Hidden Order

CHAPTER 42

Cordero had chosen a small Italian restaurant in Boston’s North End, not far from the Paul Revere House and the Old North Church. The neighborhood’s narrow, European-style streets had been washed clean by the rain and might have added to the ambiance if Harvath didn’t have so much on his mind. Even Cordero, who had changed into an attractive outfit for dinner, couldn’t shake him from the mood he had slipped into.

“I heard from Sal,” she said after the waiter had set down their drinks and went to take care of another table. “The FBI came up bust on the prints as well.”

Harvath wasn’t surprised, but he still shook his head. “I feel like we’re missing something.”

“We’re not.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because this is what I do for a living,” Cordero replied. “Building a homicide case is like assembling a watch. It takes time. Every single piece is important and has to be put in the right place. They’re very labor-intensive. In fact, you know what one of the most important qualities is for a homicide investigator?”

“Attention to detail?” he asked.

“Patience.” Picking up her wineglass, she switched gears. “What did you do before getting into K-and-R?”

She had a knack for asking him questions that required careful answers. “I actually worked for the Secret Service.”

“So you were in law enforcement.”

“Not really,” he replied. “I did protective work.”

“Why the change?”

“There were great people there, but I came to the conclusion that I didn’t like being on defense. Too often, it felt like I was just sitting around waiting for something to happen.”

“Kind of like now.”

“Ironic, huh?”

“But that’s what’s bothering you, isn’t it? Without some major breakthrough, there’s probably going to be another victim. Maybe even more than one.”

He nodded.

She looked at him. “It bothers me, too.”

“So what do we do about it?”

Cordero took a sip of her wine. “We hope for a major break-through.”

“I’d settle for even a minor breakthrough,” Harvath replied as he picked up his menu.

“Patience is the companion of wisdom.”

“I’ve heard that before. Who said that?”

“St. Augustine.”

Harvath smiled knowingly.

“What?” she asked.

“I had a commanding officer a long time ago who liked to quote St. Augustine. His favorite line was no eulogy is due to a man who simply does his duty and nothing more.

“Apparently, it stuck with you.”

Harvath nodded. It was his turn now to switch gears. “Why did you ask me to dinner?”

“I wanted to get you drunk.”

He laughed. “And then what?”

“And then I’m going to pry every secret I can out of you.”

“Well, that’s a relief. For a minute there, I was worried you were going to take advantage of me.”

“You don’t strike me as the kind of person who gets taken advantage of.”

“Are you kidding? I’m the softest touch on the planet. Anything having to do with kids or animals—”

“Right,” she said, interrupting him. “For your information, I’m not the kind of person who gets taken advantage of, either.”

“You think I’m kidding?” he asked as he pulled his phone from his pocket and unlocked it. Scrolling through some pictures, he found the one he wanted and showed it to her.

Cordero’s eyes widened. “What kind of horse is that?”

“That’s not a horse,” he laughed. “That’s my dog.”

“What breed?”

“He’s a Russian Ovcharka.”

“A what?” she asked with a grin, trying to pronounce the name, but not doing very well.

“Ovcharka,” Harvath replied, drawing the word out slowly. “They’re also known as Caucasian sheepdogs. The Russian military and the East German border patrol loved these dogs. They’re very fast, very loyal, and let’s just say you wouldn’t want to make one angry.”

“I’ll take your word for it. He’s huge. What’s his name?”

“Bullet.”

“You named your dog Bullet?”

“He’s named after a pal of mine whose nickname was Bullet Bob.”

“Was?”

“Bob was a counterterrorism operative. He died doing what he loved.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

‘It’s okay.”

“How do you keep a dog that big in D.C.?”

“He doesn’t live with me. I travel too much.”

“Where’s he live, then?”

“With an old girlfriend.”

“You share custody of your dog with an ex? You really are a soft touch,” said Cordero.

“Do you have a picture of your son?”

“I do,” she said, reaching into her purse and removing her phone.

It was taken at the beach on a beautiful sunny day. He was a handsome little boy with a big smile.

“He’s very cute,” Harvath replied. “He looks a lot like you.”

