Hades

8. Abby

There was nothing more he could realistically get done tonight except perhaps for some more reading, so he began to think about dinner. He had nothing in his fridge or freezer-and the lack of anything even remotely domestic in his house made him think about the differences in the life he led from the one led by his parents. Right about now Louise would be setting a delicious meal and an excellent wine on the table before Jonathan and Lizbeth. No one was going to serve Justin the bottle of Pete's Wicked Ale and the shitty Chinese food he was about to go out and get and eat straight out of the cardboard carton.

Choices, he thought. Everything was about choices.

He'd made his. Maybe he should have made some different ones along the way.

Maybe it wasn't too late to make different choices for the future.

Then again, maybe it wasn't about choices. Maybe it was about fate. Or randomness. Maybe it was just about doing the best you could to control the uncontrollable.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on his front door. Three knocks. Two were rather soft and tentative. The last one was harder, more forceful, as if whoever it was wasn't really sure about wanting to come in, then gathered up some courage and decided it was okay after all. Justin didn't know who could be showing up unexpectedly. He was not exactly Mr. Sociable. He supposed there were several people who wouldn't mind talking to him at the moment. Larry Silverbush. Leona Krill. Maybe even Bruno. So he rose from his chair-not without some effort; another reminder that he'd better get to the gym sooner rather than later-and went to open the door.

If there was one person he was not expecting to see-now or ever again-it was the woman standing in his doorway.

"Are you going to invite me in?" the woman said.

Justin didn't answer. He just stared. At first it was a stare of surprise. But the longer it went on the harder his eyes turned.

"You're going to have to let me in sooner or later," she said. "After all, we're partners."

Justin's first words to her in over a year were: "What the hell are you talking about?"

"They didn't tell you?"

And from the look on his face, the stunned silence, she saw that he hadn't been told, that they'd left all this up to her, so she met his hard stare with a softer one of her own and broke the news to him herself.

"The FBI," Reggie Bokkenheuser said. "I'm the agent assigned to work with you."

Her hair was blonder now; it had been darker when he'd seen her last. It was more natural this way; seemed to fit her better. She'd let it grow some; it had gotten a little wilder looking. And she'd lost some weight; she looked stronger than she used to look, leaner and more muscular. Her blue eyes were the same, though-clear and lovely, if a bit sad, and her skin was smooth and tan, her neck short and not thin but somehow elegant. Her mouth had the same touch of sadness that her eyes had, but it also had the faint trace of a protective smirk. Her mouth and that smirk gave away the fact that she had a sense of humor. But they also kept the world at a distance. Yes, it was definitely the same woman who'd been planted on Justin in the East End Harbor police department a little over a year ago and whom he'd taken into his confidence and to whom he'd made love and who'd led him into a trap that saw him wind up in Guantanamo's prison. The same woman who'd shot and killed Ray Lockhardt, the manager of the local airport, under orders from her superior at the FBI. The same woman he'd arrested for that murder.

And the same woman he realized-looking at her standing on his doorstep, her lips parted slightly, her thin smile hopeful and nervous and, as always, lopsided-could still make his stomach flutter and make his knees buckle ever so slightly.

Damn her.

Damn them.

Damn, damn, damn them all.

He didn't let her in. At least not immediately. Justin went into town to get Chinese food and insisted she come with him. He didn't say it, but he didn't want Regina Bokkenheuser to stay alone in his house. Even for the twenty minutes it took him to get some fried rice and sesame chicken and cold noodles with sesame sauce. Even if it had taken one minute. He didn't know what she would do. What she might look for, what she might plant.

They didn't say one word while they were in the car or while they waited in the small take-out place for the food to be prepared. He wasn't ready to speak yet, and she followed his lead. His silence was fueled by anger. Hers was more placid-it was just a reaction to his, and it annoyed him even more that she knew him well enough to wait for his mood to change rather than challenge it.

When they returned to his house he set the food-dropping it, still in the brown paper bag-on the small dining table that sat in his living room. He went into the kitchen and when he returned with two bottles of beer she had already removed the food cartons from the bag and placed them on the table. He put one beer on the table in front of her.

