by Noah Boyd
“That’s awful. But at least you learned how to do it, right?”
Vail laughed with a tinge of anger, not at her but at what he was about to recall. “This wasn’t some apprenticeship hazing or poor parenting technique, this was him getting even.”
“Even for what?”
“Who knows? For having to raise me by himself. I don’t know. It seemed as if his whole life was about getting even with everyone. That’s who he was.”
“That happened a long time ago.”
Vail laughed again, and this time it had an edge to it that told her she was being naïve. “If that had happened once, it would probably be the kind of story you’d laugh at during a Thanksgiving meal, but every time I finished something after that, he would send me to clean up while he stayed behind. I never knew until the next morning whether he’d torn it down or not. Sometimes I wouldn’t sleep, wondering if I had pleased my father, which is very important to a fourteen-year-old, especially if there was no one else around. He did it the rest of the summer. If we stopped somewhere for lunch and he started drinking whiskey, I didn’t have to wonder—tearing it down would be automatic.”
Kate understood now why Vail’s approach to work was so intense, why it crowded out everything else. She thought about when she’d recruited him on that Chicago rooftop to help with the Pentad case six months earlier. After she made her appeal, he worked almost in a rage. She thought it was because of what she’d said, but now she wondered if it wasn’t because she was invading his privacy, at a time when he held at bay the demons his father had left behind. A feat that became impossible when someone else might be able to detect the tiniest flaw. It had to be why he never stopped working on a case, even after it was solved. “Have you ever thought about confronting him and showing him what you’ve accomplished?”
“Accomplished? I’m a bricklayer.”
“Actually, you choose to be a bricklayer. Maybe you continue to do it because it’s the only way to show your father how wrong he was. You need to go see him and tell him what you’ve done, your education, your work with the FBI.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I just can’t.”
“Why not?”
“All right, I won’t.”
“That’s your father. You can’t put the rest of your life on hold because of one bad summer.”
“You’re right, it was only one summer, because by the time I turned fifteen, I could lay brick as well as he could. And, more important, I was much faster, which translated into more money. Not that I ever saw any of it. But when I was sixteen, he found a new way to ‘parent.’ That entire summer we worked building a hospital, a huge job. There were other contractors on the site—roofers, Sheetrockers, carpenters, everything. I was always big for my age, so he started lining up fights for me. On Fridays he would have me fight grown men for their paychecks. The first time I lost. Three of my ribs were broken. But he was very reassuring. He told me it was all right, because he’d get better odds the next time. Maybe that’s why I’ve never looked forward to paydays. When I turned seventeen, I refused to do it anymore. The next year was—to put it mildly—contentious.”
“When’s the last time you saw him?”
“My eighteenth birthday. I got up in the morning and packed. He was eating breakfast. I stopped and looked at him. I suppose I wanted him to have some remorse, maybe even try to stop me, but I think he actually looked relieved.”
She pulled on Vail’s arm to get him to start walking. He took one last look at the pieces in the window. After a few blocks of silence, she said, “Am I really the only one who’s seen your sculptures?”
“Even though I told you I didn’t want you to look at them, yes.”
“Then I’m glad I didn’t follow orders. That one of me is—”
“I destroyed it.”
“What?”
“A few nights after you left, I sat in front of it, drinking. Finally I got drunk enough to see the truth, so I broke it down.”
“What truth? It looked exactly like me.”
He stopped and faced her, putting his palm on her cheek. “One of the things I like best about you is that you really don’t understand your own beauty. I understand it better than you do, and I don’t understand it at all. I had to do that bust of you, to try to understand exactly what it is about you that haunts me. When I destroyed it, I destroyed my obsession with perfection. You’re right, me being a bricklayer is about not being judged. But destroying that bust of you was the healthiest thing I’ve ever done.”
Tears started down Kate’s face. She buried herself against his chest. “Who are you?”
“Haven’t you been listening? For better or worse, I’m a bricklayer.” Vail took out a handkerchief and handed it to her. “If it’s any consolation, since then—for the first time ever—I’ve kept the things I’ve made, all of them. I think I’m actually starting to like what I make.”
Kate gave him his handkerchief back and took his arm again. “And will I get to see them?”
“You’ll have to come to Chicago.”
“Uh-oh.”
“That’s right, Katie, there is an admission price.”
They started walking again. “I’m hungry.”
“I hope you’re speaking biblically.”
“I’m talking seafood, Vail, and as much of it as you can afford.”
“Well, aren’t you the demanding little fugitive?”
“If I were, I wouldn’t be dating a bricklayer pretending to be an FBI agent pretending to be a sculptor.”
“If I remember my time in the Bureau correctly, everybody was pretending to be an agent.”
“That’s the problem, no one pretends anymore.”
Kate put the key in the lock and turned around to face him, flattening her back against the door. “I had a very nice time tonight, Steven,” she said, her voice feigning a this-is-our-first-and-last-date rejection.
