“I’m sorry that happened.”
“Robbie blamed Nate, or maybe both of us. Or maybe he just couldn’t stand the thought of us around anymore? I don’t know. Hathorne fed on it, whatever it was. That much I know. He’s got claws. That’s why I didn’t want you near him, Aideen.”
“I understand. I always did. For now, let Craig worry about Hathorne. Robbie? Well, I think you have to bury your thoughts about Robbie with him. I know that’s cold, but . . .”
“No, it’s smart. Anyway, I’ve got another brother to meet.” He sighed. “That’s the future.”
“I think it’ll be good for you to meet him. It sounds like things are in place in terms of his care, but now you can make sure. You can be there for him, finally.”
He shrugged, suddenly exhausted. “I’ll try.”
“I’m going over to see Mimi now. I’ll be in touch, and I’ll pick you up when you’re sprung.”
“I can cab it.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s a defense attorney’s dream—driving her client away from Rikers after the case has been dropped.” She grinned and snapped her briefcase shut.
“Aideen?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank Máiréad for me, okay?”
“I will. Your fee might send her to law school. Well, a public one.”
He smiled, then searched for her eyes. “And thanks for living this with me.”
She smiled toothlessly, her eyes sad. “Thanks for choosing to live, Joe.”
CHAPTER 74
Tuesday, September 19, 2017
St. Lawrence Psychiatric Center
Ogdensburg, New York
3:14 p.m.
Craig Flynn thrummed his fingers on an empty desk as wind-driven rain slashed against the windows. Here on New York’s sloping Canadian frontier, summer was over. He was set up for the day in an unoccupied office at the psych center, taking meetings with a couple of doctors and some admin staff. He was looking forward to the last meeting, though, one he hoped would be a surprise.
“There he is,” he said cheerfully as Aaron Hathorne appeared in the doorway. Behind him was a hospital attendant who took a quick look around the office, then told Craig he’d be outside the door and that they had about ten minutes. Hathorne did look surprised, but the look shifted to contempt.
“I can’t possibly imagine what would keep me here for ten minutes,” he said. Craig hooked his hands behind his head and flashed an exaggerated, rubbery smile.
“Have a seat, Doc.”
“I’ll stand if I can choose.”
“That’s not your only choice,” Craig said. The smile disappeared. “You could do some good for yourself and talk to my investigator about your relationship with Evan Bolds.”
“That name barely rings a bell. Where is this investigator, anyway?”
“No need to waste his time if you’re gonna act that way.”
Hathorne flared his nostrils. “What way?”
“Ignorant, which is the one thing I know you aren’t.”
“If you are here about a man named Evan Bolds, I can assure you I’m quite ignorant. As I said, I can barely remember the name.”
“Then you might be slipping a little,” Craig said, pulling on a confused face. “My friends over at the corrections department created a fairly intricate trail between you and Bolds—the facilities you were in together, the sex offender sessions you both attended. You talked. You knew each other.”
“This proves a marriage?”
“You were working together, and I’ll find out how. Yeah, he’s dead, but it’s given us a chance to do some deep dives on his van, his house, his phones. You could short-circuit that, though. You could come clean and tell me what the arrangement was. It might do you some good.”
Hathorne had been standing arrow straight, but now he seemed to relax, and he offered the slightest hint of a grin. “I really can’t help you, Mr. Flynn.”
“I had to try,” Craig said. He leaned forward and intertwined his fingers on the desk. “Thankfully, there’s Elaine Benedetto.”
“Elaine . . . I’m sorry, who?” Hathorne’s eyes gave nothing away, but his posture went rigid.
Craig smiled. “Don’t be coy, Doc. You’re really no good at that. Elaine Benedetto taught English at Joe DeSantos’s middle school in Staten Island. She’s retired now but still active—keeps in touch with a bunch of her former students, healthy as a horse, all that stuff. But you knew that, didn’t you? You knew when you called her to see if you could track down the poem Joe wrote. The one that wowed them all. The one that made it into the school magazine.”