Seventy-Nine

The equinox sun shone down on Boston as I surveyed the city from the Phillips 22 lounge in Mass General. I wished I had a smartphone. I still hadn’t gotten a picture of this view.

I had stitches and a bandage where Walt’s bullet had cut my side. The burns on my hands and arms had been morphined into submission earlier in the week, but now they were responding to a salve and more bandages. My cough had subsided. I was rested and ready to go.

“Hey, Tucker,” Bobby Miller said. He had entered the lounge with Lee and Jael. “Jesus. Hell of a view.”

“Let me use your phone,” I said. Bobby handed me his phone and I snapped a picture.

Lee said, “The gun from the storage bin matched the bullets from JT and Cathy Byrd. You were right. Walt killed them both.”

“I know,” I said.

“There was another gun. A revolver with no serial number. Do you know where that came from?”

I looked off toward the North End. I said, “I have no idea. Probably belonged to my dad.”

Lee said, “Because we just can’t get the pieces to fit together.”

I turned. “Lee, I’m done helping you fit the pieces together.”

“Yes, but—”

“Done. I’m done.”

Lee looked from Bobby to Jael to me. He held out his hand. “Of course. Thank you for your help, Tucker.”

I shook it, wincing, having forgotten my burns. “You’re welcome.”

“May God be between you and me.”

Lee pushed his way through the Phillips main entrance door and was gone.

I asked Jael, “What does that mean?”

Jael said, “It means that Lieutenant Lee likes you.”

“Well that’s good.”

Bobby said, “The evidence that your dad sold those plans was rock solid.”

“Okay.”

“We’re turning up more evidence of Walt Adams trying to recruit spies.”

“And?”

“And GDS doesn’t want to stir this up anymore. They’ve said, and I agree, that your visit to their facility the other day simply resulted in a misunderstanding. They’re willing to forget about it. In fact, they’re dying to forget about it.”

“Good. So am I.”

Bobby stuck out his hand. “I put you through hell, buddy. I’m sorry.”

I waved my bandage and Bobby dropped his hand. I said, “It’s not your fault that my dad was a scumbag, Bobby.”

Bobby asked, “You heading out now?”

“In a while.”

Bobby left Jael and me alone in the waiting room. We looked out the window across Boston.

I said, “I couldn’t do it, Jael. I couldn’t kill him.”

Jael said, “I know. You should be proud. You could not kill him because you are a good person.”

“I was weak. You would have been able to do it. Back when you worked at—you know.”

“Good people do not murder,” she said. “I am trying to be a good person now.”

I said, “You are a good person.”

“I will drive you home.”

She turned and headed for the door. I took one last look at Boston, trying to imprint the panorama on my brain, then I turned from the view and followed Jael.