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25
The third week of June was a series of glorious high summer days. The temperature crept up over the course of the afternoon, bringing with it humidity heavy enough to thicken the air and blur the horizon. Heavy clouds would then form as if by magic, and violent thunderstorms would drop torrents of rain. The showers never lasted long, though, leaving behind only dripping leaves and a layer of ground mist.
Katie continued to work long evening shifts at the restaurant. She was tired when she rode home, and in the morning her legs and feet often ached. She put half the money she earned in tips in the coffee can, and it was almost filled to the brim. She had more money than she'd imagined she'd be able to save, more than enough to get away if she had to. For the first time, she wondered whether she needed to add more.
Lingering over her last few bites of breakfast, she stared out the window at Jo's house. She hadn't spoken with her since their encounter, and last night, after her shift, she'd seen lights burning in Jo's kitchen and living room. Earlier this morning, she'd heard her car start up and listened to the crunching of dirt and gravel as it pulled away. She didn't know what to say to Jo, or even whether she wanted to say anything at all. She couldn't even decide whether she was angry with her. Jo cared about Alex and the kids; she was worried about them and had expressed her concerns to Katie. It was hard to find malice in anything she'd done.
Alex, she knew, would be by later today. His visits had settled into something of a routine, and when they were together, she was constantly reminded of all the reasons she'd fallen for him in the first place. He accepted her occasional silences and varying moods, and he treated her with a gentleness that astonished and touched her. But since her conversation with Jo, she wondered if she was being unfair to him. What would happen, after all, if Kevin showed up? How would Alex and the kids react if she disappeared, never to return? Was she willing to leave all of them behind and never talk to them again?
She hated the questions Jo had raised, because she wasn't ready to face them. You have no idea what I've been through, she'd wanted to say afterward, once she had time to think about it. You have no idea what my husband is like. But even she knew that begged the question.
Leaving her breakfast dishes in the sink, she walked through the small cottage, thinking how much had changed in the last few months. She owned virtually nothing, but felt like she had more than ever. She felt loved for the first time in years. She'd never been a parent, but she found herself thinking and worrying about Kristen and Josh when she least expected it. She knew she couldn't predict the future, and yet she was struck with the sudden certainty that leaving this new existence behind was inconceivable.
What had Jo once said to her? I just tell people what they already know but are afraid to admit to themselves.
Reflecting on her words, she knew exactly what she had to do.
*
"Sure," Alex said to her, after she related her request. She could tell he was surprised, but he also seemed encouraged. "When do you want to start?"
"How about today?" she suggested. "If you have any time."
He looked around the store. There was only one person eating in the grill area, and Roger was leaning against the counter, chatting with him.
"Hey, Roger? Do you think you could watch the register for an hour?"
"No problem, boss," Roger said. He stayed where he was; Alex knew he wouldn't come up front unless necessary. But on a weekday morning, after the initial rush, he didn't expect many people in the store, so Alex didn't mind. He moved out from behind the register.
"You ready?"
"Not really." She hugged herself nervously. "But it's something I should know how to do."
They left the store, walking toward his jeep. Climbing in, she could feel his gaze on her.
"Why the sudden rush to learn how to drive?" he asked. "Is the bike not good enough?" he teased.
"The bike is all I need," she said. "But I want to get a driver's license."
He reached for the car keys before pausing. He turned back to her again, and as he stared at her, she caught a glimpse of the investigator he used to be. He was alert and she sensed his caution. "Learning how to drive is only part of it. To get a license, the state requires identification. Birth certificate, social security card, things like that."
"I know," she said.
He chose his words carefully. "Information like that can be tracked," he pointed out. "If you get a license, people might be able to find you."
"I'm already using a safe social security number," she said. "If Kevin knew about it, he would have tracked me down already. And if I'm going to stay in Southport, it's something I need to do."
He shook his head. "Katie..."
She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "It's okay," she said. "My name's not Katie, remember?"
He traced the curve of her cheek with his finger. "To me, you'll always be Katie."
She smiled. "I have a secret," she said. "My hair isn't naturally brown. I'm really a blond."
He sat back, processing this new information. "Are you sure you want to be telling me this?"
"I figure you'll find out eventually, anyway. Who knows? Maybe I'll go back to being a blond one day."
"What's this all about? Wanting to learn how to drive, volunteering information?"
"You told me I could trust you." She shrugged. "I believe you."
"That's it?"
"Yes," she said. "I feel like I can tell you anything."
He studied their hands, locked together on the seat divider, before looking at her. "Then I'll cut to the chase. Are you sure your documents will hold up? They can't be copies. They have to be originals."
"I know," she said.
He knew better than to ask anything more. He reached for the keys but didn't start the engine.
"What is it?" she asked.
"Since you want to learn how to drive, we may as well start now." He opened the door and got out. "Let's get you behind the wheel."
They switched places. As soon as Katie was behind the wheel, Alex pointed out the basics: gas and brake pedals, how to put the car in gear, turn signals, lights and wipers, gauges on the dashboard. It was always best to start at the beginning.
"You ready?" he asked.
"I think so," she said, concentrating.
