EPILOGUE
I met Banner twenty minutes later, a few blocks from the FBI building in an anonymous coffeehouse that looked out on Addams Park.
I glanced at my watch and wondered if they’d found him yet. I ran through the duration of the encounter in my head and satisfied myself that I hadn’t left any prints, or anything else to connect myself to the scene. With Edwards alone and only his own prints on his own gun, it ought to be an open-and-shut suicide verdict. I sipped a double espresso. Banner hadn’t ordered anything.
“He killed himself?” she asked, her tone cold.
“Yes.”
“You knew he would, didn’t you?”
“I think you knew too.”
Her eyes dropped to regard the tabletop. “How did you know he’d believe you?”
I thought back to the previous night. The apartment on West Twenty-First. As empty as a nun’s little black book. Bryce had been as good as his word: nothing in writing. Nothing at all.
“I know the type. Edwards didn’t trust anyone, not really. Not even Bryce. That’s why he bought the story as soon as he knew I’d found Bryce’s apartment.”
“We had nothing on him,” Banner said quietly.
“He admitted it, if that makes you feel any better.”
“I suppose it ought to.”
“We did the right thing,” I said. “There was no way to get him. Not within the rules.”
Banner shivered and folded her arms around herself, avoiding my gaze and instead looking out at the street.
“That’s what they thought,” she said after a minute. “Edwards and Bryce. They thought they had to break the rules to make things right. What makes us different?”
I took another sip of coffee. “Maybe we’re not.”
She turned back to me, didn’t say anything.
“Banner, if you want to wallow in guilt about what we just did, be my guest. Edwards and Bryce freed a serial killer in the certain knowledge that he would kill innocent people. We didn’t kill any innocent people. You don’t have to feel great about yourself for this, but I think that’s kind of an important distinction, don’t you?”
“I’m sorry, Blake. This…” She shook her head and looked away again, lowering her voice. “Damn it. This isn’t why I joined the Bureau.”
“Then forget about it. Move on. This thing is done now. Go back to what you do: catching bad guys. You’re good at it. First female director, remember?”
She smiled sadly and shook her head. “Donaldson can’t actually fire me just now because I got Wardell, but he’s not happy with the way I handled things. I’m not promotion material anymore, not the way I wanted. I have a bunch of very well-paid PR engagements in my future, and that’s pretty much it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. What I used to think was important doesn’t seem so important anymore.”
“How’s Annie?”
“Holding up. Considering.”
“I’m glad. Tell her thanks for the get-well-soon card.”
She nodded. “So what about you?”
“I’m leaving. I think I’ll go someplace warm for a while, let the sutures heal. And then I’ll go back to what I do.”
“Finding people who don’t want to be found.”
“That’s what it would say on the business cards. If I had any.”
She leaned across the table and kissed me on the mouth. It was a long, searching kiss. I didn’t need much persuasion to return it. She broke the kiss after a minute and drew back, opening her eyes and staring into mine. She’d never looked at me like that before. It was like she was seeing something in my eyes she hadn’t noticed before. Or hadn’t wanted to acknowledge.
“Goodbye, Blake. Please don’t come back.”
I looked back at her for a moment and then nodded. I slid five bucks under my coffee cup and stood up. Banner stared straight ahead, not watching as I left. I pushed the glass door open and stepped out onto West Fifteenth Street. As the weathermen had predicted, it had begun to snow. I thought about warmer climes, pulled my jacket closed, and walked away.
Acknowledgements
Although there’s only one name on the cover, this book feels very much like a team effort. I am indebted to the following people, without whom this novel would not exist.
First and foremost, my former agent Thomas Stofer of LBA, for his astute suggestions and his relentless championing of the book. My new agent, the legendary Luigi Bonomi (also of LBA) for giving an unknown author his big break. My wonderful and talented editor Jemima Forrester and the whole team at Orion, who have been so positive and enthusiastic about the book since day one. Everybody who read the first draft and made helpful suggestions, particularly James Stansfield and Mary Hays. Last but not least, my fabulous wife Laura and our three children, for putting up with me and for not complaining too much on the days I spent more time on writing than with them.
About the Author
Mason Cross was born in Glasgow in 1979. He studied English at the University of Stirling and currently works in the voluntary sector. He has written a number of short stories, including A Living, which was shortlisted for the Quick Reads Get Britain Reading Award. He lives in Glasgow with his wife and three children.
Find out more at www.carterblake.net or follow him on Twitter @MasonCrossBooks