WELL after 1 a.m., Detective Darryl Tanner was still buried in papers. He was so absorbed in his work that his partner, Miles Langston, had to rap twice against the door frame to make him look up.
“Done with my filing, so I thought I’d say goodnight. Or good morning.” Seeing the stacks of paper, Miles gave a low whistle. “What’d you do to get on Connolly’s bad side?”
They’d been working together for a few years now. Darryl had always been sort of jealous of that whistle. He wondered how Miles got it so deep and loud. Darryl could never whistle.
“Nothing. I asked for it. Need the overtime. Things are tight back home.”
Tight was an understatement, but there were reasons he kept the specifics of his financial problems private. When the Kingpin had vanished, Darryl’s take-home had dropped by half. These days, the Maggia gave him a little something, but not enough to keep him from having to raid his daughter’s college fund to pay the mortgage.
Miles was single and seemed carefree, but he nodded sympathetically. “I hear that. Want me to put on another pot for you before I head out?”
“Nah. I’m almost done, but I thought I’d run up the clock a bit, you know.”
Miles wagged his finger. “I didn’t hear that. Say hi to the family.”
Freaking kid thinks he’s funny.
Darryl gave him a weak wave. “Will do.”
He watched Miles walk down the hall and enter the elevator. He kept watching until the little light above indicated his partner had reached the lobby.
Satisfied he was alone, he turned back to his work. It had taken the boys on site at the old annex half a day to clean up the mess from the break-in. Most of that time was spent picking things up and matching them with their boxes. It was Darryl’s job to match what they found with the old paper logs. Half the time the files weren’t in the same format as the log. The rest of the time he couldn’t read the handwriting.
He checked things over twice more. He was right. There was only one box missing, placed there under the authority of the late Captain George Stacy.
Putting aside the master list, Darryl flipped through the physical carbons, found the matching number, and tugged the sheet free. Though the description was vague, he knew what it meant. He folded the paper and put it in his pocket. Then he went back to the master and logged in the only empty box, so the rest of the world would think it was still there, safe and sound.
He read the news until nearly 2 a.m. Then he got up and headed to the chief detective’s office.
Darryl had no idea why Connolly always worked so late, and he never felt like asking.
At her door he cleared his throat. “Chief?”
She gave him a tired smile. “Got that report for me, Darryl?”
“Yes, ma’am, I do.”
“And?”
“Six different kinds of forms, three databases, and everything’s accounted for. Guess we owe the integrity of our evidence annex to Spider-Man.”
She rolled her eyes as he handed over the lists. “Unless he was the one doing the breaking and entering.” She scanned them. “This is good work— glad I had an old pro on it. Take an extra hour on the time sheet, but no more.”
“Thanks, boss.”
Rather than head home, he walked a few blocks and then pulled out the burner he used for special calls. His contact picked up on the first ring.
“I think I’ve got something. That old tablet the Maggia stole a couple years ago? All this time it’s been in the evidence annex—at least until yesterday. Someone lifted it. Judging from the webbing on the scene, Spider-Man either has it himself or has an idea who does. I figure knowing it’s back on the streets is worth something.”
The voice on the other end laughed. “You figured wrong. Cicero doesn’t want anything to do with that thing.”
“What, it spooks him? I know it’s supposed to be magic, but—”
“Spooked? No. More like he doesn’t want anything around that reminds him of Silvermane. You’ve been with us a while, so I’ll tell you, but you didn’t hear it from me. Gossip upstairs is that the wall-crawler paid a visit today. After that, the Big C needed a four-hour massage just to take a nap. My advice? Forget about it.”
The line went dead. He stared at the phone.
Damn. All that work for an extra $200? If I’d told the chief a priceless artifact had gone missing, I could have been up for a bonus. Now there won’t even be a case file on the theft.
The only other number in the burner’s contact list caught his eye. It was old, probably useless, but thinking about that college fund, he gave it a try.
After three rings, a woman answered. “Hello? Who is this? How did you get this number?”
He’d only seen her once or twice, but that sad singsong voice was tough to forget.
“Mrs. Fisk? Darryl Tanner. I don’t know if you remember me.”
“Detective Tanner. Of course, from our holiday party three years ago. This is…a surprise. It’s very late. Is something wrong?”
“Nothing wrong. I was just working on a case that reminded me of your husband. It’s about something I know he wanted very badly.”
At least she was listening. If he played it right, the information could be worth something, after all.
* * *
IF WESLEY weren’t in prison, he would have answered that call; instead it had gone to Vanessa Fisk. She wasn’t sure what she’d hoped to hear, what pale ghost she’d imagined might speak to her. She wasn’t even sure why she cared enough to keep the phone here, let alone answer. But she had, and what she heard stirred her dormant heart.
Having taken to sleeping in the center of the colossal bed she’d shared with Wilson, she had to use her legs to pull herself across the width before reaching the edge. For the first time in 16 hours, she put her bare feet to the floor. By rote rather than modesty, she donned an opaque green robe to cover her negligée. She remembered the way her husband had looked at her, and nearly ventured a smile.
But that was back when love had been something other than cruel.
When love was the heart of creation.
She pressed her forehead to the glass and watched the surf. She remembered him warning her to avoid windows, always fearful one of his many enemies would come for her.
There was no reason for anyone to threaten her now. The only thing of value she’d ever held was the Kingpin’s heart, and it was forfeit. The two guards downstairs, and the two on the grounds of the beach house, had only been kept on to honor her husband’s loyalty to his people.
Why had she answered the phone?
When Wilson had been healthy…no, the word healthy didn’t do him justice. When he’d been the brutish force whose very presence screamed life, she’d had no interest in his business dealings. Even now, when personal necessity should have been enough to force her involvement, she only paid enough attention to his moribund empire’s intricacies to ensure the continued payment of his medical bills. And in that case, she allowed the lawyers to tell her which papers to sign—she never, ever cared.
Ever since he’d entered that horrid torpor, she’d had little interest in anything. She often startled herself with the number of hours she could spend staring off into nothing.
But the tablet could change everything. There were many things she recalled about Wilson: his moods, his delights, his demons. But she particularly remembered the sparkle in his eyes when he’d first decided that the artifact had to be his.
And among the few things she knew about the underworld, she was aware of the rumors that the stone had somehow made Silvermane young and whole again. She’d also heard rumors about the dread result, and wondered whether that was due to Wesley’s interference.
Her head and heart had been empty for so long, the world drained of meaning. Her favorite dishes tasted like ash; paintings that had once taken her breath away were hollow scrawls. Music that had once lifted her soul jangled like a distant cacophony.
But this new thought echoed so strongly, it filled her:
Could the tablet do the same for my love? Could it make Wilson whole again?
If so, there’d be no need for Richard’s guilt. With the right words, she could convince the proud beast-father to forgive his only son. She knew she could. And then, they could all be together again.
The possibility—no matter how distant, no matter how slight—kept her from going back to bed. Even if it meant caring again, even if it meant embracing the darker side of her husband’s dealings.
Because love was once the heart of creation.