Day 3: May 17, 0945 Hours, Daylight Saving Time
Frederick County Sheriff’s Office, Outside Winchester, Virginia
BY THE TIME Artie arranged for Bond to release me and even return my .45, it was after my breakfast time and I was starved. Cop coffee and plastic-packaged, stale donuts didn’t count as the most important meal of the day. So, I wandered Old Town until I found a nice sidewalk breakfast café, took an outside table, and ordered a heaping breakfast. The server, an older woman with pulled-back gray hair and a plump, puffy face, poured me coffee with a wide, friendly smile, and disappeared. Between sips, I sat and watched the people around town.
I half-expected Bond and Perry to be hiding behind newspapers and cheap sunglasses nearby. But no, they were nowhere to be seen.
I sipped my coffee and Kevin joined me at the table—memories, conversations—regrets. The ache was gone. Most of it. I kept it at bay by focusing on what was ahead. Thoughts about the old times were bittersweet. Some memories made me laugh. Well, now I could laugh. Once, Kevin had to get the neighbors to drop trespassing charges against me. I was fifteen and had broken into our neighbor’s garage. Inside, there were secret radios and stolen government secrets. I was sure that Mr. Chan Lee was a Chinese spy—a clandestine agent plotting to overthrow our government. Much to my dismay, Mr. Lee was not from Beijing, but Buffalo. He was not a spy. He was a dentist. I spent the entire summer mowing lawns for restitution.
Ah, the good old days.
When I looked up from my coffee, Noor Mallory loomed above me. She was stone-faced and her eyes dark and cold. I’d spent a few days held by Afghan warlords while they decided if I would be a guest at dinner or cut into little pieces. The look on her face made me reminisce for those days. I was never good figuring out women, but I think she was upset with me.
“We must talk. Now, I think.”
Oh crap.
She didn’t wait for an invitation and sat across from me.
“Um, sure.” Okay, Hunter, don’t screw this one up. “Everything okay? Are the deputies still at your home?”
“Yes. Sam did not mention the fight last evening. Dave told me.”
“He didn’t?” My heart sank. Of all the people I didn’t want to disappoint, it was Noor. “Look, things got a little out of hand.”
She glared at me. “I cannot have Sam involved in such things. He has enough problems.”
I held up my cup and flashed my best puppy dog eyes. “Coffee?”
“No.” She glanced at her watch. “I have more funeral arrangements.”
“Please, Noor. Give me a few minutes. Okay?”
She lowered her eyes. When she raised them, they were a little softer. Still angry as hell, but a softer angry as hell. “Fine. Tea.”
I beckoned for my server, who arrived at the table carrying a carafe of coffee. “How about more coffee and some tea for my guest.”
The puffy-faced lady stared at Noor. She refilled my coffee but never took her eyes off Noor. “Tea? Let me check on that.” She snapped a dry, nervous look at me and walked off.
Noor followed her with her eyes. “Tell me about the fight, if you please.”
“I’m sorry,” I said before she could reload. “That fight wasn’t my fault and it never fazed Sam. I think he knew those guys.”
“What is it about Sam you do not trust?” She slapped the tabletop with a bang. “You think he is involved with them, too? Why, because they are not from here? We are not from here? So we must all be involved somehow?”
“I’m not saying that.” Though, the thought had seeped into my head. “He did know those two, Noor. They’re trouble, trust me. I’m worried about Sam.”
“I, too, am concerned.” She played with a paper napkin on the table and used the distraction to keep from looking at me. “He has not been home today, and he is not answering his cell phone. Bobby called me and cannot reach Sam either.”
Interesting. “What did Bobby want?”
“I do not know. I do not like him. Kevin did not either and warned Sam away.”
Bobby and Sam had some explaining to do. Neither of them mentioned any issues with Kevin. Sometimes, people lie outright. Other times, they lie through silence. Either way, lying was lying.
“Give me Bobby’s number.” She did, and I added, “Where’s he live?”