She had been relatively quiet during dinner. His flirting usually elicited playful banter from her, but tonight she’d been largely unresponsive, seemingly lost in her own thoughts. He even threw her a couple of lines she could have used to unload on him, but they didn’t seem to register. Vail guessed that it was the arrest and the charges pending against her. He knew she was grounded enough to understand that with the evidence they’d uncovered so far, she would never be formally charged and that complete freedom was not far away. But maybe being put in such a precarious position and having to be so dependent on him was causing her to finally understand why he had such disdain for the Bureau. The organization she’d given so much to had been unwilling to risk anything to help her.
But now maybe she was trying to tell him that she’d made some sort of decision. He hoped so.
“I’d like to see you again,” he said.
“The truth is, Steven, the last few days I’ve been spending all my time with women. If you know what I mean.”
“If that’s supposed to turn me off, you may want to take it in a different direction.”
“Let me put it another way—no, we can’t see each other again.”
“I think I should at least get a good-night handshake.”
“Yeah, like that’s going to happen.”
“Come on, Katherine. How about I come in for a cup of coffee?”
“I don’t know, my roommate is a bit of a psychopath.” She whispered, “He’s in the building trades.”
Vail put his hands against the door on either side of her. “Have you two got something going on?” He leaned in and put his cheek against hers.
She nuzzled against the heat of his neck. “It’s complicated.”
“That sounds like a yes. Is he here now?”
“He’s very close by.”
He kissed her gently on the mouth. “How close?”
“Very, very close.”
“I say we chance it.”
“Well, that was an expensive dinner,” she said.
“I
won’t stay any more than four or five hours.”
“You promise?”
“Certainly no later than spring.”
She turned around and opened the door. “Just coffee, right?”
They were inside and quickly dropped their coats where they stood. She threw herself against him and kissed him almost angrily.
He said, “For some reason I have a sudden taste for Girl Scout cookies, too.” He unzipped her dress, and she stepped out of it, then unbuttoned his shirt. “You’re sure there’s no chance of a handshake.”
She pulled at the end of his belt. “Absolutely not.”
25
The first gray light of morning seeped into the bedroom, but Vail had been awake for almost a half hour, sitting up, watching Kate sleep. Even the darkness couldn’t mask the remarkable balance of her features, which seemed to pulse in the low light. Her hair, though messed by Vail and sleep, had a provocative quality to it. A few strands streaked past her ear, a sheaf above it against the part, rising up and then tracing the contour of her head. More of it fell across her pillow, haloing her perfectly round cheekbones. In a flash he saw his next sculpture: a prone figure, vague, its sex barely discernible until the eye found the hair, displayed exactly like Kate’s was now.
As quietly as possible, he got up, taking his pillow. As he reached the bedroom door, he heard her pick up the telephone and, after pretending to dial, say, “Is this 911? Yes, I’d like to report a hit-and-run.”
“Luke could be here anytime.” He smiled.
She got up and pulled him back into bed. “I don’t care if he knows. I don’t care if anyone knows.”
He threw his pillow next to her. “Actually, I was worried about my reputation.”
Vail heard the door opening quietly and sat up on the couch. He had moved there just minutes before. The sound of keys jingling against one another on a ring told him it was Bursaw.
Bursaw walked into the living room and looked at Vail’s pillow and blanket on the sofa. He shook his head, smiling. “Don’t blame me. That restaurant has always worked for me. It’ll probably take Kate a while to adjust, what with being locked up with all those good-looking women and you not exactly leading-man material.”
“If you think the women in jail are good-looking, it’s no wonder that restaurant always works for you.”
Bursaw held up a paper bag. “See, that’s why I brought you fresh bagels, I know how cranky you get when you haven’t eaten in thirty or forty minutes.”
Kate came out of the bedroom tying her robe. “Hey, Luke.”
“Mmm, mmm, mmm. Now I see why you’re the most wanted woman in D.C.—even before you went over the wall.”
Kate laughed musically. “Somebody needs coffee awfully bad.” She held out her hand for the bag.
“Have you heard anything?” Vail asked him.
“Not a word. I drove by the off-site, and the marshals are still sitting on it.”
“Hopefully Kalix is making some progress—otherwise your sister’ll have to find a new place to live,” Vail said. “I’m going to get cleaned up.”
When Vail stepped out of the shower, he could smell the coffee. And he could hear Kate and Bursaw talking. Occasionally a short burst of her laughter reached him in the bedroom. Unable to make out what they were saying, he sat down on the bed for a while to listen to her laugh.
When he walked into the kitchen, he poured himself a cup of coffee. “You want me to toast a bagel for you, Steve?” she asked.
He tore one in half and said, “Thanks, this is fine.”
“So what do you think John’s chances are today?”
“I think they’re good, but you can’t go by me. I’m frequently wrong because of my overly optimistic attitude.”
“Actually, you’re rarely wrong, precisely because of your cynicism,” Bursaw said. “But I got a feeling this is turning around.”
Kate said, “Is there something else we should be doing? You know, in case John strikes out?”
“I guess I can start going through everything again,” Vail said.
