Light poured out from under the triumphal arches at Union Station and the moon washed a pale glow over the long white granite fa?ade. Pacini and Sean steered around the grand front of the building to the entrance of the parking garage, a drab seven-tiered structure filled with thousands of vehicles. They bounced over the speed bumps and spiraled to the top floor where two agents maintained a perimeter. The car came to a quick stop and Pacini jumped out.
Sean followed after him and watched Pacini speak to an agent. Several other agents hovered around a silver BMW sedan. The top floor of the garage wasn’t covered, and stars twinkled in the cloudless sky. Sean breathed in the nighttime air. Police Chief Martinez, who’d interrupted Sean’s confrontation with Justice Carr, stalked over to Pacini and pulled him aside. He had a concerned look on his face and he kept glancing over at Sean. Pacini was shaking his head and then came back over.
“The chief wondered where you were tonight,” he said.
Sean nodded. It was understandable given Sean’s encounter with Justice Carr. It didn’t take a seasoned cop to know that the guy last seen in a hostile argument with the missing person was a good place to start the investigation.
“I said you had the misfortune of being with me,” Pacini said. “Either way, stay close.”
“Is that his car?” Sean asked, pointing to the BMW.
“Yeah. They want to get some techs here before we search.”
“May I?” Sean said, cocking his head toward the vehicle.
“You can look, just do not, under any circumstances, touch.”
Sean stepped closer to the BMW, Pacini at his side. The trunk was open, but the interior of the car remained locked. The cops probably didn’t want to wait to open the trunk in case Justice Carr was inside. Sean crouched and looked intently inside the luxury sedan. He felt an ache at the sight of a pendant and chain that sat on top of a piece of paper on the passenger seat.
“Frank, I think that’s Abby’s necklace.” Sean reached for the door handle, but Pacini caught him by the wrist.
“We need to wait, Sean.”
Sean paced the garage, his thoughts a jumble, as Pacini and the agents made small talk. Martinez continued to flick hard gazes in Sean’s direction.
Finally the crime scene techs arrived, and the lead tech snapped on latex gloves as she spoke to the police chief. She then unlocked the car’s doors with a key fob, possibly a spare provided by Justice Carr’s wife. The tech leaned inside the vehicle, not touching any part of the interior, and eased back out. In her right hand was a pair of what looked like large tweezers. Clamped in them was a piece of paper. She put the paper in a clear plastic bag. She performed the same maneuver with the necklace.
Holding the corner of the bag, the tech brought it to Police Chief Martinez. He signaled for Pacini to come over and Sean followed after. The chief held the plastic bag by the corner up at eye level. In sloppy handwriting were three sentences: Forgive me for what I’ve done.
I loved Abby.
It was an accident.
The note was spattered with tiny speckles of what looked like blood.
CHAPTER 80
One month later
Late July in Washington was swamp hot, and Sean began to sweat the moment he stepped out of his front door. The air was filled with the sounds of summer. A lawn mower buzzed in the distance, kids playing outside. Standing on the porch, Sean pulled at the collar of his dress shirt to air himself out. Even with no tie, the suit was steaming. He adjusted the strap on the briefcase slung over his shoulder.
Ryan and Jack were in the front yard tossing a football. Jack launched the ball awkwardly to his big brother, but it fell short, and Ryan had to stumble forward to catch it. Ryan still wasn’t himself. He was quieter and had been moping around, so it felt good to see him outside, playing with his little brother.
“Nice catch,” Sean said. Ryan tossed the ball to Sean, who caught it one-handed. “You boys are up early.”
“Mom was tired of us sleeping in,” Ryan said.
“Go long,” Sean said, cocking the ball back in his arm. Jack ran and spread open his arms, eyes shut, as the ball flew over his head and bounced about the yard.
“Daddy, Daddy,” Jack said.
“Yes, sir,” Sean said as he skipped down the front steps.
“Wanna hear a joke?”
“Of course.”
“What did the beaver say when he ran into the wall?”
“What?”
“Daaamn.”
Sean forced a laugh and walked the brick path to his SUV, parked curbside. As Sean opened the front gate, a dark sedan pulled up. Sean’s body tensed at the sight of the man who climbed out of the vehicle. Sean turned to his sons.
“Why don’t you boys go inside.”
Ryan’s face was tight. Anxious. He seemed to understand immediately and launched Jack over his shoulder and carried him inside.
On the street, now leaning on the hood of the SUV, was Detective Whiteside, the Montgomery County homicide detective working the Billy Brice, aka Chipotle Man, case.
Sean decided not to engage. No upside to it.
“Do you mind getting off my car?” he said. The vehicle tweeted when the doors unlocked. The detective didn’t budge.
“I’d like to have a short word with you, Mr. Serrat, if you would?”