She thought a moment. “Near the university. One of the small hotels they made into dormitories. Yes, I have seen him there.”
I started to ask another question when she ambushed me.
“Now, why did you lie to me, Jon Hunter?”
Jon Hunter? Lie? I didn’t lie, I … oh crap. Lying was lying. “I didn’t mean to. My past isn’t important. I wanted you to get to know me first. Obviously, Kevin never told you about me. Not the real me, anyway. I thought I’d wait until a better time.”
She folded her arms. “There is time now.”
Now?
Noor looked at me for a long time. Her green eyes were both beautiful and dangerous. “Why do you not use your real name? Dave asked. I do not know.”
“Captain Amazing was taken.” She actually smiled. “I often use cover names for my work with the CIA.”
“CIA?” The letters were bitter as she spit them. She pushed back a little from the table. “You are CIA?”
“Ah, well, sort of.” I guess Bond forgot that part. “I used to be, I mean. Not anymore. I’m a consultant.”
“Kevin never told me.” She looked away as tears welled in her eyes. “He said you were in business. He was always vague. I believed it was your bad blood that kept him silent.”
“Noor, it’s not important.” I reached for her hand, but she pulled it away. That stung. “I’ve been overseas for years. Kevin didn’t know much about me, either.”
“He did not speak of you. Except …”
“Except?”
She started to reply when my breakfast arrived without her tea.
I looked up at the server. “Ma’am, how about that tea?”
The woman looked from me to Noor and back. “All out. Sorry.” She turned to go.
“You’re out of tea?” Oh, hell no. “How about some coffee for her, then?”
Noor raised a hand. “Jon, please. I am fine.”
The server glanced at me with fangs and a sour face. “See, she’s fine.”
“I’m not fine.” I returned puffy-face’s stare with ice. “What the hell’s wrong with you? Bring some coffee. Now. Please.”
The server started to reply, hesitated, and relented. “Yeah, sure, coffee. Okay.” She retrieved a cup from another empty table, filled it from her carafe, and dropped it on the table hard enough to spill.
“Anything else?”
“No. This is fine. Thank you.” Noor waited for her to leave and caught my eyes. “Let this go, Jon. It is not worth it.”
Let it go? “Noor, do you know her? Is there a problem?”
She shook her head. “I do not know her. I do not need to.”
“What then?”
“Surely you must understand? These are your people. These days, we are all from Sand Town, no?”
My people? “Ah, no. But they’re yours. You’ve lived here a long time.”
She lowered her eyes. “Yes, I have. But you see, yesterday, I was the sorrowful local widow of a murdered policeman. Today, after the horror at the mall, I am just another scary Muslim who must be from Sand Town. Yesterday, hugs and well-wishing. Today and tomorrow will be ignorance and stares.”
Jesus. Was she right? I looked after the server and the spilled coffee. Yes, she was.
“Noor, I’m so sorry.”
She turned away and let the silence simmer. After a few long, unnerving moments, she turned back to me. “Kevin told me once he wondered if you’d ever come home again. That was months ago.”
Months ago? I received the letter two weeks ago. “Did Kev say why he wanted me home?”
“He was not, I mean, he had not been himself.” She was crying and her last words were a whisper. “We did not talk. His comments about you were all he’d said in weeks to me.”
I ate a little breakfast and let her have a moment. It took both eggs and half my steak before it was safe. “Was Kevin in trouble?”
“Something was wrong. I do not know.”
She was lying. She knew something. “Noor, you have to be straight with me.”
“Why?” Her green eyes flashed. “You have not been honest with me. You were never in our lives. You return and Kevin is murdered. Maybe if you returned sooner.”
There it was. She wasn’t even aiming and she hit me right between the eyes. Maybe if I’d come home when I first got his message, he’d be alive. Maybe if I’d met him a few hours earlier instead of procrastinating, he’d be alive. Maybe if I’d stayed in touch all these years …
Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. Damn.
Her eyes flooded and she reached for my hand. “That was unfair. It is not your fault.” She clutched my hand and drew it close. Grief accomplished what I could not. “I am sorry.”
