“You didn’t want them finding out about the private detectives and the Chinese spies,” I said.
Wat laughed, a short, bitter sound. “It sounds like a bad movie, doesn’t it? Chinese spies!” He sighed. “In my brother’s defense, he thought Fritz would turn up in a matter of days. The FBI didn’t seem necessary. Of course, he was wrong. I argued that we should let the authorities investigate, tell them everything. But Frank was scared. NorthPoint had gone public three years earlier, and we’d spent a lot of investor money to get to where we were in 2000. If we had lost those Pentagon contracts, NorthPoint wouldn’t even be a memory today. So Frank got the FBI to drop it.” He looked at me, and something in his stare—a cold certitude—made me catch my breath. “And because of that, I resigned. I left within the month, long enough for Frank to assure the Pentagon that he could cover for me.” Wat smiled acidly. “Mustn’t let anything happen to NorthPoint. Frank’s golden goose. Which he didn’t want cooked.”
I sat back in my chair, deflated. Wat’s story explained what Trip and Diamond had found, and it did so in a way that didn’t make Frank Davenport into some sort of a monster who would kill his own child. But I was still no closer to finding Fritz. Disillusionment washed over me. I realized I was actually disappointed that Frank Davenport probably had nothing to do with his son’s disappearance.
Wat leaned forward. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything more for you. Something that could help you find Fritz. That’s what you’re doing, isn’t it? Looking for him?”
I gave a resentful snort of laughter. “I’m beginning to think that’s all I’ve been doing since he disappeared,” I said. “Even when I didn’t know I was doing it, when I was actively trying not to do that. I’ve been waiting for him all these years like he’ll walk back in through the door. And he hasn’t.” I looked at Wat. “What do you think happened to him?”
Wat blinked in surprise. “I don’t know,” he said simply. “I’ve thought about it ever since. He must have had his reasons for leaving. I know . . . I know that my brother can be a hard man, and that he and Fritz did not always see eye to eye, but I don’t see Frank as capable of murdering his own son.” I stared at him, and he laughed weakly. “That’s what you were wondering, isn’t it?” he asked. “It’s all right. I’ve wondered it myself, lying awake at night. But . . . no. I can see him driving his child away. Not killing him.”
“Could the two guys you fired, the ones passing secrets to the Chinese—could they have had anything to do with Fritz’s disappearance?”
Wat shook his head. “Frank hired another firm to investigate them. They didn’t find anything. Frank made them look again, and they did. Still nothing. Just a couple of employees who got greedy. They weren’t kidnappers or anything like that.” He sighed. “Frank really wanted it to have been them,” he said softly.
Wat fell silent after that, but he sat with me while I stared into the burning logs, as if I’d find some augury there.
CHAPTER TWENTY
I spent the night in Wat’s guest room at his insistence—he wouldn’t hear of my going to a hotel. So much had happened that day that I thought I might be up all night, my brain spinning away as it tried to process everything. But after retrieving my duffel from the car and walking upstairs to my room, I felt exhausted, limbs heavy as marble, and when I fell into bed, I slept a gray, dreamless sleep. The next morning, I woke and sat up bleary-eyed in a strange room, struggling for several seconds to understand where I was. I took a quick shower, trying to slough off the night’s sleep and largely succeeding. Once dressed, I padded downstairs in my socks to find, in the kitchen, a smiling Korean woman who was evidently the housekeeper. She directed me toward a pot of hot coffee, a plate of muffins, and an elegantly handwritten note from Wat:
Matthias,
My apologies for not being at home when you wake up, but I have an early meeting.
I’d cancel, but it’s with someone from the vice president’s office. Far duller than it sounds, trust me.
Thank you for calling on me. I appreciate it far more than you know. Keep in touch and let me know if I can ever be of service—my cell phone number is on the card I left with this note.
Sun Hi will take care of you if you need anything. Safe journey back to Blackburne.
Wat
I looked at Wat’s business card—bold serif script on cream-colored paper heavy and stiff as a credit card—and put it in my wallet.
After breakfast I wrote Wat a short thank-you note and left. The storm was completely gone, leaving a clear blue sky behind. It took more than three hours to get back to Blackburne, a long time to ponder what I had learned from Trip and Diamond and Wat, which was both a lot and not much. Mrs. Davenport had called the FBI to help find her son. Mr. Davenport had called them off for fear of uncovering some unflattering truths about NorthPoint. Wat Davenport had resigned in protest. None of this helped me find Fritz.
I should have taken my time getting back, because when I finally turned into Blackburne’s drive and drove past the lions and up the Hill, and then circled around behind Lawson-Parker, I found a sheriff’s patrol car parked by the rear entrance. Something cold and hard formed in my gut. Had there been another accident? Another student death? I went inside the dorm and ducked into the commons room, but no one was there, so I hurried down the hall to my apartment, opened the door, and stepped inside.
The first person I saw was Sam Hodges, sitting on my futon. He looked startled, as if I had woken him up. Behind him, putting a magazine down on a side table, was Deputy Smalls.
“Sam?” I said.
Sam stood up, slowly. “Matthias,” he said.
Ren Middleton walked around the corner from my kitchen. “Mr. Glass,” he said.
“What’s going on?” I said.
Deputy Smalls stepped around the futon toward me. “Mr. Glass, I have to inform you that you are under arrest.”
I blinked—it was as if he had slapped me across the face. “What?”
“How could you,” Ren said.
“How could I what?” I said, growing angry. “Sam, what’s going on?”