Settling into their seats, Eddie immediately took off his Mets jersey and handed it to Skylar. “You said I only had to wear it until we got on the train.”
“Yes, I did.” She smiled warmly as Eddie closed his eyes, rotating his head back and forth to familiarize himself with the SOUNDS of the train car. Skylar did her version of the same, turning her attention to the other passengers. There were seven: two couples, one threesome. One couple was elderly and spoke in either Swedish or Norwegian; Skylar couldn’t be sure. The other was a married couple in their thirties, energetically discussing a performance they had just seen. Whatever it was, the wife thought the show was revelatory. The husband, however, had hated it, and said he would prefer to pay for the privilege of never having to sit through such garbage again. The threesome was a father and two teenage sons decked out in Mets garb, only their jerseys were well worn compared to Skylar’s and Eddie’s. They were genuine fans on their way to the Greatest Show on Earth.
None of the other passengers was cause for concern. Thank God. Skylar paused to catch her breath as the doors closed and the train started to move. They had made it out of Secaucus Junction, thanks to a little luck and the kindness of a stranger. She glanced around at the other passengers again, making sure she had properly assessed them the first time.
It only now occurred to her that she was thinking like a fugitive, and not like someone grieving the loss of a loved one. Skylar hadn’t thought of Jacob in several hours. She knew she had more grieving to do, but it would have to wait. And for that, she was grateful. Skylar removed one of the granola bars she had taken from Rupert Kreitenberg’s glove compartment and offered it to Eddie. “Hungry?”
Eddie did not respond. Because he didn’t hear her. His fingers were flying across the keyboard of his laptop supercomputer. He must have turned it on while she was surveying the other passengers.
“Eddie?” She waved the granola bar in front of his face. “Would you like another granola bar? Because I’m going to eat it if you don’t.”
Again, he didn’t respond. He kept his focus on his computer and continued working at a frenzied pace. Eddie was gone.
Skylar remembered Nurse Gloria saying, “He gets a certain kind of idea in his head, and wild elephants can’t stop him from seeing it through.” Watching him, she realized he, too, was feeling relief. He wasn’t thinking about being away from Harmony House or being tagged, or even being hungry. All he was thinking about was whatever was currently occupying him, and that was a good thing.
But what was it? What was he thinking about? Skylar glanced over his shoulder at the computer screen and realized she was looking at another language. Eddie could be writing improvements to the echo-box algorithms, or he could be working on something else entirely. There was no way she could tell. It reminded her of her younger brother, Christopher, and the hundreds of pages of equations he had left behind that she had tried to decipher over the years. Most were complete gibberish, but some actually seemed to be the start of something, at least according to the theoretical physicists she had shown his work to.
She glanced out the windows at the moonlit Meadowlands as she ate the stale granola bar. She was surprised to see a few cattails waving gently in the night air. How nice that there were actually a few left. It really must have been a beautiful area before all the stadiums were built.
The train was due to arrive in Philadelphia at 12:39 a.m., exactly two hours and seventeen minutes from now. She couldn’t leave Eddie, so she’d have to occupy herself as best she could. Her thoughts immediately went to Jacob, and Skylar now realized this train ride was going to be a very long one.
CHAPTER 86
Sixth Precinct, New York City, May 27, 11:19 p.m.
Marcus Fenton had never been inside a police station before and, after tonight, was determined to never be inside one again. How dare they bring him in for questioning? Who the hell did this detective think he was? And how dare McHenry leave him alone in a windowless interrogation room for over twenty-five minutes?
He was confident that there were people studying him through the two-way mirror that dominated one of the walls. They were watching him for signs of guilt. For something that could be used against him. Because nothing they had to date could be. As long as he remained calm, they wouldn’t have a shred of usable evidence.
McHenry had brought him to this room, then immediately left without a word. Fenton had considered contacting his lawyer, who, in turn, would contact an attorney who handled this sort of thing, but decided against it unless they arrested him. He also briefly considered contacting Senator Davis to arrange for his release, but decided he would rather sweep this little incident under the rug as soon as it was over. He would grin and bear the momentary inconvenience, and then move on. After all, how long could this take?
Butler McHenry sipped the last bit of two-day-old coffee from a Styrofoam cup as he stared through the mirror at Fenton, who sat quietly at the table in the interrogation room.
Detective Lieutenant Victoria Daniels entered the observation room. “Has he asked for a lawyer yet?”
“Nope.”
“Have you asked him anything yet?”
“Nope.”
“How long do you plan on keeping him here?”
“As long as you’ll let me.”
“We’ve looked into the man’s records. He’s a big-shot doctor with big-shot connections and the federal government behind him. The moment you ask him a question he doesn’t want to answer, he’ll get lawyered up and be released. You’ll never get anywhere near this man again.”
Butler nodded. “I know.”
Daniels shook her head. “So what the hell are you doing?”
“Enjoying the moment. The shitbag is guilty. I confirmed it the moment he agreed to come here. But I couldn’t exactly stop and say, ‘Well, thanks for your confession. I know there’s nothing I can do about it, so I might as well turn around and take you back home.’”
“No, but you might as well say it now. I’ll make arrangements for someone to take him.”
As Butler got up to begin his interrogation of Fenton, he noticed Daniels removing something from her pocket, but paid little attention to it.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said, sitting down across from the doctor.
Marcus clasped his hands on the table in front of him. “No you’re not.”
Butler nodded. “I was trying to be polite.”
“It doesn’t suit you.”
The detective looked him squarely in the eyes. “Would you like to make a confession?”
“Are you a priest?”
“Do I look like a priest?”
“If you’re not a priest, I have nothing to confess.”
Before Butler could respond, static came over the dusty intercom speaker at the top of the two-way mirror, close to the ceiling. The next sound to come through the intercom was the voice of Michael Barnes: “You sure about this?”
Fenton looked puzzled, but Butler recognized the acoustic reconstruction instantly. He’d heard it twice already. The detective turned back toward the mirror and glanced where he knew Victoria was standing. This was one of those rare moments when someone does exactly the right thing at exactly the right moment. He nodded with heartfelt gratitude.
The detective lieutenant held Deputy Inspector Nataro’s pocket recorder next to the intercom microphone as the reconstructed conversation continued to play.
FENTON: Yes, I’m sure. Skylar is too valuable. She’s already made more progress with Eddie in days than the others made in years.
Marcus Fenton’s face tightened as he now recognized the conversation.
BARNES: Will you want to know the details?
FENTON: Nothing in his residence. Make it look like an accident.
BARNES: He takes the subway.