"Thanks for remembering," she said.

"Fuck you," Justin said.

"Well," Reggie said, "at least we're talking."

He turned and went back into the kitchen, emerging moments later with silverware and two plates. He put the plates on the table and served himself some food. He made no effort to serve Reggie, just pushed the white cartons closer to her.

They ate slowly and silently. She was halfway through the food on her plate when she looked up and said, "Are you ready yet?"

"For what?"

"For a conversation."

"No," he said. Then, putting his fork down, he said, "I thought you were in prison."

She shook her head. "No."

"How is that possible?"

"I told you, Jay, or I tried to tell you, you just wanted to see me in jail so bad you wouldn't listen to me."

"You belonged in jail."

"I was doing my job."

"Nice job. Killing an innocent man."

She winced. "Yes. Something I'll have to live with the rest of my life. And it won't be easy. But I thought I was doing it for national security reasons. I thought the orders were coming all the way from the White House. I was lied to, and I have to stay awake at night knowing I believed the lies. I was manipulated, and maybe I was stupid, but I did what I was trained to do and what I hope I could do again if I had to for the right reasons."

Justin didn't say anything, even when Reggie said, "You've killed people before. People who didn't deserve to die." And when he looked up sharply, ready to respond in anger, she said, "You think we don't know what happened to Lieutenant Colonel Warren Grimble, military intelligence?"

Justin went silent for a moment. Grimble had been the man in charge of his interrogation at Gitmo. Justin had managed to learn his identity. And then he'd done more than that. He was too weak to act himself, so he hired Bruno to do the job. Lieutenant Warren Grimble had disappeared. Justin knew that the disappearance was permanent. Bruno was good at his job.

"He was not what I'd call an innocent man," he said.

"Maybe. But what he did to you, he was doing because he thought it was the right thing to do, because he was under orders to do it."

"No," Justin said quietly. "There are no orders that would cover what he did to me."

"Jay," Reggie said, just as quietly and just as urgently, "after you arrested me, the FBI got me released from custody almost immediately. It wasn't even a question. The slate was wiped clean. The fact is, they examined what happened as thoroughly as it was possible to examine a case. I don't have to tell you what the ramifications were after everything that occurred. They thought I did a good enough job that not only was I exonerated, they assigned me to New York. That's where I've been the last year."

"You did a good job," he said. "I'd never deny that. You did one helluva job."

"I saved your life," she said. "Or are you forgetting that?"

"I haven't forgotten anything."

"I wanted to come see you," she told him. "Almost every day for the past year, that's pretty much all I thought about. But I knew you wouldn't want to see me or hear anything I had to say."

"You're right on that one."

"I asked for this assignment. I want you to know that. When word came down, I asked for it."

"And they gave it to you?"

"Sometimes God works in mysterious ways."

"I don't believe in God."

"Neither do I. So I guess it's the FBI that's pretty mysterious." Reggie finished off the bottle of beer in front of her and said, "I wanted this job because I care about you. No matter what you think of what I did or what you think of me, I care about you. And I think I owe you something. I'd like to make it up to you-what I did and what happened."

"All of a sudden I've got a lot of people trying to make things up to me."

"I know. That's one of the reasons why they agreed to send me here."

"I'm not following."

"The people I work for aren't as dumb as you like to think they are. They can be pretty insightful. And pretty manipulative."

"I still don't follow."

"They think you'll trust me."

He just laughed. A quick, harsh burst of a laugh.

"Because of what happened to Wanda. And with us. Because of what happened… what's happened in your past. They think you'll trust me because you'll want to trust me. And maybe want to help me and protect me."

"Out of guilt?"

"I said they can be smart and manipulative."

"And what do you think, Reggie? Do you think I'm going to go along with this because I feel guilty about other women in my life?"

She did her best to draw on her lopsided smile. "I'm hoping you'll go along with it because of my natural charm." And when he said nothing, didn't change expression, just stared at her with that hard stare of his, she said, "Then how about the fact that I've already called Larry Silverbush and told him that you're working with me and that we expect him to give you his full cooperation?"

