Campbell looked over Devine’s shoulder at the closed door. “My job is to worry about enemies both foreign and domestic. And right now we might have both.”
Devine tensed. “Wait a minute, are you saying Cowl is some sort of, what, spy? For who?”
“The man had nothing when he left the country over two decades ago, and then when he comes back, he’s top of the mountain in less than two years? Doesn’t that strike you as suspicious?”
“You sound like a conspiracy theorist now.”
“Conspiracies do happen, Devine. More than you probably think. And it’s not just the dollars that Cowl is making. I really couldn’t care less about that. But if there’s something behind the dollars that attacks the national security of this country? Then I care a great deal.”
“So can you help with the cops and the reporter?”
“The cops, yes. The reporter, I doubt it. But a reporter can’t arrest you, either.”
“Maybe she can do worse.”
Campbell looked at him thoughtfully and for such a long period that Devine finally said, “What?”
“Why Wall Street and Cowl and Comely? Strange career path for an Army Ranger.”
“Why not?”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Yeah, Detective Hancock didn’t buy it either.” “Well then?”
“I can make some money. My old man can be proud of me.”
“And that’s it?”
“Isn’t it enough?”
“Would you like to hear what I think?”
“Does it matter if I do or not?”
“I think you picked an occupation that you loathe. And you did it because you knew your father, a man whom you also loathe, would approve.”
“And why would I do that?”
“It’s your self-imposed penance, Devine. You let a fellow soldier die. You were never punished for that, and it bothers the hell out of you, because you, unlike Captain Hawkins, actually have principles and a conscience. So you left an organization that had allowed you to reach your full potential. You left an organization that you never wanted to leave. And now you’re actually in a prison... of your own making.”
“You’re wrong! My father was proud of me for the decision I made, and I was happy about his reaction. In fact, we went to dinner in celebration and got drunk together.”
“You joined the Army in spite of your father’s wishes, Devine. In fact, you put on the uniform to spite him.”
“You can’t possibly know that.”
Campbell picked up a file that lay in front of him. “This is your psych eval when you were trying to get into Ranger School. You were quite candid with those folks, as you had to be. You spoke about how your father had been riding you your entire life. Never good enough, never enough like your brother and sister. A disappointment of epic proportions in his mind. You had the well-deserved rep of being stoic about everything, Devine, but not that time, no, not that time.”
Devine started to say something but then didn’t.
“And do you want me to read the letter the Army got from your father? The Army keeps every scrap of paper, as you know, and this one was quite unusual. Most parents are proud of their children for entering the service, but not your father. He was also quite candid, when he” — Campbell picked up another piece of paper and glanced down it — “called it ‘a spit in his face,’ your going to West Point to serve your country. That you were only doing it to defy him. While his other two children were shining examples of the American dream, you were the poster boy of his personal nightmare.” He laid the paper aside. “His words, not mine. So don’t tell me you and your old man were celebrating and getting drunk together, okay? That’s bullshit and we both know it.”
Devine looked away.
“You left the Army, an institution you served proudly and with great loyalty. That was your first act of penance. A career on Wall Street was your second.”
“And is my work for you my third act of penance?”
“That’s up to you. But the question becomes for you: Where does it end?”
“According to you I have the rest of my life to give in service to make up for what I did.”
“So you concede my theory on the matter is correct?”
“I concede nothing. And what does it matter now?”
“It only matters, Devine, to you. But I would say this: Life is a long enough journey without having only negative motivations to get your ass out of bed every day. What I’m offering you is, once again, something positive to do with your life in serving your country. And it’s not just moneymaking that’s going on at Cowl, Devine. I’m not sure exactly what is going on there, but it’s more than the dollars. Now, I think it’s time we both got back to work.” Campbell inclined his head toward the door.
Devine didn’t leave the way he came. The door to the rear was standing open. He breathed in the garlic and Parmesan, and the next moment emerged into the heat.
In his recurring dream there was Lieutenant Blankenship on a morgue slab with his throat destroyed. The other person he always saw was Captain Hawkins lying in the Afghanistan mountains unconscious after the battle between the two. It hadn’t been much of a fight, actually. Hawkins had allowed himself to grow too soft. And maybe his guilt was a bit too much for him to put up a spirited defense against Devine’s ferocious attack. The thing was, Devine thought the man would wake up and limp back to camp. If he had tried to file charges against Devine, he was going to raise the whole murder scenario to anyone he could. Only the man didn’t wake up.
I hit him harder than I thought.
He walked to the corner, turned, and headed downtown.
The cops were going to be coming after him, too. And he needed to do something about that despite Campbell’s assurances of assistance.
So Devine had somewhere to go and someone to see.
One misstep now and it was all over.
Chapter 24
He had surveyed the quiet street in Park Slope for an hour and not seen a sign of any squad cars or cops. Ewes’s house was evidentiary, he knew, but it was also not the crime scene. They might have gotten everything already. If so, he might be screwed.
He tensed when he saw a cab pull up and the same couple from the previous night got out. They were dressed formally for an early Sunday evening in the summer. Him in a navy blazer, her in a skirt and heels. He wondered if they had dressed up to go and formally identify their daughter’s remains. Or maybe they had gone to a church to pray. Perhaps they had done both.
They walked up the short flight of steps. He unlocked the door, and they passed through. Devine gave it more time. He wanted to let them have a chance to settle, if they had just come back from the police morgue. And he wanted to make sure no cops showed up to meet with them on either a prearranged basis or a spontaneous one.
Twenty minutes later he eased out of his surveillance spot and walked across the street. He smoothed down his shirt and knocked on the door. It was answered a few moments later by the man.
He was around five eight, with glasses fronting periwinkle-blue eyes that were rimmed with red from crying. Devine could see hints of Sara in him. He had discarded the blazer and the cream shirt under it. He was in a white T-shirt and holding a cup of something.
“Yes?” he said, his tone and look surprised. He probably knew no one in the area and was not expecting visitors other than the police.
“Mr. Ewes?”
“Yes? Who are you?” He stared up at Devine with a bit of anxiety.