They’d finished eating when JJ remembered the icon from the previous day and said, “Found something under the bed yesterday, reminded me of something I saw in Moscow.” He was careful not to mention Bostridge by name in such a small place.
The response was dramatic all the same, Ed asking urgently, “You know what happened to it?” His eyes were sharp and focused, like the mention of it had reawakened something he’d long given up. It was amazing to see, how the contents of the package stolen from Bostridge could electrify him like nothing else they’d talked about, the laid-back Holden completely shed.
“The girl took it,” JJ said. “He was with a prostitute.”
“David!” Realizing he’d spoken too loudly Ed lowered his voice as he added, “He would have run a mile from someone like that, believe me.” JJ wondered if the original information on Bostridge had come from Holden and if perhaps he hadn’t known his friend as well as he’d thought. Ed seemed to pick up the doubt in JJ’s eyes and said, “I know what you’re thinking, and I admit it, it’s a shock to me that he was with anyone at all, but a hooker, absolutely no way.”
“How about some coffee?” said the waitress, suddenly appearing at their table with a cheery smile.
Ed transformed himself immediately, smiling, giving a hint to JJ of how easily he adopted that look of having nothing to worry about. “That’s a great idea, Megan. Coffee for me. Tea for my friend?”
“Yes, tea please,” confirmed JJ. He’d spoken to her a few times, but she smiled now and said, “Over from England?” He smiled back, nodding, not saying anything though, not wanting to encourage the conversation. Once she’d gone he cut back to their own, picking up where Ed had finished. “I thought you said he had a taste for excitement?”
“He did but not in that department. And he was obsessed with disease.” It made JJ think of the condom again, and of the girl who, if Holden was right, had done an incredible job in luring Bostridge astray. He was forgetting, though, that he’d seen her and that she probably hadn’t needed to try particularly hard, maybe just sit in the bar like he’d imagined, her job even easier if she hadn’t had to ask for money. It was compelling all the same, the slim possibility that she hadn’t been a prostitute, or at least that she hadn’t presented herself as one to Bostridge.
“Whatever she was,” JJ said, voicing his thoughts, “she was in bed with him when I got there, and she took the package. She searched the room, found it under the bed. No, she looked under the bed straightaway, like she knew where it would be.”
Ed looked shell-shocked, as much by the presence of the girl as by the loss of the package.
“I’ve often wondered what happened to it.” He pulled himself back into business mode and said, “See, I didn’t find out it would be on that trip till after David had left. So it was short notice, but I still made arrangements for the merchandise to be retrieved. When I was told it was missing, I assumed someone somewhere along the line had taken advantage of the situation, common enough out there, but I can tell you, it hurt more than usual on this occasion.”
Again it was interesting to hear him talk about being hurt by the loss of a package when he hadn’t used that kind of sentiment once in talking about David Bostridge. Perhaps it was because that kind of hurt was programmed into his system, or perhaps JJ had gotten him wrong, fooled by the flip exterior, and in truth it still hurt too much for him even to broach it, skipping across the story lightly instead, talking about swimming holes, Dartmouth, family backgrounds, anything superficial rather than deal with the intense and difficult truth at the heart of it all, the open wound of what he’d done.
“Won’t be a second,” the waitress informed them as she passed with two plates of food.
“Thanks, Megan.”
“What was in the package anyway?”
“An icon,” said Ed. “But no ordinary icon. It came from a church in Pechorsk, small town near Archangel. Probably came from Novgorod originally. The Annunciation painted on a wooden panel. The only icon in existence that we can say with some degree of certainty was painted by Theophanes. The ultimate prize, and a beautiful piece of art, truly beautiful!” He was fired up with describing it, offering a brief insight into how he probably was in the lecture hall.
It explained too why he’d reacted so excitedly to the mention of the package, perhaps even explained the girl’s behavior that night in Bostridge’s room. But then the girl, whatever she’d been, had almost certainly been following underworld instructions, driven not by the same reverence as Holden but by fear of what they’d have done to her had she failed to bring it back.