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Evan allowed himself another sip.
Luke’s focus hadn’t wavered. His intensity like a spotlight directed into Evan’s face. A dark sort of anger seethed beneath his features. Evan watched the frustration work its way up from the pit of Devine’s stomach until it reached his mouth; it was as though he could not prevent himself from speaking. “You’re not supposed to be here because of a dead boy I’ve never met.”
“And girl,” Evan said. “Why am I supposed to be here?”
“Because as the unofficial fourth co-equal branch of government, I’m a threat to President Donahue-Carr and the entire rotten system she represents.”
“I don’t care about any of that.”
“What then?” Luke’s tone, as sharp as a blade. “What do you care about?”
Evan thought of the unfinished jigsaw puzzle on the Seabrooks’kitchen table. Ruby slouched in her brother’s beanbag. Deborah smoking her taboo cigarettes. Mason’s multicolored beard glistening with tears. He thought about a young woman who wrote poetry on driftwood, who’d changed her name to Desiree, whose head had been twisted around on her skull farther than bone and tendon allowed.
“Nothing you’d understand,” Evan said.
“Perhaps you’re right,” Luke said. “You concern yourself with trifles. I’m trying to wake up the world.”
“The world is already perfect, Devine. It’s people that are broken. And all your talking won’t fix that. It’s too abstract, too many ways to get lost. We only learn anything in the doing.”
“I know you believe that,” Devine said. “But I am offering you a rare gift. The opportunity to be wrong.”
Evan took another sip and set down his glass, half full. “Labor Day,” he said. “A year and a month ago.”
Devine blinked three times in rapid succession. “What?”
“That’s the date Johnny Seabrook and Angela Buford were murdered. I think it happened here at Tartarus. At one of your parties. You’ve displayed your extensive time-stamped surveillance footage. So. Show me.”
“Gladly.”
“I’ll make you a deal,” Evan said. “If their deaths had nothing to do with you or this place, then we’ll continue the discussion.”
Luke said, “And if they did?”
Evan reached for the ARES and gave it a spin. It rotated lazily around and came to rest aiming at Luke.
He picked up the pistol and slid it into his holster.
He stood.
Luke followed him out.
47
This Kind of Mind-Fuckery
Tenpenny halted in the doorway, his head nearly brushing the top of the frame. “You let him in here? No one’s allowed in here. Ever.”
He’d been summoned to the scarlet room, brought up short by the sight of Evan inside the Faraday cage with Luke.
Luke pointed at the computer. “Labor Day last year,” he said.
Tenpenny shuffled over reluctantly and began working the database with practiced dexterity. He looked like an organist, long fingers flurrying over the controls, calling up various programs on the massive screen.
Evan and Luke stood shoulder to shoulder, watching Tenpenny zero in on the proper date. Though the tall man didn’t have a cigarette, his clothes respired stale smoke, tingeing the windowless room with a bleary gray smell.
At last he found the file for Labor Day and clicked on it.
A proliferation of camera angles filled the screens, showing Tartarus in the quiet of early morning. They watched the estate stir to life, gardeners and house staff readying for the day. Tenpennyzipped along on fast-forward, the time stamp spinning through the morning. The sped-up afternoon saw more jerky progress—tables rolled into place, bar stations set up, outdoor lights strung.
