Curtis felt grateful to at least be waking up in his own bed for a change. Not that he’d shared any intimacy or real closeness with Rachel. She’d faced away from him the whole night, and on his one attempt to put his arm around her she’d gently pulled from his touch, moving right to the very edge of the bed. A clear message, so he’d left it at that.
As morning came around he once again struggled to read her standoffish mood. He expected more hostility for the lie he’d told her about Finn, for shutting her out like he had over the last few days. What he’d received instead was a kind of rejected disappointment. Which only made him feel a whole lot worse about himself.
‘Aren’t you going to the office today?’ Curtis asked, when Rachel came out of the shower and slipped on some casual clothes – jeans and a woolen jumper.
‘At least not until the FBI have been,’ she replied, not glancing at him before she left the room.
He worked over her words in his head. Did she not trust him to follow through? Last night he’d spoken to a woman on the hotline number for all of five minutes before being told that someone would be in touch. Less than an hour later an agent from the FBI had called him back and asked if they could come to see him in the morning. He’d hardly slept after that, his mind unable to rest as he deliberated over whether he’d made a huge mistake.
That ominous feeling remained with him as he showered and dressed and eventually headed downstairs and into the kitchen where Rachel was already finishing her breakfast.
‘You don’t have to hang around here,’ he said to her. ‘I know how busy you are—’
‘I’m staying until this is done.’
She brushed past him. The doorbell chimed and she turned to face him with what he was sure was smugness.
‘Nice and early,’ she said.
And they were. The agent on the phone had said to expect someone between nine and ten. It was barely eight thirty. If they’d sent someone from Washington, they’d certainly had an early start.
But what if—
He didn’t finish the ominous thought about who could be beyond the door before Rachel opened up. Curtis stared across the kitchen and hall, past the entrance, to the two people standing in the doorway.
‘Honey, it’s for you,’ Rachel said, turning to face him as he approached. He ignored the withering look and disdain in her words.
‘Mr Delaney,’ a squat, plain-clothed woman said. She stood next to a similarly plain-clothed man, both… regular looking. Whatever that meant.
‘Yes.’
‘I’m Special Agent Inchcombe, this is Special Agent Brightling.’
Brightling nodded but said nothing. Curtis ushered them both through to the kitchen, where the agents sat on the sofa in the corner by the coffee table. Curtis settled into the adjacent armchair and Rachel hovered by the breakfast bar.
‘Can I get you anything?’ she asked.
‘No, thank you,’ Inchcombe answered.
‘You must have had an early start,’ Curtis said.
Inchcombe shrugged as Brightling answered, ‘No different to usual.’
‘Why don’t we get straight to it,’ Inchcombe said. ‘You made a call last night to the hotline setup—’
‘I did,’ Curtis said, glancing at Rachel.
‘You believe your brother, Finn Delaney, is the man from the Capitol attack earlier this week?’
‘The hero, yes,’ Curtis said.
A brief silence. Was Curtis supposed to offer more?
‘Do you think you could explain that to us?’ Brightling asked. ‘What you know about the attack. Why your brother was in D.C. Where he is now.’
Curtis gave them as much as he could: the background to his and Finn’s relationship, the last time they’d seen each other, Curtis’s belief that Finn had been living in Qatar, Dubai, and most recently Mexico, according to Alyssia. He explained about Alyssia, who she was, and Mariana too. The officers nodded and scribbled in their notepads but said little.
‘Is this all making sense to you?’ Curtis said. He laughed nervously. ‘Because not all of it does to me.’
‘So let me get this straight,’ Brightling said. ‘You haven’t seen your brother in what… six years?’
‘Correct.’
‘But you saw a blurry image of a guy with a cap covering most of his face on the TV and you immediately recognized him?’
‘He’s my brother.’
Brightling raised an eyebrow and looked to Inchcombe as if for backup, but she remained focused on Curtis.
‘I truly, very strongly believe the hero is Finn,’ Curtis added.
‘Tell us a little more about your relationship with Finn,’ Inchcombe said.
‘I already did. I haven’t seen—’
‘Six years, yes, we got that. But before that. Take us back. Enlighten us about the type of person Finn is. How he got to… where he is.’
Curtis paused a moment before answering, doubts jumping around in his mind but nothing taking hold.
‘We were both born in England, but we moved here when we were kids.’