"Full cooperation with someone he's looking at as part of his murder investigation?"

"Not anymore. I told him we've cleared you of any involvement."

"And is that true?"

"The 'we' part probably isn't. But I'm the agent in charge now, so it's my call. And I don't think you're involved in any way."

"Why not?"

"I don't think you'd kill anyone or anything because of a woman. Hell, I know you were falling for me just a little bit… and you tried to send me to prison."

"What is it you don't think I'm capable of? Falling in love or killing someone out of love?"

"I don't know, Jay. I didn't get to know you well enough to make that call."

She closed her eyes once, opened them quickly, did it again. He remembered that she did that-batted her long lashes and widened her already large, round, blue eyes. She thought it made her look irresistible. The thing of it was, it did make her look pretty goddamn irresistible.

Justin swatted at the plate of food in front of him and sent it flying off the table. When she jumped, he anticipated her move, reached out, and grabbed her by her collar, pulling her closer to him over the table.

"Reggie, let's get a few things straight." His voice was low and ragged. "I don't trust you. I doubt that I ever will. And I won't be charmed by you, no matter how many times you blink those blue eyes at me. I don't feel guilty, and even if I did, it wouldn't make one fucking bit of difference. And I'm sure as hell not going to sleep with you or fall in love with you, not even a little bit."

She didn't look frightened or even surprised at his outburst. She just gave him that lopsided smile. "But you'll work with me?" she said.

He loosened his grip on her collar. "Yes. I'll work with you."

"Why?" Reggie asked.

"Because right now I need you to get information and to get inside the investigation. And I can use you to help me figure out what the hell's going on."

"And that's the only reason?"

"That's the only reason."

"It's a start," she said. "Now… shall we clean up the mess you made?"

The thing is: they worked well together. They had in the past and they did now. Reggie was meticulous and tireless, and while her instincts weren't quite as acute as his, they were fine. And she could cut through the bullshit to make a point when it needed making.

He printed up his notes and gave them to her to read. As she pored over them, she looked up from time to time to ask him questions: about Evan and Abby, about his relationship with Abby, about the conversations he'd had on his one visit to Rockworth and Williams. Her questions were sharp and clinical and on point. When she was done looking at his lists and written comments, he handed over the various folders of information he'd collected and told her she should go through it all over the next twenty-four hours. She said she would, and he knew she'd have a worthwhile take on what she read. He told her what his plans were for the next day and he told her what he wanted her to concentrate on. She agreed.

"Now," she said, "what do you need from me?"

He told her he wanted to know everything that Wanda knew about Evan Harmon's business. He wanted to know why Evan was being investigated.

"We don't have a lot," she told him. "And what we have isn't all that firm. Wanda wasn't reporting on a lot of what she was doing. And one of the problems is that Evan Harmon came in through the back door. He wasn't who we were investigating."

"Who were you looking at?"

"Leonardo Rubenelli. Your friend Bruno's boss."

"I know who he is. You guys have been trying to get something on him for most of my lifetime. What is it now?"

"Money laundering."

"And what the hell is the connection between Evan Harmon and Lenny Rube? How'd they even cross into the same world?"

"Come on, Jay. You should be able to come up with that one. Who could link a New York hedgehogger with the head of the New England mob?"

Justin shook his head. "Ronald LaSalle? I don't believe it. Just because he was a money guy in Providence? My father's a money guy in Providence."

"You should check with your pal Bruno."

"Since he's not here, why don't you tell me what he'd say?"

"I don't know what he'd say. I don't have the same high regard that you do for his character," Reggie told him. "But I know he's been dealing with LaSalle. We have the two of them meeting several times over the past year. And we know that Bruno was here in East End Harbor for several weeks last year. Hell, you and I know that from personal experience. It would have been easy for him to cross paths with Harmon."

"Do you have proof of any direct contact between Bruno and Evan?"

"Only according to Wanda's reports. But they weren't incident specific."

"'Incident specific.' Nice phrase. I like that," he said.

"We don't have an eyewitness-is that better? At least none we know about. It seems as if Wanda did. But we can't ask her."

