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Chapman opened her door and got out. “You should get out more.” She smacked
the door closed with her hip.
They went in and both ordered breakfast. The coffee and food came fast and was delivered by a white-jacketed and black-bow-tied waiter who had astonishing enthusiasm for nearly three o’clock in the morning.
“Came by to see you earlier,” Chapman said. “You weren’t home.”
Stone ate some of his scrambled eggs. “I was out.”
“Out where?”
“Does it matter?”
“You tell me.”
“You have something you want to say, say it.”
Chapman swallowed a bite of bacon. “So you’re really just giving up?” she said. “Doesn’t sound like the John Carr I’ve heard about.”
“I’m getting a little tired of people throwing the name ‘John Carr’ around like I’m supposed to suddenly put on a cape and solve the world’s problems. In case you hadn’t noticed, that was a long time ago and I have enough of my own problems to deal with.”
Chapman abruptly stood. “Well excuse me. I thought you still gave a shit.”
Stone clamped a hand around her wrist and pulled her back down into her seat.
“I’ll give you a fight if that’s what you want,” she snapped.
“What I want is a little bit of reason and logic.”
“Hey, buddy!”
Stone turned to see a large, broad-shouldered man standing next to the table. The man said, “If I were you I’d leave the lady alone.” He put a hand on Stone’s shoulder.
Chapman glanced quickly at Stone and saw the look in his eye and then watched as his arms tensed to strike.
“It’s okay.” She opened her jacket to show her gun and then held up her badge. “We were just arguing over who was going to pay the check. But thanks for coming to a lady’s aid, love.”
“You sure?” said the man.
Stone ripped the man’s hand off his shoulder. “Yeah, she’s sure, love.”
They finished their meal and drove back to Stone’s cottage. Stone made no move to get out of the car. Chapman glanced over at him but kept silent.
“Thanks for breakfast,” he said.
“You’re welcome.”
A chunk of silence passed as the darkest part of the night drifted past them and the edge of the sky began to lighten.
“I don’t like being beaten,” Stone said.
“I can understand that. Neither do I. That’s why when I start something I want to finish it. I’m sure you feel that way too.”
“I didn’t have much choice about starting this case.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing.”
“Tell me, Oliver.”
“It’s complicated.”
“It’s always bloody complicated.”
Stone glanced out the window as though he expected to see someone watching. “It was my penance, I guess.”
“Penance? I take it other people suffered because of something you did?”
“I sincerely hope so,” Stone said.
“And now that the mission went to hell?”
“I don’t know, Mary. I really don’t know what that means for me.”
“So go out on your terms.”
He looked at her. “How?”
“Let’s finish the bloody case, that’s how.”
“I’m not sure where to start.”
“Usually at the beginning is a good spot.”
“We tried that.”
“So they expect us to go left, we go right.”
“We did that last time and look what happened.”
“So we just go right a little bit harder and farther,” she said. “Any ideas on that?”
Stone thought for a minute or two while Chapman continued to watch him. “Not really, no.”
“Well, I’ve got one,” she said. “Tom Gross.”
“The dead can’t talk.”
“Not what I mean.”
“What, then?”
“Remember when we were sitting in that coffee shop and he told us about being watched?”
“Yes, so?”
“So he told us something. He said there was only one person he trusted.”
It only took Stone a couple of seconds to recall this. “His wife,” he said.
“So I wonder if he trusted her enough to tell her something that could help us?”
“There’s only one way to find out.”
“So you’re back on the hunt?”
He took a few moments to answer. “Unofficially. Which is actually right where I belong.”
CHAPTER 80
CHAPMAN PHONED THE BEREAVED ALICE GROSS at 9 a.m. that morning and asked to see her. Stone and Chapman arrived at the modest two-story house in Centreville, Virginia, early in the afternoon. Alice Gross certainly looked like a woman who’d just lost her husband. Her skin was naturally pale but with a gray pallor lurking just below the surface. Her eyes were red, her hair in disarray. She held a crumpled tissue in one hand and a bottle of water in the other as she led them into her small living room.
Stone saw a coloring book on the coffee table, a baseball bat and some cleats in one corner. When his gaze lighted on a photo of the Gross family showing the dead agent with his wife and four kids ranging in age from three to fourteen, Stone grimaced and quickly looked away. He glanced at Chapman and saw that she’d had the same reaction.
They sat on the couch while Alice Gross took a chair opposite.
Stone said, “Your husband was a terrific agent, Mrs. Gross. We all feel his loss.”
“Thank you. You know they’re holding a memorial service for Tom?”
“Yes, we heard about that. He certainly deserves it.”
“He’d be embarrassed about it, though. He never liked to draw attention to himself. Just wasn’t his way. He just did his job. Didn’t