The detective smiled. “He actually looks a lot like his father.”

“Do you mind if I ask how he died?”

Taking the phone back, she looked at her son’s picture for a moment and then placed it in her purse. “No. I don’t mind you asking. He drowned. It was at that same stretch of beach in the photo I just showed you. We used to go there every summer with friends. It was the middle of the day. It was hot, sunny. We were all swimming, having a good time. One moment he was there and the next he was just… gone.”

“Is that why your partner took over the scene at the Charles River this morning? Is that kind of thing hard for you?”

“Not usually. I guess it depends.”

“Well, you seemed like you had it together. You were pretty tough on me.”

Cordero smiled. “I enjoyed being tough on you.”

“I could tell. Both of you did.”

“Sal can be a bit overprotective.”

“No kidding,” replied Harvath.

“As far as kicking me loose to go interview those girls with you, I’ll fill you in on a little secret. Sal’s also a bit of a snob. He’s from Southie, you know.”

“Really?”

“Yup. Joined the Army to escape his old neighborhood. Ended up coming home and becoming a cop. He helped me out a lot after my husband died.”

“Again, I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“Me, too, but mostly for Marco. Children need fathers.”

“You know, I lost my dad the same way,” said Harvath.

“He drowned?”

“He did. Not too long after I graduated from high school.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. At least you knew him. You were lucky to have had the time that you did.”

“I know that now. My father was a good man.”

“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

Harvath grinned. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I’m very intuitive.”

She was flirting with him and he definitely felt attracted to her, but business and pleasure were often a bad mix. “I think we’d better order dinner,” he said, raising his hand to get the waiter’s attention.

They polished off a bottle of wine together and Harvath wondered if maybe she really was trying to get him drunk when she asked if he wanted to order another one. He declined, but did say yes to some grappa.

They talked about many things: how Cordero became a cop, what it was like balancing her career with being a mom, what they both did to stay in shape, how Cordero’s partner had not helped him at all regarding the Four Seasons, and how Harvath had subsequently checked into the W hotel on points.

They spent the majority of their time discussing the case, and they did so in detail. Harvath admitted that even though he’d offered up Fort Hill as a likely site for the killer, it was still a long shot. He’d been trying to think outside the box. The fact was, though, that if the killer had remained in Boston, he could end up striking anywhere. For all Harvath knew, the killer was gone. He was growing more and more certain that the next time his phone rang, it would be with news of the killer having struck in Chicago, San Francisco, or Seattle. He’d hop back on the plane, fly to wherever it had happened, and start another murder investigation from square one. It was not only frustrating, it made him angry.

But there was also something else. On top of his professional reasons for not wanting to leave Boston, he also had a personal one. The more time he spent with Cordero, the more he liked being around her.

It was a beautiful night and still early, so they decided to walk for a while. They passed several historic sites, like Faneuil Hall, the Old Corner Bookstore, and the Old South Meeting House, where they stopped to read their weathered bronze plaques. Harvath showed off his knowledge of Boston’s role in the American Revolution and teased her good-naturedly from time to time, but she took it all in stride with a smile.

By the time they reached Boston Common and his hotel, neither wanted their evening to end. He invited her in for a nightcap, but she demurred. It was already later than she had intended to be out. She joked that the one thing you could count on with children and criminals was that neither class cared how little sleep or how much to drink you’d had the night before; both would try to turn your weakness to their advantage.

He waited with her while the hotel doorman flagged a cab and then helped her climb in. “I had a very nice evening, Lara,” he said. “Thank you.”

“I had a nice time, too. And it’s still Detective Cordero,” she replied with a mischievous grin as she closed the door and gave the driver her address.

Harvath smiled and stood back as the taxi pulled away. Her sense of humor was one of the many things that were growing on him.

He stopped in the bar and ordered a cup of coffee to take up to his room. He needed to check his email, and undoubtedly the Old Man, who was a night owl, would be up and would want to talk. He might even have some good news for him. At least that was what Harvath told himself as he stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for his floor. In his gut, though, he had a very bad feeling that something evil was hovering on the horizon and would make itself known sooner, rather than later.