She studied his face for a minute. “I don’t need you sitting around here reassuring me that everything is all right. If you want something reviewed, I’ll do it. You and Luke can make better use of your time looking for Sundra. Besides, watching you sit around here all day will drive me crazy.”
“You up for that, Luke?” Vail asked.
“Thanks, Kate. Now I’ll have to put up with him all day.”
Vail took a last swallow of coffee and said to Kate, “Don’t answer the door for anyone. If the phone rings, don’t answer it. If you need anything, call Luke’s cell.”
“Anything specific you want me to look for in the files?”
“Why don’t you take a look at all the moles they gave up that lead to you. There’s something rattling around in one of the subbasements of my brain telling me we’ve missed something. There’s got to be at least one mistake they made. Maybe something else that’ll expose Rellick.”
She walked them to the door. “Boys, don’t forget to say please and thank you, and absolutely no gunfighting.” She pushed them both out the door and locked it.
Once they were in Bursaw’s car, Vail said, “Okay, who’s next on the deleted-file list?”
“Kate seemed a lot less tense this morning. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
“If you’re going to use your Vulcan mind meld, this could turn out to be a very long day.”
“Okay, I’ll let it drop, but be advised I have made a mental note that there was no denial.” Bursaw reached over the seat and grabbed his briefcase. “Let’s see.” He flipped through some pages. “How about the El Mejor Car Service?”
“Is that Spanish?”
“In this town it could just be misspelled.”
The address was in a commercial neighborhood. The building was two stories and ran a long way back into the property. There was parking all around the rear, and several of the cars were older limousines. Vail said, “Let’s take a ride through the lot and see if we can figure out what we’re looking at here.”
Bursaw coasted around the building, which was, judging by the high overhead doors, mostly garage in the back half. Vail looked at the cars that were not part of El Mejor’s fleet but more likely belonged to the employees. He pointed out Colombian-flag bumper stickers on two of them. Bursaw said, “You want to pass, maybe come back with some help when you’re off the marshals’ Top Ten list? I think there’s a rule right in the handbook which states that wanted FBI agents should not get into shoot-outs with drug dealers.”
“No, I’m feeling very docile today.”
Bursaw snorted a single syllable of laughter. “Docile? You? I guess you should ‘sleep on the couch’ more often.” He parked against a back wall near a walk-in door.
As they entered, they counted seven men scattered around five vehicles. The hot smell of oil and grinding metal hung in the warm air. Every one of the workers stopped what he was doing and scrutinized the two agents. No one said anything, and as Vail started to slowly unbutton his topcoat, he and Bursaw casually stepped away from one another, minimizing themselves as targets.
“Who’s the boss?” Vail asked. No one answered. “Who’s the boss?” he asked again, a little more impatiently.
Still nobody spoke up. He took a couple of steps toward the closest man, who had the dashboard from a Cadillac next to him on a bench and was working on one end of it.
Suddenly, from behind Vail, a man spoke with a slight Hispanic accent. “I am the owner.”
Vail turned around as Bursaw continued to watch the men. He flashed his credentials. “We’d like to talk to you.”
“Do we have something to talk about?”
“It’s not about what you think it is. It’s about a missing person. But if you send us on our way, others will come back, and it won’t be to talk.”
The owner weighed his options. “I guess I have a couple of minutes.”
&nb
sp; The three men walked into an overly ornate office. “What’s your name?” Vail asked.
“Alberto Clark.”
“Americanized?”
“My parents did it when we came here. I was three. I didn’t know the FBI was so interested in genealogy.”
“Actually, we’re more interested in true names.”
Bursaw handed Clark a photo and said, “Her true name is Sundra Boston.”
“And?” Clark asked.
“Know her, seen her, heard of her?”
He handed back the picture. “I don’t know her. Why would you think I did?”
“She’s an FBI employee, and now she’s missing. She was investigating your business.”
“This is a legitimate business. I pay taxes. I am a citizen.”
“This has been a paid public service announcement,” Bursaw said in a sarcastic monotone. “And your employees?”
“I’m not a fool. They are all here legally on work visas.”
Vail said, “And those cars out there, the ones they’re working on. That’s part of your business?”
“Those are their cars. When it’s slow, I let them work on them.”
Bursaw threw his head back and laughed. “I’d like an employment application because you must have the best wages in America. Those guys don’t know three words of English, and they’re all driving luxury cars? The one working on the dashboard was swapping VINs. I expected you to lie to me, but try to keep it at a level that’s not completely insulting. You’re from Colombia. You’re supposed to be dealing cocaine, not stolen cars. Have you no ethnic pride?”
“Alberto, we’re with the FBI, where lies will get you five years apiece,” Vail said. “Now, have you had any contact with the FBI regarding your business?”
“No, I swear,” Clark answered, the concern growing in his voice.
“Convince us.”
Clark thought for a moment. “We’ve been operating here freely for three years. We have little concern about the police interrupting our operation. Do you think that if we had done something to a federal agent we would be doing business as usual with the door open so any FBI man could walk in?”