I did not float into darkness. I plummeted.

44

O’CONNOR CAUGHT HIMSELF MUTTERING UNDER HIS BREATH AND STOPPED. Was he turning into such an old man that he couldn’t understand what young people were like when they were in the throes of love? Or lust, at any rate.

Kelly hadn’t come back to the paper this afternoon after her meeting with Max Ducane. He didn’t mind Max-for all the grief O’Connor gave her about him, he liked the young man. But he had hoped she would take her responsibilities at the paper seriously enough to return in time to contribute something before deadline.

He had covered for her with H.G. and the others, told them she was pursuing leads and he wasn’t sure if she’d make it back. He said-and this much was true-that she had given him plenty of material for today’s story already. H.G. seemed to buy it, but O’Connor wasn’t confident of being able to keep up the charade more than this once.

It was a shame. She’d have to be taken off the story. He found he was deeply disappointed. He enjoyed working with her. She sparked something in him, made him work harder.

He was working hard tonight. He sighed and went back to writing the story of the rooms found today on the farm. It wasn’t much of a story in and of itself, but it made O’Connor feel surer about Mitch Yeager’s involvement. The Yeagers were the biggest bootleggers in Las Piernas, whether they had been convicted of it or not. And if Griffin Baer was involved with bootlegging, chances were good he was involved with Mitch Yeager.

Lefebvre also told O’Connor-on the condition that he held the information from publication-that they had found some shell casings in the trunk of the Buick, and other evidence (which he wouldn’t talk about at all) that might help them find the killer. He wouldn’t name the caliber, which made O’Connor suspect the caliber itself would give him a lot of information about the gun. Lefebvre had taken an interest in Irene’s theories about that night in1958. Lefebvre had been impressed, which made O’Connor feel a certain pride in her.

It had lasted until she failed to return to the newsroom.

O’Connor finally filed the story. He was putting his coat on when Stephen Gerard stopped by his desk.

“I thought you would have gone home long ago,” O’Connor said.

Gerard held out a stack of photos. “Give those to Kelly, would you?”

“What are they?” O’Connor said, taking them.

“The plates on that car that has been following her.”

O’Connor looked up sharply. “What?”

“The black Beemer. You’ve seen it, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” O’Connor said slowly. “Yes, I have.”

“Maybe one of your friends at the DMV can run those for you.”

“Who said I have friends at the DMV?”

Gerard shrugged and started to walk off.

“Wait!” O’Connor called.

Gerard turned back to him.

“When did you take these?” O’Connor asked.

“Today. Out at the construction site.”

O’Connor let him go, but he sat staring at the photos for a moment, an uneasy feeling coming over him. The phone on his desk rang, startling him. “O’Connor,” he answered.

“Mr. O’Connor? This is Mary Kelly, Irene’s aunt. We met the other day.”

“Yes, of course,” he said, his worries taking a new direction. “Is Patrick- is Patrick all right?”

“Patrick? Oh, he’s fine-sleeping at the moment, which is why I thought I’d call now. Forgive me for disturbing you, but I wondered-you see, it’s so unlike Irene not to warn me if she’ll be late, and-”

“She’s not home?”

“No-that’s why I’m calling you. What time did she leave the paper?”

“She went out with Mr. Ducane this afternoon,” O’Connor said. “I haven’t seen her back here since.”

There was a long silence, then she called him a series of names he was surprised she knew. “I thought you were keeping an eye on her!” she ended.

“I defy anyone to keep an eye on your grandniece,” he said. “But I’m worried, too. I’ll look for her, and I’ll keep you posted.”

She thanked him, apologized for losing her temper, and hung up.

O’Connor quickly looked through his notes and found the address for the house that had once belonged to Griffin Baer. He started to leave, hesitated, then went back to his desk and called Lefebvre.

45

M ITCH YEAGER STOOD UP FROM THE DINNER TABLE.

Ian and Eric exchanged a glance, then realized that Uncle Mitch had seen the exchange, and was smiling. It was not a good kind of smile.

“Eric, Ian, in my study,” Mitch said. To the rest of his family, he said, “You’ll excuse us. We have a little business to discuss.”

“But, Daddy!” his daughter protested. “You promised you would help me with my homework.”

Eric felt hope rise.

Mitch smiled at her. “And I will, sugar, I will. This won’t take long.”

His brief moment of optimism crushed, Eric followed his uncle into the study, as Ian lagged behind.

When they had taken seats across from him, Mitch asked, “Tell me all of it, and tell it to me right now.”

“All of what?” Eric asked.

Mitch threw a glass paperweight at him. Eric ducked just in time. The paperweight shattered behind him.

Mitch looked at Ian.

Within minutes, Ian divulged everything. He started out nervously, then warmed with the enthusiasm he felt for the project. Ian discussed what he believed to be the more brilliant aspects of the plan, including the place where they had hidden their hostages. “So you see, Uncle Mitch, Warren will have to come back.”

For a full fifteen seconds, Uncle Mitch said nothing, but Eric knew he was unhappy. His jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed, and he turned red.

“You fucking imbeciles!” he exploded. “I work all these years to clean up the family name, and you do this? I give up lucrative opportunities, donate to charities I could give a crap about, and spend time with people I like even less. I pay off half a dozen hoods to shut their yaps, and permanently shut the yaps of the ones who aren’t smart enough to be satisfied. I send my kids to good schools. I make sure your own little youthful escapades never lead to an arrest or bad publicity-that wasn’t easy. I take care of you, and what kind of thanks do I get? One fuckup after another, that’s what!”

He ranted at them, telling them that he would be lucky to be able to save their miserable hides this time, then going on to a familiar speech about their lack of intelligence. All the while, Eric thought of the bag he had packed and concealed in the trunk of his car, of the one-way plane tickets, cash, and other treasures, of the private residence he had bought under another name. He was so pissed off at Ian, he wasn’t sure he’d give him the other ticket.

He wondered at his own ability to foresee this moment. Maybe he had always been expecting something like this to happen, maybe he had always known in his heart of hearts that Ian wouldn’t be able to stand up to Uncle Mitch. At least Uncle Mitch thought he was too dumb to have a Plan B, which was actually an essential part of said Plan B.

He suddenly realized that Uncle Mitch had asked him a question.

“Well?” Mitch said impatiently.

“No, they didn’t see our faces. We had masks on,” Ian answered for him.

Okay, Eric decided, Ian could come with him.

“Did you say anything in front of them?”

“No, we were absolutely silent,” Eric said.

“Thank God for that!” Mitch said. “You go back there and make it possible for them to escape, you understand? You will do this immediately, then come back here. Go. Now!”

When they were outside, Eric insisted on driving. Ian was apologizing profusely, paying no attention to where they were going, until Eric pulled into Ian’s driveway.