and the fact that he caught himself on camera, I doubt I’d even remember what he looked like.”