Jannie said, “Ali, was your school vandalized?”
My young son stopped staring at the screen and looked at his sister. “Not that I know of. I mean, it gets tagged sometimes, but they clean it off. Hey, Dad?”
I looked up from the frying pan. “Ali?”
“How come he didn’t say what kind of vandalism it was at the other schools?”
“Not enough time, probably. And they figured the arson was worse than the vandalism.”
“Oh,” he said, returning to his breakfast while I spooned Jannie’s eggs onto her plate.
“Five minutes, Ali?”
He chewed and swallowed. “You don’t have to take me, Dad. I know the way.”
“I like taking you,” I said. “It’s more for me than you.”
Ali shrugged and quietly went back to eating. And he stayed quiet even as he put his plate and fork in the dishwasher and retrieved his knapsack.
“You got everything for swimming? Soccer?”
He nodded with little enthusiasm. “Everything they said I needed.”
“You were the one who asked to go to sports camp,” I reminded him. “And now you sound like you’d rather go lie on a bed of nails.”
“No,” he said, forcing a smile. “I really do want to go. It’ll be fun.”
“You said a lot of your friends will be there,” Jannie said.
“That’s true. Can we go now, Dad?”
I followed my boy outside and up the sidewalk in silence. It was hot but relatively dry for late June, a rare blessing in Washington, DC, and I was regretting not going for an early run as we walked toward the parking lot where the camp bus would pick up Ali and other kids from the neighborhood.
“Dad?” Ali said as the parking lot came in sight. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Shoot.”
“When you investigate, you put together a timeline, right?”
“Usually. Especially if there’s a team of detectives involved, because you want everyone on the same page, acting on the same shared set of proven facts. That’s how investigations are run and how mysteries are solved.”
“But you look for the things that are in common, right? I mean, like, if the vandalism was the same kind of vandalism?”
“Sure,” I said. “And you try to keep track of what’s different.”
He nodded and fell quiet. Ali’s mind had always whirled with obsessions. He found something he was interested in and then learned everything he could about it until his attention waned and a new, more powerful curiosity took over.
I had the feeling he was becoming obsessed with the arsonist and vandal who was targeting elementary schools in Southeast.
Ali stayed quiet until we reached the lot and he saw several of his buddies already there, talking and laughing. Then he brightened, hugged me goodbye, and ran over to them, his cares gone, one of the jokers again. I watched them horse around for several moments, knowing that these times were precious and that I needed to remember Ali like this, at this age. He would not always be my baby boy, my— My cell phone buzzed. A text from Sampson. Someone leaked Hingham’s confession. The story’s up on the Washington Post website.
“Dennison,” I said, groaning. “You are one stupid, self-serving SOB!”
My cell phone buzzed again. A new message, this one from FBI Supervising Special Agent Ned Mahoney, my old partner at the Bureau and the best law enforcement mind I knew.
Need to meet ASAP. Story about Hingham’s confession blowing up. We’re taking over and need to be at speed pronto.
Chapter
14
Paris
Bree exited a taxi in the Batignolles neighborhood, which was more subdued than the area around her hotel, with blocks of matching and beautifully maintained nineteenth-century apartment buildings that had boutiques and shops on the ground floors.
She spotted the hand-painted sign for the Canard de Flaque bistro at the end of the block and walked toward it, aware of the appreciative looks she was getting from men passing her. And why not? Bree had always looked ten years younger than her actual age, and she was wearing one of two evening outfits she’d packed for the trip: a pearl-colored silk blouse with a plunging neckline, tight charcoal slacks, and black leather high heels that clicked on the sidewalk. The clutch purse was the perfect size to hold the small Beretta and the euro-coin beacon, which she’d activated and slid into an inner pocket of the bag before leaving her hotel.
Seeing herself in the window reflection of the bistro door, Bree decided that the Tahitian pearl earrings and necklace Alex had given her on their anniversary were the perfect accessories for this outfit, which was much more feminine and provocative than the sort of thing she usually wore. Exactly what she wanted. She pushed open the door, stepped inside, and took in the bistro and its patrons in a sweeping glance.