‘Because?’
‘My dad’s work.’
‘Which was?’
‘He worked for a software company. An early competitor to Microsoft. They don’t exist now.’
‘Your parents are—’
‘My parents have both passed. Heart attack for my dad, cancer for my mom. The last time I saw Finn in the flesh was the day we were clearing out Mom’s house, right after her funeral.’
He spoke with real bitterness about that, a hard edge to his words. Judging by the more sheepish looks on Inchcombe’s and Brightling’s faces, the two agents thought the emotion was directed at them. It was, kind of.
‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ Inchcombe said. ‘But am I right in saying you were already distant from your brother at that point?’
‘Yes.’
‘And the trigger for that was… what?’
‘There were many triggers. It wasn’t one thing.’
‘What about your brother’s time in juvenile detention?’ Brightling asked, looking a little pleased with himself for doing so. Curtis noted the shocked look on Rachel’s face. He’d never told her about that.
‘What about it?’ Curtis said.
Brightling flicked through some papers in his hand as though to find an answer to something.
‘He spent two years in juvenile detention after a bar fight which led to a man in his forties being in a coma for more than three weeks.’
Curtis clenched his fists, trying to channel anger that way. Why did it feel like these two were trying to trip him up?
‘Can you tell us more about that?’ Inchcombe said. ‘About how that came about, how it changed Finn? Your relationship with him?’
‘Why is any of that relevant?’
‘Because you called us to say your brother is this… hero,’ Brightling said. ‘Yet all you’ve told us so far is your brother is some sort of management consultant. You’ve seen the videos, right? Of the attack? Read the witness testimonies?’
‘I’ve read what’s in the press, yes, but those aren’t full witness testimonies.’
Brightling held a hand up in apology. ‘OK, I’m not a lawyer like you, so I apologize if I used the wrong term. But you get my point. That hero… He tackled four armed assailants and then just disappeared. He can handle himself and then some. And why was he even there? How was he connected? So yeah, we’re asking these questions about your brother because right now, your claim doesn’t add up to me.’
Curtis paused. So they didn’t believe them? But did that even matter, really, to him?
‘Why don’t we start with what the hell a fifteen-year-old boy was doing in a bar to start with?’ Inchcombe asked.
Curtis scoffed. ‘I didn’t say he was in the bar, did I? Apparently, he was smoking weed and drinking moonshine outside of it, and when some guys tried to move him and his friends on… From what I understand the men actually made the first move. But Finn knocked one of them down and he smacked his head on the tarmac.’
‘So he wasn’t in the bar,’ Inchcombe said. ‘Just drinking and smoking weed outside. At fifteen. Got it.’
Curtis slumped a little, well aware of the bad image he was building of his brother.
‘OK, let me try and explain,’ he said. ‘Finn is my little brother. I loved him very much. I protected him. From my parents, from kids in the school yard, whatever, you get it? But… as we got older… it became pretty clear Finn didn’t need me like that anymore. He always had a chip on his shoulder, and I don’t know why but he just loved to… fuck shit up, for want of a better term.’ His cheeks flushed a little, but really it was the best way to describe his brother. ‘He got in a lot of fights at school. He started smoking and drinking at a young age. And he looked a lot older than he was, so… yeah, he went to bars. And he fought there too. Taking on bigger opposition than at high school.’
‘Were you there that night?’
‘No. But I was there in court to see how distraught my parents were at the path their son was taking. Two years in juvenile? Finn deserved it. He needed it. To try and get him straightened out.’
‘And did it?’
‘Yes and no. Finn came out at seventeen with his high school diploma and a full scholarship offer from Clemson. Some program they were involved in to help offenders, but it showed he’d worked his butt off in there, determined to prove everyone – my parents and me in particular – wrong. But…’
‘But what?’
‘I never talked to him about juvie. Or really he never opened up, but he never had the same light in him after. It sounds stupid, but… it was in his eyes.’
‘You think something bad happened to him in there?’
‘I saw the scars, so I know bad stuff happened in there. Finn went in there a tough fifteen-year-old who thought he could take on the world.’
‘And he came out as… what?’
‘It’s a good question, isn’t it?’
Which he realized was about the lamest answer he could give, but he really had nothing more to offer.
Everyone in the room went silent for a few moments. Curtis’s mind didn’t rest though, replaying all of those painful old memories, the key moments in time that pushed the siblings further and further apart.
