“I’m Gregory Khodoshevsky.” The man extended a hand. He had a powerful shake. “Please, sit down.”

Hauck eased against a chair, taking his weight off. He leaned on his cane. “Thanks.”

“I see you’re not well?”

“Just a little procedure,” Hauck lied. “Bum hip.”

The Russian nodded. “I’ve had my knee worked on several times. Skiing.” He grinned. “I’ve learned-man is not meant to ski through trees.” He reached for the clicker and turned down the volume. “You like westerns, Lieutenant?”

“Sure. Everyone does.”

“Me, too. This is my favorite: The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. Never quite sure exactly who I identify with, though. My wife, of course, insists it’s the ugly.”

Hauck grinned. “If I remember, that was one of the film’s themes. They all had their motives.”

“Yes.” The Russian smiled. “I think you’re right-they all had motives. So what do I owe this visit to, Lieutenant Hauck?”

“I was working a case. A name came up that I hoped might mean something to you. Charles Friedman.”

“Charles Friedman?” The Russian shrugged. “I’m sorry, no, Lieutenant. Should it?”

The guy was good, Hauck thought. A natural. Hauck looked back at him closely. “I was hoping so.”

“Although, now that you mention it”-Khodoshevsky brightened-“I do remember someone named Friedman. He ran some benefit in town I went to a year or two ago. The Bruce Museum, I think. I made a donation. I remember now, he had an attractive wife. Maybe his name was Charles, if it’s the one. So what did he do?”

“He’s dead,” Hauck said. “He had a connection to a case I was looking into, a hit-and-run.”

“A hit-and-run.” Khodoshevsky grimaced. “Too bad. The traffic up here is unbearable, Lieutenant. I’m sure you know that. Sometimes I’m afraid to cross the street myself in town.”

“Especially when someone doesn’t want you to succeed,” Hauck said, staring into the Russian’s steely eyes.

“Yes. I imagine that’s true. Is there some reason you connected this man to me?”

“Yes.” Hauck nodded. “Saul Lennick.”

“Lennick!” The Russian drew in a breath. “Now, Lennick I did know. Terrible. That such a thing could happen. Right in the man’s own home. Right here in town. A challenge, I’m sure, for you, Lieutenant.”

“Mr. Friedman was killed himself a couple of weeks back. In the British Virgin Isles…Turns out he and Mr. Lennick were financial partners.”

Khodoshevsky’s eyes widened, as if in surprise. “Partners? Crazy what’s going on around here. But I’m afraid I never saw the man again. Sorry that you had to come all the way out here to find that out. I wish I could have been more help.”

Hauck reached for his cane. “Not a total loss. I don’t often get to see a house like this.”

“I’d be happy to show you around.”

Hauck pushed himself up and winced. “Another time.”

“I wish you good luck with your leg. And finding who was responsible for such a terrible thing.”

“Thanks.” Hauck took a step toward the door. “You know, before I go, there’s something I might show you. Just in case it jogs something. I was down in the Caribbean myself a week ago.” Hauck took out his cell phone. “I noticed something interesting-in the water. Off this island. I actually grabbed a snapshot of it. Funny, only a couple of miles from where Charles Friedman ended up killed.”

He handed the cell phone to Khodoshevsky, who stared curiously at the image on the screen. The one Hauck had taken on his run.

Khodoshevsky’s schooner. The Black Bear.

“Humph.” The Russian shook his head, meeting Hauck’s gaze. “Funny how lives seem to intersect, isn’t it, Lieutenant?”

“No more,” Hauck said, looking at him.

“Yes, you’re right.” He handed back the phone. “No more.”

“I’ll find my way out,” Hauck said, placing his phone back in his pocket. “Just one last piece of advice, Mr. Khodoshevsky, if you don’t mind. You seem to be partial to westerns, so I think you’ll understand.”

“And what is that?” The Russian looked at him innocently.

Hauck shrugged. “You know the expression ‘Get out of Dodge’?”

“I think I’ve heard it. The sheriff always says it to the bad guys. But of course they never do.”

“No, they never do.” Hauck took a step toward the door. “That’s what makes westerns. But just this once, you know, they should, Mr. Khodoshevsky.” Hauck looked at him closely. “You should. If you know what I mean.”

“I think I understand.” The Russian smiled.

“Oh, and by the way”-Hauck turned, tilting his cane at the door-“that’s one hell of a sweet boat, Mr. Khodoshevsky-if you know what I mean!”

EPILOGUE

“Flesh becomes dust and ash. Our ashes return to the soil. Where, in the cycle set before us by the Almighty, life springs up again.”

It was a warm summer day, the sky a perfect blue. Karen looked down at Charlie’s casket in the open grave. She had brought him back home, as she promised she would. He deserved that. A tear burned in the corner of her eye.

He deserved that and more.

Karen held tightly onto the hands of Samantha and Alex. This was so hard for them, harder than for anyone. They didn’t understand. How he could have kept such secrets from them? How he could just walk away, whatever he’d done? Whoever he was?

“We were a family,” Samantha said to Karen, confusion, even a measure of accusation, in her trembling voice.

“Yes, we were a family,” Karen said.

She had come to forgive him. She had even come to love him again-in a way.

We were a family. Maybe one day they would love him again, too.

The rabbi said his final prayers. Karen’s grip tightened on their hands. Her life came back to her. The day they met. How they fell in love. How one day she had said to herself he was the one.

Charlie, the captain-at the helm of the boat sailing in the Caribbean. Waving to her from their private cove at the end.

Her blood coursed with the warming current of eighteen years.

“Now it is our custom to pay our last respects to the dead by throwing a handful of dirt, reminding us that all life is transitory and humble before God.”

Her father came up. He took the shovel from the rabbi and tossed a small patch over the casket. Her mom, too. Then Charlie’s mother Margery, his brother steadying her arm. Then Rick and Paula.

Then Samantha, who did it in a quick, wounded manner, turning away, She handed the shovel to Alex, who stood over the grave for a long time, finally facing Karen and shaking his young head. “I can’t, Mom… No.”

“Honey.” Karen squeezed him tighter. “Yes you can.” Who could blame him? “It’s your father, baby, whatever he’s done.”

Finally he picked up the shovel and tossed in the dirt, sniffling back tears.

Then it was Karen’s turn. She picked up the shovelful of soil. She had already said her good-byes to him. What more was there to say?

I did love you, Charlie. And I know you loved me, too.

She tossed it in.

So it was over. Their life together. I just buried my husband today, Karen said to herself. Finally. Irrevocably. She had earned the right to say that.

Everyone came up and gave her a hug, and the three of them waited a moment while the rest started to go down the hill. Karen looped her hand through Alex’s arm. She wrapped her other around Samantha’s shoulder, bringing her close. “One day you’ll forgive him. I know it’s hard. He came back, Sam. He stood outside on the street and watched us at your graduation. You’ll forgive him. That’s what life is all about.”

As they headed back down the hill, she saw him under a leafy elm, standing off to the side. He was wearing a navy sport jacket and looked nice. Still with his cane.

Their gazes met.

Karen’s eyes filled with a warm feeling she hadn’t felt in many years.

“C’mon,” she told the kids, “there’s someone I want you to meet.”