“Well, like I said, he might not have realized he was shooting Dylan. It was dark, you were supposed to be there with Aidan that night. I don’t think Dylan was the target.”
“You think he wanted to kill me because I’d seen him in Santa Estela? You think he was part of that, selling truckloads of children? There’s no way he would have been involved in something like that, John.”
“Think it through. Why else would he have been there? We know there was no op to shut it down, so if he wasn’t shutting it down-and we know he lied to you about that-he must have been part of it. It had to occur to him that sooner or later, you would ask about that, and there was the danger that you’d figure out what was going on.”
“You really think he was involved in the trafficking?”
“I think he had to have been. And he had to know that sooner or later, you would be asking about how that all went down.”
“I did,” Connor had said softly.
“What?”
“I did ask. A week or so ago. I left a message on his answering machine, asking him what happened.”
“Why? What made you think of it?”
“Annie was asking me about Santa Estela. She knew I’d been there, and her new guy, that detective from Pennsylvania, had a murder vic who might have had ties to Santa Estela.” He had stopped to recall exactly what Annie had said. “I think it was more than one vic, young girls, and there was a question about some tattoos.”
“Did you tell Brendan that Annie had been asking?”
Connor closed his eyes, trying to remember what he’d said on the message. “Honest to God, John, I don’t remember if I did or not.”
There was silence while each digested what had been said.
“Is there a chance that Brendan wanted to kill Annie because I told him she was asking questions? Jesus, John, I don’t know.”
Before he hung up, Connor had asked, “How’s my dad doing? Have you spoken to my uncle Frank?”
“I spoke with your brother. Maybe you should give him a call. There was some talk about who would be the pallbearers.”
“Well, they can count me out. No fucking way.” The anger resurfaced. “Son of bitch murdered my brother, I’m going to carry his casket? How could Aidan even consider it?”
“I don’t think Aidan is thinking about honoring the dead as much as he’s thinking about honoring the living.”
Connor had let that sink in. Regardless of what Brendan might have done, his father-Connor’s uncle Frank-would be devastated at the loss of his son. To lose a son under these circumstances would be humiliating for a man-a family-who had served the Bureau long and well.
“Call Aidan, Connor,” John had said. “And if you change your mind about coming home, just let me know. I’ll clear it.”
“Don’t expect to hear from me.”
Connor had hung up and had gone to the balcony to look out over the water, his eyes stinging with tears. He’d had a hell of a time processing the information he’d received. His cousin had wanted to kill him, but shot and killed his brother instead. Then he himself was shot and killed while apparently planning on killing Annie.
What the hell had happened to his world?
He thought of Brendan as a young boy, almost a decade younger than Connor. He’d been the quiet one, the one who always held to the background. There’d been a time when he and Dylan had been adversaries of sorts, but that had long since passed. No, he couldn’t believe that Brendan could have fired that shot. Brendan, who had sobbed as he’d carried Dylan’s coffin down the steps of St. Bernadette’s Church, Brendan, who had comforted Connor’s father as well as his own.
Connor had started drinking after the conversation with John, and hadn’t stopped. Unfortunately, the whiskey hadn’t made him drunk, hard as he’d tried to silence the voices in his head.
He had called Aidan and berated him for even considering bearing Brendan’s coffin.
“It’s not for him, Connor,” Aidan had said. “It’s for Uncle Frank. And for Dad. You remember how Dad leaned on Uncle Frank through Dylan’s-”
“Yeah, I remember.” Connor had cut him off. “But this is different. This is the bastard who killed Dylan. Of course he thought he was shooting me.”
“That’s what’s bothering you, isn’t it?” Aidan had said. “You’re feeling guilty because Dylan took the shots that may have been for you.”
Connor had tried to respond, but couldn’t get words out.
“Con, no one is ever going to blame you for not dying that night. Jesus, Con.”
When Connor still did not reply, Aidan had said, “Look, come home and be with us through this. Dad needs you, Uncle Frank needs you. Mia, Andrew… shit, Con, I need you.”
“Sorry, little brother. You do what you want. But I’ll have no part in it.”
“If you change your mind-”
“I won’t change my mind. Give everyone my love, though.”
And with that, Connor had hung up.
There were lights from the boats that still came and went in the small harbor, even at this late hour. Connor stood by the rail, watching, wishing he was on one of them.
Maybe tomorrow, he told himself. Maybe tomorrow he’d take a boat out. Maybe he’d just keep it going until it ran out of gas. And then, maybe he’d just slide overboard and let the water take him where it would.
He went back into his room, picked up the phone, and called downstairs for another bottle.
25
“How about if I just meet you at the cemetery?” Evan rolled down the window of the rental car he’d picked up at the airport and cursed himself for not checking the air-conditioning before he’d gotten onto I-95. Now he was stuck in a massive traffic jam, the temperature had risen into the high eighties already, and the fan was blowing warm.
“That’s fine, Evan,” Annie told him. “The church is going to be packed to capacity, if the number of cars already in the lot is an indication.”
“I’m surprised that so many people came out for him, a disgraced FBI agent.”
“It’s for his family. His dad has ties that go back fifty years. He and Dylan’s dad were very highly regarded in the law enforcement community. Yes, there’s certainly a lot of embarrassment, but at the same time, there’s been a lot of support. I’m really not surprised that so many people are here to pay their respects to Frank. And to Andrew, and Mia. And the others.”
“Are Connor and Aidan there?”
“Aidan was at the viewing last night. Connor apparently is having a real hard time of it, according to Mara. She said Aidan was just devastated by what’s happened, and the fact that Connor refuses to come home and support the family is really bothering him.”
“She’s been there all week?”
“Of course. She’s Aidan’s wife. She’ll stand by them.”
“Even though Brendan was going to kill you?”
“In spite of it.”
“I think you’re pretty remarkable, to go to the viewing and the funeral of the man who tried to take your life. Not to mention the fact that he murdered Dylan.”
“I’m too close to the family to not go, Evan. We talked about this. If you don’t want to come to the services, you shouldn’t feel you have to.”
“I want to be there with you.” He craned his neck to look out the window at the traffic that still hadn’t moved. “However, at this rate, I’ll be lucky if I’m out of here by noon.”
“Well, since the service here is going to start in about ten minutes, why not just plan on meeting me at the cemetery.” She was walking now. Evan could hear the click of her heels, the change in her breathing. “You have the directions?”
“Yeah. Assuming I ever get off 95 to use them. I’ll catch up with you at the cemetery.”
“Okay. Look, I’m going into the church. I’ll see you later.”
Evan ended the call and tossed the phone onto the front seat, then leaned heavily against the door. The car in front of him moved forward by about a foot, and all the other cars inched up behind one another hopefully.
There was nothing worse than a traffic jam on a major highway on a hot, steamy, humid August morning. Evan felt along the floor for the water bottle that had earlier rolled from the passenger seat and took a long drink once he’d successfully snagged it. The cars began to move, slowly at first, then a little steadier. With all the car windows down, there was a slight bit of breeze. He was debating whether to get off at the next exit and try to find the church, or simply go ahead to the cemetery, as he and Annie had discussed, when the car in front of him came to a halt, and the others stopped behind it. Traffic stalled once again, making the decision for him. He turned up the radio and searched for last night’s baseball scores.