The jet doors hung open. A small staircase built into the frame of the aircraft door beckoned to me. I wasn’t going anywhere. I had to stay behind to complete the deal and make sure the charge against David got dismissed in the morning.
I hated saying goodbye.
Christine’s hair smelled of cigarettes. She’d quit before Amy was born, but I’d always known that she’d sneakily enjoyed the occasional Lucky with a glass of wine. I held her close. Both of us wrapped ourselves around Amy and hugged in the rain. Letting go, I gently cupped her face in my hands and kissed her. Her lips were cold and sweet, and I tasted the smoke on her tongue. It was the first time we’d kissed in months. Somehow, it almost felt like our first kiss—there was excitement and fear, but this time there was also love and regret. She broke away, looked at the ground, and knelt beside Amy.
“We have to go, sweetie,” she said.
The pins on Amy’s denim jacket that bore the logos from a multitude of rock bands I’d never heard of glistened in the light from the cabin. I hunkered down and took my little girl in my arms. I could feel her trembling. I looked at Carmel, a taller, slightly older version of Christine. She had never liked me.
“I love you, kiddo. You look after your mom. You’re going somewhere far away—somewhere really safe. I’ll be with you soon.”
Amy kissed me on the forehead, gave me another tight squeeze with all her ten-year-old might, and took her mom’s hand, and they set off toward the plane. I gave Carmel the money. “I’ll make sure they stay safe,” she said.
Before she ducked into the plane, Christine turned and looked at me again. Her eyes were streaming with tears. She wiped them away. Her lips moved. “I love you.” I couldn’t hear her over the sound of the plane’s engines. Maybe knowing that I wouldn’t hear her speak those words somehow made it easier for her to say them.
I said it back. She waved and got on board.
The aircraft door closed and I heard the jet engine start up, and then the change of pitch as the plane turned and taxied toward the runway.
“The password?” said Dell.
I said nothing—willing the plane to take off, to take Christine and Amy far away. Away from the firm, away from Dell and Kennedy.
Away from me.
Ferrar switched the umbrella into his left hand with some difficulty and handed his boss a radio.
“Hold here,” said Dell. “The pilot won’t take off without my command. The password, Eddie. Or that plane never leaves the ground.”
“We have a deal?” I said.
Dell nodded.
Bile rising in my throat, I gave Dell the napkin with the password written in blue ink. Dell handed it to Ferrar, who folded away his umbrella and took the password to the waiting tech.
Without looking at Dell, I raised a hand, halting any further talk, and strolled out after the plane. I heard him mumble something to the pilot on the radio. The rain had eased to a light shower, and I saw the clouds clear a little as the jet accelerated down the runway and rose into the tumultuous sky.
I stayed there for a few moments. They were safe. No one could touch them, at least for now. As the plane got higher, the sharp ache in my shoulder blades melted into a dull echo of pain.
“Destination?” said Dell to the pilot on the other end of the line.
“Let me save you the trouble,” I said. “They’re heading in the wrong direction at the moment. Christine won’t give the pilot the landing location for a while yet. When she does, you won’t have time to set anything up. As soon as the plane lands, there’ll be someone to take my family to a safe place, a secret place. All you’ve done is given them a head start on the firm. They won’t truly be out of this until you take down Harland and Sinton.”
He nodded and we strolled back to the hangar. The tech worked quickly, and within a few seconds I saw a smile brush across his features. His teeth shined brightly in his reflection from the polished hood of the SUV. He popped a bubble of strawberry gum over his lips and whispered to Dell.
“Thank you,” said Dell.
“David’s agreement, I need it,” I said.
He handed me the envelope. As soon I took it I knew. The weight, the feel of it. Kennedy saw my expression change. The anger and the boiling fear in my stomach must’ve leached the color from my face.
“What’s wrong, Eddie?” said Kennedy.
I handed him the envelope. He opened it. It was empty. Kennedy tore it up and was about to speak when Dell cut him off.
“If you want to avoid a life sentence for David Child, you’ll have to talk to him,” said Dell.
The rear passenger door of the second SUV opened, and District Attorney Zader stepped out. He buttoned his gray, pin-striped jacket and adjusted his tie. He held a larger brown envelope marked EVIDENCE—DAVID CHILD. He handed it to me.
As he spoke he struggled to keep the triumphant tone from his voice.
“You know, Eddie, I’m disappointed. I didn’t think I could hustle a hustler.”
I tore open the envelope and found five closely typed pages.
It wasn’t a plea agreement. I skim-read the document, and a sickening feeling in my stomach grew into a cramp that spread up my abdomen, holding my throat in a tight, bitter grip.
Right then I knew two things.
I’d let my concerns for Christine compromise David; I never should’ve handed over the password without seeing the agreement. The last kick in the teeth was the knowledge that it didn’t matter what I did the next day—or months from then in the eventual trial. The document Zader had given me would ensure that David Child would be convicted for murder.