"Since it's not a manual transmission, you use only one foot. It's either on the accelerator or the brake, okay?"
"Okay," she said. She moved her left foot near the door.
"Now, push down on the brake and start the car. When you're ready, keep the brake on while you put the transmission in reverse. Don't use the accelerator, and slowly release the brake. Then turn the wheel to back out, keeping your foot lightly on the brake."
She did exactly as she was told and backed the car out gingerly before he guided her out of the parking lot. For the first time, she paused. "Are you sure I should drive onto the main road?"
"If there was a lot of traffic, I'd say no. If you were sixteen, I'd say no. But I think you can handle it, and I'm right here to help. You ready? What you're going to do is turn right, and we'll follow that until the next turn. Then we'll turn right again. I want you to get a feel for the car."
They spent the next hour driving along rural roads. Like most beginners, she had trouble with oversteering, she sometimes veered onto the shoulder, and parking took a little while to get used to, but other than that, she did better than probably either of them expected. As they were getting close to finishing, Alex had her park on one of the downtown streets.
"Where are we going?"
He pointed to a small coffee shop. "I figured you might want to celebrate. You did well."
"I don't know," she said. "I didn't feel like I knew what I was doing."
"That comes with practice," he said. "The more you drive, the more natural it feels."
"Can I drive tomorrow?" she asked.
"Of course," he said. "Can we do it in the morning, though? Now that Josh is ou
t of school, he and Kristen are at day camp for a couple of weeks. They get home around noon."
"Mornings are perfect," she said. "Do you really think I did okay?"
"You could probably pass the driving portion of the exam with a couple more days of practice. Of course, you have to pass the written test, too, but all that takes is some prep time."
She reached out and gave him a spontaneous hug. "Thanks for this, by the way."
He hugged her back. "I'm glad to help. Even if you don't have a car, it's something you should probably know how to do. Why didn't you... ?"
"Learn to drive when I was younger?" She shrugged. "Growing up, we had only one car and my dad was usually using it. Even if I got my license, I wouldn't have been able to drive, so it never struck me as all that important. After I moved out, I couldn't afford a car, so again, I didn't bother. And then, when I was married, Kevin didn't want me to have one." She turned. "And here I am. A twenty-seven-year-old bike rider."
"You're twenty-seven?"
"You knew that."
"Actually, I didn't."
"And?"
"You don't look a day over thirty."
She punched him lightly in the arm. "For that, I'm going to make you buy me a croissant, too."
"Fair enough. And since you're in the mood for full disclosure, I'd like to hear the story of how you finally got away."
She hesitated only briefly. "Okay," she said.
At a small table outside, Katie related the account of her escape--the forwarded phone calls, the trip to Philadelphia, the ever-changing jobs and miserable flophouses, the eventual trip to Southport. Unlike the first time, now she was able to describe her experiences calmly, as though talking about someone else. When she finished, he shook his head.
"What?"
"I was just trying to imagine how you must have felt after hanging up on that final call from Kevin. When he still thought you were at home. I'll bet you were relieved."
"I was. But I was also terrified. And at that point, I still didn't have a job and didn't know what I was going to do."
"But you made it."
"Yes," she said. "I did." Her gaze was focused on some distant point. "It's not the kind of life I ever imagined for myself."
Alex's tone was gentle. "I'm not sure anyone's life turns out exactly the way they imagine. All we can do is to try to make the best of it. Even when it seems impossible."
She knew he was talking as much about himself as he was about her, and for a long moment neither of them said anything.
"I love you," he finally whispered.
She leaned forward and touched his face. "I know. And I love you, too."
26
By late June, the flower gardens in Dorchester that had been ablaze with color in the spring were beginning to wilt, the blooms turning brown and curling inward. The humidity had begun to creep up and the alleys in downtown Boston began to smell of rotting food and urine and decay. Kevin told Coffey and Ramirez that he and Erin were going to spend the weekend at home, watching movies and doing a little gardening. Coffey had asked about Provincetown and Kevin had lied and told him about the bed-and-breakfast where they'd stayed and some of the restaurants they'd gone to. Coffey had said that he'd been to all of those places and asked if Kevin had ordered the crab cakes at one of them. Kevin said that he hadn't but would the next time.
Erin was gone, but Kevin still looked for her everywhere. He couldn't help it. As he drove the streets of Boston and saw the glint of gold brushing a woman's shoulders, he would feel his heart catch in his throat. He would watch for the delicate nose and green eyes and the graceful way she walked. Sometimes he would stand outside the bakery, pretending that he was waiting for her.
He should have been able to find her, even if she'd gotten away in Philadelphia. People left trails. Paper left trails. In Philadelphia, she'd used a phony name and phony social security number, but that couldn't last forever unless she was willing to keep on living in cheap hotels and changing jobs every few weeks. To this point, though, she hadn't used her own social security number. An officer from another precinct who had connections checked for him, and that officer was the only one who knew that Erin was gone, but he'd keep his mouth shut because Kevin knew he was having an affair with his underage babysitter. Kevin felt dirty whenever he had to talk to him because the guy was a pervert and he belonged in prison, since the Bible says Let there be no sexual immorality among you. But right now, Kevin needed him so that he could find Erin and bring her home. Man and wife were supposed to stay together because they'd made their vows in front of God and family.