I held her eyes and tried to speak. At first, words wouldn’t come. Finally, all I could manage was, “Noor, I’m home now.”
“Please,” she whispered, “what happened between you two? I must know.”
What indeed? Kevin was angry every time we spoke. Our telephone calls lasted a couple minutes. The last I’d actually seen Kevin was at that Washington bar. It had ended badly. The images were as clear as yesterday, and the happy hour partiers and jukebox music were still vivid in my mind. Since then, our connection had been just phone calls here and there. They always ended in anger.
“Noor, he was obsessed with money. He wanted me to go to college so I’d make more money afterward. All I really wanted was, well, some adventure.” I sat back and hoped my feeble explanation would satisfy her. It shouldn’t. It didn’t satisfy me. “We were in different worlds. That sounds cliché, doesn’t it?”
“Money, yes. Yes, it was always money.” Those green eyes found mine again and their anger turned soft and sad. “Different worlds. Kevin and I were like that, too. For so long now.” Tears again. “What took you so long? It has been two months since, ah, since he wrote.”
“I just got the letter a few weeks ago.”
“I see.” She blinked a few times and wiped away the tears.
I still held her hand. “Tell me everything.”
Her face darkened with painful memories. Some of them must have been more than painful—devastating. She played with her coffee cup, looked around the café, and bit her lip.
Finally, she looked at me again. “The other night when Kevin was murdered, Dave came and told me. I will never forget.”
Noor and Dave spoke about each other with such familiarity. It stung. “How about Artie Polo and Victoria Bacarro? Have you spoken with them?”
“I do not like Bacarro.”
“She doesn’t like me, either,” I snorted. “You two have that in common.”
She dropped her head and let slip a laugh. “Perhaps.”
I got serious again. “Any idea who killed Kevin or why?”
“Perhaps that man at my house?” She looked away. “I do not know. Kevin worked so much. He would come and go. He told me nothing. We fought. He and Sam, too. Kevin was not always easy to be around.”
I fidgeted a little. “I remember.”
“Why did it happen, Jon? Did he say anything to you before he died?”
“Yes, but nothing I understood.” I thought about Kevin’s last words. “Noor, you never answered me before. Not really. Do you know what he meant by ‘G’? Did Kevin ever mention the name Khalifah or Maya?”
She shook her head. “No. I have not heard any of that. I swear.”
“I’ll work on it.”
She frowned. “Kevin was killed where he and Dave went fishing.”
The thought of Dave and Kevin drinking beer and telling stories at our favorite fishing spot sent a spear jabbing my gut.
“Were they close?”
“Once, yes. Not the past months. Kevin said it was work. He fought with everyone except Bacarro.”
“She and Kev were close?”
Noor flushed. For a long time, she sipped her coffee and avoided my eyes. When she finally looked over her cup at me, her voice was strained. “Yes. Close. Only her.”
I wanted to pursue that but thought better. “Kevin wasn’t getting along with anyone?”
“No. He was quitting his job.”
“What?”
“There were strange calls on his phone bill. When I asked him about them, he said he was talking with someone about a job.”
“All he ever wanted was to be a cop.”
“It was the money.” She looked away. “He said security contractors made much more than he. He always worried about money. He wanted Sam to go to college, and well, we cannot afford that. That is why we sold the cabin.”
No, you didn’t sell the cabin. I let that slide, too. Now was not the time to blindside her. It was another lie by silence, but one I could live with.
“I’m going to get to the bottom of this, Noor. Artie Polo and I …”
She looked down. “Him.”
“What’s wrong with Artie?”
“Jon, come to the house tonight.” She squeezed my hand. “We will talk more. I need time.”
“Okay, sure. But tell me about Artie?”
“Tonight.” Whether it was caution or grief in her eyes I didn’t know, but it was there now. “Please?”
“Okay, sure.”
She stood to leave, and I asked a nagging question. “Who was Kevin speaking with about a job?”
“Petrov. Edik Petrov.”