Justin frowned. "Evan and Ronald were laundering money for Lenny Rube-and Bruno was the go-between? It just doesn't add up."

"Why not?"

"From everything I've been told, Ron LaSalle was as straight as they come."

"And who did the telling? The people who worked for him? His wife? Maybe they have a lot to gain by making us think that."

"It's possible." He was thinking about sitting in Vicky's living room, listening to her talk about her husband. She wasn't lying. She might have been duped, but she wasn't lying.

"What else doesn't add up?" Reggie asked.

"Bruno. He's not exactly the go-between type."

"That's right. That's why we think he's involved in a lot bigger way."

"You think Bruno killed them?"

"We think it's a good possibility."

"I like the way you use the all-protective plural, Reggie. Do you ever think something all by yourself?"

"I've been out of the loop on this case, Jay. I was brought in at the last minute, so I can't even say I'm fully briefed. I'm just telling you what I've been told so far. The more involved I am, the more I'll learn and be able to think for myself. And the more I'll be able to tell you."

"All right, so give me some more groupthink on Bruno."

"We know he was dealing with LaSalle on a regular basis. And we know he was using LaSalle to invest millions of dollars. Some of the investments were corporate investments. LaSalle was dealing with Bruno as if he were an institutional investor."

"Bruno?" Justin had to smile. "He's not what I'd call the corporate type."

"Our point exactly. One of the companies investing has Rubenelli on its board."

Justin sighed. "So you started investigating, looking for a way to get to Lenny Rube."

Reggie nodded.

"I still don't see the link to Harmon," Justin said.

"I told you, we don't have it firm. But it exists. We know from Wanda's notes that some of the Rubenelli money was going through Harmon's hedge fund."

"If you know that, why don't you have it firm?"

Reggie looked embarrassed. Finally she just shrugged and said, "You know what it's been like since 9/11. If it's not terrorism related, no one actually gives a damn. At least at the top levels. We've had a lot of our resources taken away from us. So we haven't been able to make a financial paper trail."

"So good old mob crimes and killings don't really matter anymore?"

"Not so much, no. But Wanda wouldn't let go of this. She thought it was big. And she was working on making the connections."

"Which is why she got killed."

"That's what we're assuming. And that's why we've moved this to high priority."

"Come on, even Lenny Rube's not stupid enough to off a federal agent. Bruno certainly isn't that dumb."

"Again, you have a higher regard for your friends than we do."

"I wouldn't exactly call Lenny my friend."

"And Bruno?"

"'Friend' is too strong a word. But just because we're on opposite sides of the fence, I don't underestimate him." He was still shaking his head. "It makes sense on the surface, but it's off. For one thing, even the way the murders were done. It's not Bruno's style. One thing you can count on, he wouldn't have left Wanda alive long enough to do what she did."

"Nice that you know his modus operandi so well."

"It may not be nice, but it's meaningful. Especially if your theory's based on the fact that Bruno was killing for the family."

"Am I missing something? Isn't that what he does for a living?"

Justin sighed and said, "Look, I didn't tell your guy Fletcher everything when we had our little chat yesterday."

Reggie said nothing. There was just the cock of her head to the left and the fluttering of her eyelashes.

"I'm still not sure I want him to have this info. So I want to know if it'll stay with you," Justin said.

"I work for them."

"But you're partnering with me."

"That's not fair, Jay. You're putting me in an untenable position."

"Sure I am. And what do I give a shit about fair? You want me to trust you, tell me that you'll keep this between us."

"This is a test?"

"Pass-fail. One time only."

She chewed on her lip for a moment, did her blinking thing, then she nodded.

"You lie to me, our partnership's over," he said.

"I get it. You're not exactly subtle."

"Okay," Justin said. And he told her what happened at Dolce when he'd met with Bruno.

When he was finished, she said, "Who was it?"

"I don't know yet. I got prints and I asked Billy to run 'em before anything had happened with Wanda and before I'd talked to Fletcher."

"You're unbelievable. How did you get prints off this guy?"