He'd known he would find her in March; he'd felt sure she would turn up in April. He was certain that her name would surface in May, but the house stayed empty. Now it was June and his thoughts were often scattered and sometimes it was all he could do to go through the motions. It was hard to concentrate and the vodka didn't seem to help and he had to lie to Coffey and Ramirez and walk away while they gossiped.
This he knew: she wasn't running any longer. She wouldn't move from place to place or job to job forever. It wasn't like her. She liked nice things and wanted to have them around her. Which meant she had to be using someone else's identity. Unless she was willing to live a life continually on the run, she needed a real birth certificate and a real social security number. These days, employers required identification, but where and how would she have assumed another's identity? He knew the most common way was to find someone of a similar age who'd recently died, and then to take on the identity of the deceased. The first part of that was conceivable, if only because of Erin's frequent visits to the library. He could imagine her scanning the obituaries on microfiche, looking for a name to steal. She schemed and planned in the library while pretending to peruse the bookshelves, and she'd done those things after he'd taken time out of his busy day to drive her there. He showed her kindness and she repaid him with treachery, and it infuriated him to think of the way she must have laughed while she did it. It made him so angry to imagine those things, and with a hammer he smashed the set of china they'd been given for their wedding. Having let off steam, he was able to focus on what he had to do. Throughout March and April, Kevin spent hours in the library just as she must have done, trying to find her new identity. But even if she had found a name, how had she retrieved the identification? Where was she now? And why hadn't she come home?
These were the questions that tormented him, and sometimes it was so confusing he couldn't stop crying because he missed her and wanted her to come home and he hated to be alone. But other times, the thought that she had left him made him dwell on how selfish she was and all he wanted to do was kill her.
July rolled in with the breath of dragons: hot and moist and horizons that shimmered like a mirage when seen from a distance. The holiday weekend passed and another week started. The air conditioner had broken in his home and Kevin hadn't called the repairman. He had a headache every morning when he went to work. Trial and error proved that vodka worked better than Tylenol, but the pain was always there, pounding in his temple. He'd stopped going to the library, and Coffey and Ramirez asked about his wife again and he said that she was fine but said nothing else about her and then he changed the subject. He got a new partner named Todd Vannerty, who'd just been promoted. He was happy to let Kevin do most of the questioning when they talked to witnesses and victims, and that was fine with Kevin.
Kevin told him that, almost always, the victim knew the murderer. But not always in an obvious way. At the end of their first week together, they were called out to an apartment less than three blocks from the precinct, where they found a ten-year-old boy who'd died of a bullet wound. The shooter was a recent emigrant from Greece who had been celebrating a Greek soccer victory when he'd fired his gun at the floor. The bullet passed through the ceiling of the apartment below him and killed the boy just as he was taking a bite of pizza. The bullet entered the top of his head and the boy fell face-first into his pizza. When they saw the b
oy, there was cheese and tomato sauce on the boy's forehead. His mother had screamed and cried for two hours and had tried to tackle the Greek as he was led down the stairs in handcuffs. She ended up tumbling down to the landing and they'd had to call an ambulance.
Kevin and Todd went to a bar after their shift ended and Todd tried to pretend he could forget what he'd seen, but he drank three beers in less than fifteen minutes. He told Kevin that he'd failed his detective exam once, before finally passing it. Kevin drank vodka, though because Todd was with him, he told the bartender to add a splash of cranberry juice.
It was a cop bar. Lots of cops, low prices, dim lights, and women who liked to hook up with cops. The bartender let people smoke, even though it was against the law, since most of the smokers were cops. Todd wasn't married and had been there often. Kevin had never been there before and wasn't sure he liked it, but he didn't want to go home, either.
Todd went to the bathroom and when he came back, he leaned closer to Kevin.
"I think those two at the end of the bar are checking us out."
Kevin turned. Like him, the women appeared to be around thirty. The brunette noticed him staring before she turned back to her redheaded friend.
"Too bad you're married, huh? They look pretty good."
They looked worn, Kevin thought. Not like Erin, who had clear skin and smelled of lemon and mint and the perfume he'd bought her for Christmas.
"Go ahead and talk to them if you want," Kevin said.
"I think I will," Todd said. Todd ordered another beer and walked to the end of the bar and smiled. He probably said something stupid, but it was enough to make the women laugh. Kevin ordered a double vodka, no cranberry juice, and saw their reflection in the mirror behind the bar. The brunette met his eyes in the mirror, and he didn't turn away. Ten minutes later, she sauntered over and took a seat on the stool that Todd had been occupying.
"Not feeling social tonight?" the brunette asked.
"I'm not good at small talk."
The brunette seemed to consider this. "I'm Amber," she said.
"Kevin," he replied, and again, he didn't know what to say. He took a drink, thinking it tasted almost like water.
The brunette leaned toward him. She smelled musky, not like lemon and mint. "Todd says that the two of you work homicide."
