They both looked out the window where Paddy Conroy was climbing into a beat-up pickup truck parked on the street.

The drive only took ten minutes. By that time they were well away from the small downtown area and out in the country. When the truck turned in through the wrought-iron gates, Annabelle snatched a breath.

Stone waited a few moments and then pulled through the gates into Mt. Holy Cemetery. A few minutes later they were out of the car and slipping stealthily toward a stand of trees. They watched from this concealment while Paddy shuffled along until he came to a flat grave marker on the ground. He produced a few flowers from inside his shabby overcoat, knelt down and placed them on the sunken earth.

He took off his hat, revealing thick white hair, put his hands together and seemed to be praying. Once they heard a long, loud moan come from the man. He reached in his pocket, pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his face.

“Your mother’s grave?” Stone asked.

She nodded curtly. “Like I said, I’ve never been to see it, but I looked up the location.”

“He seems to be grieving.”

“He’s only doing it to make him feel better about what he did, the asshole. He’s never changed.”

“People do change,” Stone said.

“Not him, not ever.” She grabbed him as he stepped past her. “Oliver, what are you doing?”

“Putting your theory to the test.”

Before she could stop him he walked out into the open and headed toward Paddy. Stone slowed and seemed to be reading the grave markers before stopping at one two down from where Paddy was kneeling and crying.

Stone said softly, “I don’t mean to intrude on your privacy. I haven’t been by to see my aunt’s grave in a few years. I wanted to pay my respects.”

Paddy looked up, rubbed his wide face with the cloth. “It’s a public cemetery, friend.”

Stone knelt down in front of the grave marker he’d picked out, though he was also keeping Paddy in his peripheral vision. “Graveyards just seem to take all the energy out of you, don’t they?” he said quietly.

Paddy nodded. “It’s penance, you know, for the living. And a warning to us all.”

“A warning?” Stone turned to look at him. And now he knew. Paddy Conroy was terminal. He could see it in the gray tinges around the white sunken face, the emaciated body and the trembling hands.

Paddy nodded. “Look at all these graves.” He held up a shaky arm. “All these dead people waiting for the Almighty to come down and tell them where they’re headed. Waiting in the dirt or in Purgatory if you believe that way. Waiting for the Man to come down and tell them. For all eternity.”

“Heaven or hell,” Stone said, nodding.

“You a betting man?”

Stone shook his head.

“I spent all my life betting on one thing or another. But if you were a betting man, how many of ’em you reckon are going up and how many going down?”

“Hopefully far more going up than down,” Stone said.

“You’d lose your money, you would.”

“More people evil than not, is that it?”

“Take me. I might as well pick out a nice sunny spot in the pit of hell right now. Ain’t no question where this old boy’s headed.”

“You have things you regret?”

“Regrets? Mister, if regrets were dollars, I’d be Mr. Bill Gates himself.”

Paddy bent forward and kissed the grave marker. “Good-bye, me darling Tammy. You rest easy now, girl.” He rose to his feet on rubbery legs and put his hat back on.

He turned to Stone. “Now this one here, she’ll be getting into heaven. You know why?” Stone shook his head. “Because she’s a saint. She’s a saint because she put up with the likes of me. And for that reason alone, come Judgment Day, old Saint Peter will welcome her with open arms. Only wish I could be there to see it.”

CHAPTER 37

IT WAS EARLY MORNING. Jerry Bagger was sitting in his suite at his posh hotel seriously thinking that he should up the room rate at the Pompeii. For him a view of the White House was not worth a grand a night. As he was gazing out the window at the president’s house one member of his security team, Mike, came into the room. “We just got a call from the casino late last night but we didn’t want to wake you. There was a guy talking to Dolores.”

Bagger turned around. “Talking to Dolores about what?”

“From the little he overheard, the daughter’s name came up a couple times.”

“Old Cindy,” Bagger said slowly. “I guess Dolores is still pining away for her kid. Who’s the guy? Cop? Fed?”

“We’re running that down right now. And he’s got a big guy with him. We’ve got a tail on them. They’re staying at a dump outside the Boardwalk area.”

“Well, run it down fast.”

“And if it is a cop?”

“You let me know. Then we’ll see. Killing a cop is a whole other ball of wax. You kill one, a bunch pop up, same with feds. Keep on top of it. Check around to see where else this guy’s been.” Bagger sat down as Mike headed out. “Wait a minute, Mike, did that Republican Amish jerk-off call?”

“No sir.”

“You know his story sounded legit, so why do I think he was lying his ass off?”

“You got the best instincts of anybody I know, Mr. Bagger.”

Not good enough, Bagger thought. Annabelle Conroy took me right by the balls and squeezed me dry.

“You want us to have a chat with the guy?”

Bagger shook his head. “Not right now. But follow him. I wanta see where rare book boy goes at night.”

“So we gonna be in town for a while?”

Bagger looked through the window. “Why not? Place is starting to grow on me.” He pointed at the White House. “Look there, Mike. That’s the home of the president, the most powerful son of a bitch in the world. One nod of his head an entire country gets nuked. He farts funny, the stock market drops a thousand points. He’s got a freaking army surrounding him. Anything he wants, he gets it.” Bagger snapped his fingers. “Like that. Blow job in the Oval Office, tax breaks for the rich, invading other countries, pinching some queen’s ass, anything. Cause he’s the man. I respect that. The guy only makes four hundred thousand bucks a year, but the perks are sweet and he gets a free ride on a jet a lot bigger than mine. But with all that, you know what, Mike?”

“What, Mr. Bagger?”

“Once he’s out of office, he’s nothing. But I’m still Jerry Bagger.”

CHAPTER 38

HARRY FINN WATCHED his youngest son, Patrick, swing and miss on a ball that was at eye level. Parents in the stands next to Finn groaned, the third strike was called and the game was over. Patrick had left the tying run on second and the winning run was standing in the boy’s cleats at home plate. The ten-year-old walked dejectedly back to his dugout, bat dragging, while the other team started celebrating. Patrick’s coach gave them all a little pep talk, the boys had their after-game snack, which for many was the highlight of the entire evening, and parents started rounding up their future all-stars for the ride home.

Patrick was still sitting in the dugout, his helmet and batting gloves on as though he were just waiting for another shot to put the ball over the fence. Finn grabbed a snack for him and sat down next to him in the dugout.

“You played a great game, Pat,” he said, handing the boy a bag of Doritos and an orange Gatorade. “I’m proud of you.”

“I struck out, Dad. I lost the game for my team.”

“You also got on base twice, scored both times and drove in three more. And playing center field you caught a ball that was actually over the fence with two men on and two outs. That saved three runs right there.” He rubbed his son’s shoulder. “You played a good game. But you can’t win them all.”

“Is this where you tell me losing builds character?”