Jan Burke - Nine

Denver, Colorado

Monday, May 19, 5:13 P.M.

Kit was watching Spooky swim laps in the indoor pool of his Denver home when one of his two cellular phones chirped. He knew immediately that it was a business call. The other phone was set to vibrate silently when a call came in, and only one person had that phone number. Until last November, about once or twice every month, he had received a call on it. But over the last six months, it hadn’t rung at all. Nevertheless, he kept it with him at all times, even sleeping with it, and was especially cautious about having fresh batteries available for it.

It was the business phone that rang now, and he answered it.

“Mr. Logan?”

“Yes.”

“We’ve located the jet. It left Frankfurt several hours ago.”

“The passengers?”

“Two German businessmen. Young men. No names yet.”

“The names don’t matter. They won’t be using their real names. And the flight plans won’t be real, either-they’ll be changed at the last moment.”

“Yes, sir. As before.”

“Exactly. But it will be easier to keep track of a private jet than two men.”

“As soon as we have further information, we’ll let you know. Anything else we can do for you now?”

He put a hand in his windbreaker and touched the rabbit’s foot there.

“Check the German newspapers for any reports of homicides over the next few days. Especially strangulations.”

“But they aren’t there now-”

“It’s unlikely that any bodies will be found immediately. They aren’t stupid.”

“No, sir.”

“Neither is my staff. Thank you for the information.” He took a deep breath and asked about the caller’s children. He was not someone who found social interaction easy and had to remind himself to ask such questions, to make small talk. His grandmother had taught him how to proceed in these matters, but he did so as an anthropologist might, a man trying to fit into an alien culture, and never with any real ease. So it was with some relief that he reached the point in the conversation where he felt it would be all right to end the call.

Spooky came out of the water then and wrapped herself in a beach towel. “Was that your girlfriend?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend, and I don’t want one. You know that.”

“So, are you gay?”

“I don’t have or want a boyfriend, either.” He told himself not to let her nettle him.

“So-what, you’re like, what? A nothing?”

“Right, a nothing.”

She bit one corner of the towel, twisted it as she chewed. “Sorry,” she said after a moment. “That wasn’t very nice of me.”

“No, but don’t worry about it. Get dressed.”

“Are we going out for dinner?”

“If you’d like. What do you want?”

“McDonald’s.”

He winced. Spooky saw travel as an opportunity to eat french fries and cheeseburgers. Not to his own tastes, but he said, “Okay.”

Spooky laughed and hurried off to change.

He sat watching the water, letting it soothe him.

He had been worried all day, because he had dreamed the digging dream again last night. Usually, he thought of it as one of his least disturbing memory-dreams, but the last time he had dreamed it was the night before Molly was killed.

He made an effort, not entirely successful, to consider the matter of the killing of the dog dispassionately. He knew that by making sure he was seen, Cameron had left a warning-no, not a warning, he decided, but a challenge-an invitation to strike back. He wasn’t exactly sure what Everett wanted from him, although he could make some guesses. It would be Everett’s plan. Wherever Cameron was, Everett was behind the scenes, manipulating. Were others involved? He would go to Malibu to learn what he could. And he could keep Spooky safer there.

He felt the other phone vibrate then and forced himself to be calm, to let it ring twice before answering. Could be a wrong number. Probably was a wrong number. He flipped it open.

“Hello, Kit? It’s Meghan Taggert.”

Meghan. Not a wrong number after all. He felt elated, but hid that, as well as his mild annoyance that she gave her full name. He would have recognized her voice. It was low and rough, a voice of whiskey and smoke, although he had never seen her drink or light up a cigarette. Still, he was so pleased that she had finally called again, so relieved that she was safe, he wasn’t going to quibble. “Hello, Meghan,” he said, not letting his voice betray his feelings.

“Do you have a minute? Am I bothering you?”

“No-I mean, I have time, and you aren’t bothering me. It’s good to hear from you.”

“I wondered-I’m calling-it’s about Gabe.”

It was always about Gabe. He hid his annoyance at that, too. “Have you heard from him?”

“No, nothing since…not since…”

“Before he became a fugitive,” he said.

“Right. Listen, I shouldn’t have called. I’m sorry, I guess it’s just an old habit. I feel worried about Gabe, so I call you. I shouldn’t. It’s not fair to you.”

“I like that you call me. I’ll do whatever I can. You know that. I’m…” He searched for a word. “I’m honored that you call me.” That didn’t sound right, but he hurried on, afraid she’d hang up on him for saying such a dumb thing. “I’ll do whatever I can, but I can’t help out if you don’t tell me what’s troubling you.”

She hesitated, then said, “It’s nothing, really. Just-has he contacted you lately?”

“No, I haven’t talked to him since last summer. Just before…before the news.”

“Before the murders.”

“Yes.”

“Do you believe he did it?” she asked quietly, as if asking softly might soften his answer. “Do you think he could kill a family?”

He thought of her trouble-prone brother, who had been his closest friend at Sedgewick. Gabe, who did his best to welcome the new kid to the school, while others whispered uneasily that Kit had murdered his stepfather because of a dog. Sedgewick was a school of truants, misfits, and bullies, but even among them, Kit’s history was extreme and caused the other boys to think of him as a hard case. Most were wary of him, stepping away from him as he walked down the halls. Not Gabe. Beneath Gabe’s party-boy, man-on-the-edge façade, Kit learned, he was acutely aware of the feelings of others.

Gabe was at times heedless but rarely intentionally unkind. And he wasn’t violent. Even after Kit convinced him to learn to defend himself (on the grounds that he needed to be able to look after Meghan), Gabe would rather run from a fight than throw a punch. Yes, his addictions had led him to become a thief, and his attitude about taking material things was wrong-Kit doubted even Gabe believed the rationalization that the theft of heavily insured goods really didn’t do much harm. Even so, taking a diamond ring wasn’t the same as taking a life.

“No,” he said. “I’ll never believe that of Gabe. But…”

“But he was there, with the people who were breaking into the house, and so the law will say he’s as guilty of murder as the guy who did the shooting. Just for being with them!”

“Meghan,” he said gently, “he probably wasn’t just with them, he was probably there to do some breaking and entering.”

“Yes, you’re right. That’s his history, after all.”

The guilt came washing over him then. “I knew he had done things like that before. And I knew he was broke. He’d asked me for money.”

She must have guessed the direction of his thoughts, though, because she said, “You couldn’t have stopped him, Kit. Even if you had given him the money he asked for-and I don’t blame you for turning him down, either. He just would have used it to get drunk or high.”