“Where? When?” Jake knew it was bad form to answer his cell at the dinner table, but he was a cop, and sometimes these things were life and death. People understood that. He’d reluctantly taken his hand from Jane’s leg—touching her had been the only good moment of this entire evening so far—when he saw the caller ID: DeLuca. He hunched his shoulders, shielding the conversation.
“What’s his condition?” Jake asked. This was the last thing he’d expected. “Wait—he was on the street? Walking? Walking where? Hang on, okay? I can barely hear you.”
Jane touched his shoulder, head tilted, eyes narrowed, inquiring. Hang on, he lifted a finger at her. She’d been with Bobby Land in the alley. Did she know anything about him? From what DeLuca was now saying, that kid had been mugged only a couple blocks from police HQ.
“But I just saw him—” Jake stopped midsentence, calculating. He’d raced out of HQ to get to the restaurant, not exactly lights and sirens, but fast enough. Jake stood, putting a contrite expression on his face.
“Sorry, you all, excuse me, one moment,” he said, and headed to the restaurant’s back corridor, away from the bustling waiters and the buzz of conversation.
“So he was walking?” Jake covered one ear with a hand, and DeLuca’s voice finally came through.
“Yeah, on Vernon Street, looks like, possibly on the way to the T, ya know?” D said. “He’s in bad shape, gotta say. Iffy, I gotta say. Transported to MGH. I’m almost to his room. How long till you get here?”
“Fourteen minutes. Twelve, maybe.” Jake estimated the time, the Beacon Street traffic. He thought about what must have happened to Bobby Land, whose day, Jake was certain, had not in any way turned out as the young man expected. “Next of kin?”
“Yeah, we’re looking, but so far nada. There’s a blue billion Lands in Boston, not to mention the burbs and Cambridge, and he’s got no ID on him now. We’d have gotten it when we interviewed him, but that never happened. Remember? Hewlitt’s legal stooge got there first, and it was adios.”
“What the crap is up with the ID thing?” Jake said. John Doe No. 1, the dead guy, and John Doe No. 2, maybe-tattooed guy, hadn’t had IDs either. He eyed the dinner table across the crowded restaurant, saw Jane now leaning toward Robyn, who had her cell phone up to her ear. Gracie and Lewis must be close by now, and though he’d regret—in a parallel universe—missing the dinner, this was duty calling, and undeniably socially acceptable .
“I know, but if the kid was robbed, they’d take his wallet and ID, right? Kinda SOP for a bad guy, Harvard,” DeLuca said. He’d never let up on the Harvard thing, like Jake was the only cop who’d ever graduated from there. “They probably tossed it, they always do. We’ll find it, no sweat. You on the way?”
Jake stared at the wall, envisioning what might have happened. Bobby Land at the cop shop, waiting, he has a phone, maybe. Okay. Hewlitt and lawyer, whoever, meet with him and “make it right.” Do they give him money? They both leave HQ, where do they go? Land then leaves HQ, Jake encounters him in the lobby. Jake leaves, gets in his cruiser. Land leaves, walking. And then—
“Jake? Earth to Jake.” DeLuca’s voice in his ear.
“Here’s my thing,” Jake said. “How’d anyone know Land would be there? On that street, at that time?”
The sounds of the restaurant swirled around him, DeLuca silent, as Jake walked toward the table, pausing to let tray-balancing waiters go by, then stepping aside to let a harried-looking young woman carry a fussing pinafored toddler toward the bathrooms. He’d need to say his good-byes and make it right with Jane. And everyone. There’d be other times. He hoped.
“Maybe they didn’t know,” DeLuca finally said. “Maybe it was random.”
“Yeah.” Possible. But unlikely. “Two–three blocks, you said, from HQ? A ratty-looking kid in a stupid T-shirt? Why would anyone jump him? There? And then? Hey, is there surveillance video?”
“Yeah, I—hang on,” DeLuca said.
Jake arrived at the table. All eyes were on Robyn, talking into her cell, then frowning, then talking again.
“Jane?” he whispered, leaning close to her. She turned, looking up at him. She’d shredded the white cocktail napkin that had been under her water glass. A nest of damp paper crumbles littered the place mat in front of her. “I’ve got to—”
“Better hurry, Jake,” DeLuca interrupted. “I’m here. And the doc is saying it looks bad.”
