Дэвид Балдаччи - Hell's Corner

Chapman glanced quickly at Stone and saw the look in his eye and then watched as his arms tensed to strike.

“It’s okay.” She opened her jacket to show her gun and then held up her badge. “We were just arguing over who was going to pay the check. But thanks for coming to a lady’s aid, love.”

“You sure?” said the man.

Stone ripped the man’s hand off his shoulder. “Yeah, she’s sure, love. ”

They finished their meal and drove back to Stone’s cottage. Stone made no move to get out of the car. Chapman glanced over at him but kept silent.

“Thanks for breakfast,” he said.

“You’re welcome.”

A chunk of silence passed as the darkest part of the night drifted past them and the edge of the sky began to lighten.

“I don’t like being beaten,” Stone said.

“I can understand that. Neither do I. That’s why when I start something I want to finish it. I’m sure you feel that way too.”

“I didn’t have much choice about starting this case.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing.”

“Tell me, Oliver.”

“It’s complicated.”

“It’s always bloody complicated.”

Stone glanced out the window as though he expected to see someone watching. “It was my penance, I guess.”

“Penance? I take it other people suffered because of something you did?”

“I sincerely hope so,” Stone said.

“And now that the mission went to hell?”

“I don’t know, Mary. I really don’t know what that means for me.”

“So go out on your terms.”

He looked at her. “How?”

“Let’s finish the bloody case, that’s how.”

“I’m not sure where to start.”

“Usually at the beginning is a good spot.”

“We tried that.”

“So they expect us to go left, we go right.”

“We did that last time and look what happened.”

“So we just go right a little bit harder and farther,” she said. “Any ideas on that?”

Stone thought for a minute or two while Chapman continued to watch him. “Not really, no.”

“Well, I’ve got one,” she said. “Tom Gross.”

“The dead can’t talk.”

“Not what I mean.”

“What, then?”

“Remember when we were sitting in that coffee shop and he told us about being watched?”

“Yes, so?”

“So he told us something. He said there was only one person he trusted.”

It only took Stone a couple of seconds to recall this. “His wife,” he said.

“So I wonder if he trusted her enough to tell her something that could help us?”

“There’s only one way to find out.”

“So you’re back on the hunt?”

He took a few moments to answer. “Unofficially. Which is actually right where I belong.”

Chapman phoned the bereaved Alice Gross at 9 a.m. that morning and asked to see her. Stone and Chapman arrived at the modest two-story house in Centreville, Virginia, early in the afternoon. Alice Gross certainly looked like a woman who’d just lost her husband. Her skin was naturally pale but with a gray pallor lurking just below the surface. Her eyes were red, her hair in disarray. She held a crumpled tissue in one hand and a bottle of water in the other as she led them into her small living room.

Stone saw a coloring book on the coffee table, a baseball bat and some cleats in one corner. When his gaze lighted on a photo of the Gross family showing the dead agent with his wife and four kids ranging in age from three to fourteen, Stone grimaced and quickly looked away. He glanced at Chapman and saw that she’d had the same reaction.

They sat on the couch while Alice Gross took a chair opposite.

Stone said, “Your husband was a terrific agent, Mrs. Gross. We all feel his loss.”

“Thank you. You know they’re holding a memorial service for Tom?”

“Yes, we heard about that. He certainly deserves it.”

“He’d be embarrassed about it, though. He never liked to draw attention to himself. Just wasn’t his way. He just did his job. Didn’t care who ended up getting the credit.”

Stone had been concerned that Alice Gross had been briefed by the FBI on the exact circumstances of her husband’s death. And the role Stone had played in it. But apparently they hadn’t done that.

“We’re doing all we can to catch the people responsible,” added Chapman.

“I appreciate that,” sniffled Gross. “He really did care about his job. He worked such long hours.”

Stone said, “He told me that he’d had some concerns, about people watching him.”

Gross nodded. “His own people. They asked me about that, the Bureau I mean.”

“And what did you tell them?” asked Stone. Gross looked confused. “Aren’t you with the Bureau?”

Stone hesitated. “We’re working with them.” Chapman said quickly, “I’m actually with MI6. Your husband might’ve mentioned that.”

“Oh yes, that’s right. You’re the Englishwoman. Tom talked about you. He thought you were very good.”

“I appreciate that.”

Gross drew a short breath. “Well, the Bureau was very upset about that. I mean about Tom believing his own people were spying on him. I don’t think they believed it.”

“Did you believe it?” asked Stone.

“Tom believed it and that was good enough for me,” she said staunchly.

“Brilliant,” said Chapman. “I think you’re spot-on with that.”

Stone leaned forward. “Tom told us something. Something about you.”

“About me?” she said in surprise.

“Yes. He said the only person he trusted was you.”

Tears crept into Alice Gross’s eyes. She lifted the tissue up and wiped them away. “We were always so close. He loved being an FBI agent but he loved me more. I know he wasn’t supposed to really talk to me about his cases, but he did, and I would give him my opinion. And sometimes I’d turn out to be right.”

“I’m sure you were a great asset to him,” said Chapman.

Stone said, “Since we know he trusted you, did he happen to mention anything to you about this case? Something he was concerned about? Anything you can remember?”

Gross put her hands in her lap and furrowed her brow. “I can’t recall anything specific other than thinking someone was watching him.”

“Nothing?” prompted Chapman. “It might have seemed insignificant at the time, but anything you can remember? No matter how seemingly trivial?”

Gross shook her head but then stopped. She looked up. “He did say something one night.”

Stone and Chapman leaned forward.

“Yes?” said Stone.

“That ATF agent that was working with him?”

“Stephen Garchik?” replied Stone.

“Right.”

“What did he say about him?” asked Chapman.

“Well, it was late and we were getting ready to go to bed. He was brushing his teeth and he came out of the bathroom and said that he needed to check on something that Garchik had told him.”

“Did he say what it was?”

Gross half closed her eyes, obviously struggling to remember. “Just something he had said about the bomb, what it was made of.”

Chapman and Stone looked at each other.

Gross continued, “And he also wanted to check out something to do with that nano business.”

Stone looked surprised. “He told you about the nanobots?”

“Well, he tried to, but I didn’t really understand any of it.”

“Did he think there was a connection between what he wanted to talk to Garchik about and the nanobots?” asked Chapman.

“He didn’t say. Just that he needed to check those two things out. That it might be important. Because of something he remembered. Only he didn’t tell me what.”