Breakwater

19

Alicia Miller’s death had cast a dark shadow over her unit at the Department of Justice. Gerard Lattimore could feel the despair of her grieving colleagues. For weeks, they’d watched her struggle emotionally, casting about for balance, pushing herself to be positive. For a brief window a couple of weeks ago, she’d seemed to pull herself together and was almost happy. By late last week, she was clearly falling apart.

And I did nothing, Gerard thought.

He stood at Steve Eisenhardt’s cubicle. Steve was among those having the most difficulty coping with Alicia’s death. “How’re you holding up?” Gerard asked.

“I’m managing.”

“I don’t know what to say-”

“There’s nothing to say.” Eisenhardt, who hadn’t even glanced at his boss, tapped on his keyboard. “It was a terrible accident. Alicia-she deserved better.”

“Her family’s handling arrangements. They want to keep everything quiet, private. There’s been talk of holding a small memorial service here-”

“I’ll say goodbye in my own way.”

Prickly. Gerard nodded. “We all will.”

Eisenhardt swiveled his chair around, looking up now, his eyes sunken, as if he hadn’t slept since he’d heard the news about his colleague-and friend. Perhaps, in his own mind, at least, Gerard thought, more than a friend.

“Steve-get some rest. Go home early if you need to.”

“Thanks, but I can do my job. It helps. You know-Alicia never was right for this place.”

Gerard didn’t argue with him.

“She was beautiful and well connected, but she didn’t belong.” He swiveled back to his monitor, his tone accusatory as he continued. “Maybe I noticed because I’m new.”

“She wasn’t one to confide in anyone-”

“I saw what was happening. I didn’t say anything.” His look turned into an accusatory glare. “Doesn’t Justice have protocols for handling someone who’s obviously falling apart? If we’d all done something-said something-Alicia might still be alive.”

“We all did the best we could, Steve. We’ll probably never know for certain what was going on in her mind. You’re talking as if she committed suicide. We don’t know-”

“Kayaking in a thunderstorm is suicide, period.”

“I understand how you feel. If there’s anything I can do-if you want to talk-”

“What about Quinn?” His tone had lost some of its edge. “Do you know where she is?”

“On her way back to Washington, I imagine.”

“She’ll push for answers, won’t she? I don’t know her all that well, but she strikes me as the type not to be satisfied with surface answers.”

Gerard sighed, regretting his gesture of sympathy. Steve Eisenhardt had his own way of thinking-he didn’t make life easy for himself. “I don’t know what Quinn will do.”

“Your friend Oliver Crawford-he can’t like having a body wash up onshore practically on his doorstep down there. Alicia said she’d met him. You don’t think Quinn will blame him for anything, do you?”

“Blame him for what, Steve? He and Alicia only met each other a month ago. Oliver’s a busy man-”

Steve was barely listening. “Think Quinn knows anything about his kidnapping over the winter?”

Gerard frowned. “What?”

“Nothing. I’m sorry.” He smiled feebly, looking awkward. “I can’t focus right now.”

“I understand.” Gerard had no intention of pursuing Steve’s crazy line of thinking regarding any connection, even a professional one, between Quinn and Oliver’s kidnapping. Eisenhardt was in no shape to make coherent judgments. “At least give yourself today before you try to work on anything important. We all need some time.”

When he returned to his office, Gerard was surprised to have Oliver Crawford on the line. They’d already exchanged condolences over Alicia’s death. The last thing he wanted to do was to dwell on the tragedy, keep being reminded of it. If he could just dive into his work, he could pretend that he’d never heard the terrible news, at least for a little while.

But he shut his door and sat at his desk, then picked up the phone. “Ollie. What’s up?”

“I saw your Quinn Harlowe today.”

Gerard squirmed. “I wouldn’t say she’s ‘my’ Quinn Harlowe-”

Crawford laughed softly. “No, of course not. I can see why you didn’t want to let her go. She’s an attractive, intelligent, determined woman.”

“There’s nothing romantic between us. I admire her though-”

“Bullshit. You can’t fool me, Gerry. She kayaked out here. She gave my security people fits. She’s a wreck because of her friend’s death, but still she’s asking questions, trying to make sense of such a tragedy.”

Gerard took a breath, picturing Quinn in her kayak, twenty-four hours after finding her friend drowned. He hadn’t lied-there was nothing romantic between them. He would keep at her to come back to work for him, provided he thought he had a chance of persuading her. He’d half hoped she’d crash and burn on her own and have to turn to him for help, but he’d just heard that she was being asked to sit on an independent, privately funded council tasked to assess and prioritize key emerging international crime threats. A coup for anyone, but for someone as young as Quinn, newly out of the Justice Department, it was impressive. As a historian, she would bring a different perspective from the politicians, the lawyers, the law enforcement people.

Although his interest in her was primarily professional, Gerard did think of her paddling on the Chesapeake.

“We’re all still reeling here because of Alicia,” he said, sounding lame even to himself.

“You must be. My staff tells me she was out here early Monday morning. I was in Washington in meetings all day-I had no idea. I gather she was very upset and not making a lot of sense. Hysterical, really. It’s so sad.”

Gerard didn’t want to get into any details about Alicia’s mental state, even with a friend. “It’s a tough one, that’s for sure.”

“The FBI was here earlier. They know all we know.” Another awkward, halfhearted chuckle. “I want to stay on law enforcement’s good side, especially with this new security services company just getting up and running.”

“You know I can’t intervene-”

“Of course not. We’ll see you out here soon?”

“I plan to get my boat out on the water again in a week or two. I haven’t-I don’t know if Yorkville will be the same now.”

“Make it the same,” his longtime friend said with an intensity-an urgency-that was palpable. “Make it better.”

But when he hung up, Gerard could only think how much he wanted to turn in his resignation and go away somewhere. All his ambition had seemed to flatten in the past few days. He felt spent and useless, and, he thought, decidedly uneasy.