‘Do you know where your brother is now, or how we can contact him?’ Inchcombe asked.
‘Sorry. Like I told you, I’d been doing what I could to find him.’
‘Yeah,’ Brightling said. ‘But why did you do that? Why not come straight to us? Why were you hoping to keep it quiet?’
‘Because… Actually, perhaps you can tell me this. Do you know what happened in Washington? Who the attackers were, what their aim was? I mean, if the FBI are involved… What is it? Terrorism? Organized crime?’
Both agents glared at him but neither made an attempt to answer.
‘Which perhaps explains my position,’ Curtis said. ‘I just… didn’t know how or why Finn got caught up in that. And I thought perhaps he was in danger and needed my help.’
‘Danger from who?’ Brightling asked.
‘I really don’t know.’ Did they?
‘And the woman you mentioned earlier, Alyssia Montagne. You’d never met her before yesterday?’
‘Never.’
‘Never heard of her sister, Mariana, before?’
‘No.’
‘But from what you told us, she and your brother were in a serious relationship, in Mexico.’
‘Alyssia said so, yes.’
‘But Finn had never mentioned her to you?’ Brightling said.
‘No.’
‘They never came to see you before, visiting friends, family here in Georgia?’
‘No.’
‘You’re very sure about that? You’re just a short hop on a plane from Cancun.’
‘Which part of “I haven’t seen or spoken to my brother in six years” didn’t you understand?’ Frustration was building in him.
‘I think Special Agent Brightling is simply trying to get you to think very carefully about what you do or don’t know about your brother’s recent past,’ Inchcombe said. ‘For our benefit.’
‘And I think I’ve been very clear. What I’ve told you is everything I know. I’m sorry if that’s a disappointment to you.’
Inchcombe sighed.
‘If he does try to contact me, I’ll let you know,’ Curtis said. ‘But I’m not sure I have any more information to give you right now.’
He looked over to Rachel. He couldn’t read the expression on her face. Perhaps she didn’t believe he’d told them all he knew.
‘We’ll let you get on with your day,’ Inchcombe said, and she and Brightling got to their feet.
‘So nobody else has come forward to identify the hero?’ Rachel asked. ‘Or to try and claim the reward?’
The unexpected question led to an uneasy silence. At least, Curtis felt horribly uneasy about it.
‘The reward really isn’t our department,’ Inchcombe said. ‘You’d have to speak to someone else about that. Elliott Charlton’s press team, perhaps.’
Curtis showed the agents to the door. Soon they were gone.
‘That was… weird,’ Rachel said, standing across the hall from him, arms folded.
‘A bit.’
‘Didn’t you get the impression that…’
‘What?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe they didn’t believe you?’
‘Actually, I think it was something else.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Just… some of the responses. Like when Brightling asked me about Finn and Mariana coming to Georgia. They didn’t believe that I hadn’t seen them. Perhaps… they know they’ve been back here.’
Rachel frowned, as if trying to recollect the exact words. As was Curtis. Perhaps he’d misread the questions.
‘So what are you suggesting?’ Rachel asked.
‘What if they already knew all about Finn?’ Curtis said. ‘They obviously had that background on him, juvie and all that. But what if they knew all the recent stuff, about him and Mariana? Which means they knew he was working in Mexico.’
‘And you think it’s all linked?’
‘I certainly think they weren’t acting much like they believe Finn is a hero, more that… he’s a wanted man.’
Rachel sniffed and nodded – some sort of show of solidarity with him, he felt. Or hoped.
She moved up to him.
‘Thank you,’ she said to him. ‘For calling them. You did the right thing.’
He took her hands in his.
‘So what now?’ he asked.
She didn’t answer straight away.
‘Get yourself back to work,’ she said. ‘Make sure there’s no damage done from your little hiatus.’
‘I meant about Finn. About us.’
‘Let the police and the FBI deal with Finn.’
‘But where does this leave us?’ Did he really have to spell it out for her?
She leaned up and kissed his cheek. He wanted it to be… something. But he sensed the gesture was forced.
‘Let’s just try and forget the last few days. It was a blip, that’s all.’
She pulled out of his grip and made her way up the stairs.
A blip? He wanted her to be right.
But a horrible feeling in his gut told him the reality was something else entirely.