* * *
Jane turned, feeling Jake’s hand on her shoulder. He was still on the phone. Why wasn’t he sitting down? Wonder if it’s about Curley Park? Could she ask him?
“You’ve got to—what?” she replied. He hadn’t finished his sentence, but now Jake was listening to someone on the phone again, a concerned look on his face, eyeing the door, clearly looking for a way out of here. Well, who wasn’t?
And with what she’d been overhearing from Robyn, the evening was not even close to over. Maybe someday they’d laugh about this. At Gracie’s wedding, maybe, they could all swap teasing stories about the night she’d brought Jake to meet Melissa, and how Gracie and Lewis had kept a table full of grown-ups waiting. The night Gracie wasn’t missing, they could call it. The stuff of family lore.
“Sorry, Jane, I have to go.” Jake was talking to her again, his voice almost a whisper. He bent low, his face touching hers, his hair against her cheek, a moment that made her eyes involuntarily close with the intimacy.
She turned to face him, her back to Robyn, and for a moment covering Jake’s hand with hers.
“Everything all right?” she murmured. Though obviously it wasn’t.
“Yeah. I’ll call you,” he said, matching her tone. “As soon as I can. Sorry to leave you with this.” He kept his hand on her shoulder, squeezed, briefly. Gently. “Whatever it is. Is the Gracie situation okay?”
“Seems like it, from what I heard Robyn say,” Jane said. “See? She’s smiling. And she’s off the phone.”
“Love you,” he whispered.
“You, too,” she said. And everything would be fine. It would. Somehow. The night Gracie wasn’t missing.
“Sorry, Robyn. Sorry, Melissa,” Jake was saying. Jane felt his hand leave her shoulder, felt him straighten up. He raised his cell phone in explanation. “Got a call from HQ. I’m going to have to miss dinner. I hope we can do it again before—”
At that moment, Melissa had nudged an elbow into Jane’s side. Jane turned to her sister, frowning. What?
Melissa rolled her eyes for a fraction of a second, an expression Jane recognized from more than thirty years of interpreting Lissa’s silent communications.
“So please give my best to Gracie and Lewis when they—” Jake continued.
Melissa shot a brief but withering glance at Robyn and her phone. Listen to this.
“They’re not coming,” Robyn said. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Lewis is such an idiot.”
* * *
There’s a portrait of a happy marriage, Jake thought. He paused, his mind already out the door, knowing DeLuca and the unconscious Bobby Land waited for him at MGH but unable to think of a way to leave after Robyn’s surprising statement. If she called her husband an idiot, that meant he and Gracie weren’t in danger. Jake had handled enough family squabbles, mediated enough he said/she saids to gauge when things were going bad. From what he saw right now, this one seemed low level. A flat tire, a missed communication, an unpredictable and self-centered mother who wanted attention. He did not envy this Lewis guy, who had to live with that and a preadolescent stepdaughter about to be relocated halfway across the country. Tough for any family to handle. But even the most complicated families often worked out their own issues. And he had to get to MGH and Bobby Land.
“Everything okay?” Jake directed his question at Robyn. “I need to—”
“Yes, I suppose.” Robyn smoothed one darkened eyebrow, then gave him a weak smile, fussing with her sweater. “I’m sorry, I’m just frazzled, I don’t mean Lewis is actually an idiot—” She shrugged. “The tire’s still not fixed. They said we should just go on with dinner. Make the best of it.”
“So…” Jake took a step closer to the door. Good news, have fun, adios?
“Duty calls, Jake, I understand. Now, wine for everyone.” Robyn waggled her fingers in the air, gesturing for the waiter. “Girls’ night out.”
Jake hesitated, eyeing Jane, but she waved him away, shaking her head, then mimed for him to call her. Okay, then. He was excused.
“Bye,” he said. “Again, sorry. Call me if you need anything.” And he was outta there. Poor Jane. He was semi leaving her in the lurch, with the mercurial Robyn and the officious Melissa. Not the most successful introduction to Jane’s sister. But duty did call. And he felt guilty for welcoming it.