"He was reading some travel guide at the table, part of his cover. I took it on my way out. When I gave it to Billy, I didn't have any idea he might be connected to Harmon or even LaSalle."

"It was just you being curious."

"Just me being a cop."

"Most cops wouldn't have left that guy there to meet his fate."

"I did what I thought I had to do."

"Which is usually your choice."

"Yes," Justin said. "That's usually my choice. And one of my reasons was that Bruno said something that made me think I was involved."

"And that was…?"

"He told me that there were people who didn't like that he was talking to me."

"Why?"

"I don't know. But that was reinforced when I saw Wanda. Or at least I thought it was. She knew I'd talked to Bruno. I thought it was because she was keeping tabs on me-I thought that was all part of her warning me away. Now I realize she was following Bruno-tailing him, not me. Or bugging him, more likely."

"What have you gotten back from DiPezio?"

"Nothing yet," Justin said. "I kind of downplayed it. Didn't really want him getting overcurious." And then he said, "Oh, screw it," and went to the phone and dialed.

"What?" Billy DiPezio said when he answered the phone. "You want a raise to two dollars a week?"

"I'm checking up on the fingerprints I asked you to run," Justin said. "I know you're a half-assed department, but I thought maybe you could do something on time."

"Kinda late for you to be calling, don't you think?" Billy said. "Especially on a Sunday. And especially for something that didn't seem too important yesterday."

"It might be a little more important than I thought," Justin admitted.

"Why don't you have your hot-shit Fed friends run it, now that you're workin' so closely with 'em?"

"I would if I hadn't been a moron and given the thing to you."

"You got no gratitude, you know that," Billy said. "But I'll get you the results in the morning. And don't blame me if you don't like 'em."

"What?" Justin said. "You already know something?"

"Hold on a second, will you?" Justin heard the sound of glass touching glass and a woman's voice, laughing. No. Giggling. Definitely giggling. Billy had been married for something like twenty-five years and Justin was fairly sure his wife didn't giggle like that.

"Billy," Justin repeated, "you know something about this guy already?"

"I don't know shit," Billy said. "But I figure the way your life's goin', you're not gonna like the results whatever they are."

Justin hung up and looked at his watch. Past midnight. He didn't know how Billy did it. He'd be out drinking until two or three this morning and he'd be sharp as a tack and on the job by seven-thirty. Justin was finding that harder and harder to manage. Hell, he was finding it harder just to stay awake past ten at night. As if on cue, Reggie yawned.

"I think we might have to finish this conversation tomorrow," she said. "I'm pretty beat."

"Where are you staying?" he asked.

"No house this time around. The drawback to not being undercover. I've got a room at the Fisherman. Cheap but really, really ugly."

There was an awkward silence. They both stood facing each other, maybe two feet apart. The distance felt a lot farther at the same time it felt a lot closer.

"You need a ride?" he asked.

"Got a car."

"You want one more beer before you go?" He heard his voice go dry for just an instant. Idiot, he thought. What are you, in high school? Stay away from this one. Don't go there.

She said quietly, "Do you want me to stay and have one more beer, Jay?"

"No," he said. "I don't."

"Then good night."

"Good night," he said.

He watched her from his living room window as she walked to her car parked on the street. It wasn't anything fancy. Maybe a VW. He kept watching as she got in the driver's seat and then drove away in the direction of her motel.

He took a deep breath. Went to his phone and dialed the number for Abby Harmon's cell phone. He got the same voice message he'd heard over the past two days. When the message ended and he heard the tone, Justin didn't say anything. He just stared at his receiver and then hung up.

He picked two songs to play on his computer, "Ends" by Everlast. And "Things Have Changed" by Dylan. He turned the volume way up.

The rap music was strangely soothing to him. And equally disturbing. He closed his eyes and got caught up in the sad rhythm of the song as he thought about what they were saying, how everything seemed to be about the ends.

Sometimes kids did indeed get murdered for the ends.

And he wondered if the all-wise Bob Dylan was right once again.

People were crazy. And people were strange. Justin knew that he used to care, too. He just wasn't sure if things had changed.

He took another deep breath.

Then he put both songs on again and went and had a beer all on his own.