An Absence of Light

Graver was too numb even to sob, though he felt it in his throat, a soft, choking lump of grief and anger and dismay. He was light-headed, but he stood very still drawing deep breaths, struggling for control, resolving not to give in… to anything. Not a damned bloody thing.

He turned around.

“Okay,” he said, taking his hands out of his pockets and wiping his face with both hands. He waited a moment “Here’s what we’ve got to do.” He swallowed. “This will in no way affect the CID, not for a few days, not… until the Bomb Squad’s forensic team has had a chance to do their work. And maybe not even then.” He walked a few steps into the living room. “First, Ginette will report him missing. When that happens, the CID will be brought back into it. I don’t think even Jack Westrate will be able to scoff away the disappearance of another CID officer.” He crossed his arms, took a few more steps, his head down, thinking. “All hell will break loose. If the newspapers were going to run something on Tisler and Besom, it will be bumped off the front page by this explosion. There’s no way to anticipate if the reporters on the other stories will make any connections here. Again, they won’t know who was on the boat It’ll probably take them a day even to determine which slip was the center of the explosion. So… we’ve got a little time.”

He looked at his watch. He felt the flesh of his face sagging with exhaustion. It seemed to require every gland in his body to produce enough juice to keep him standing.

“As far as I’m concerned… there’s only one rear son for any of this now… to focus everything… on Panos Kalatis.”

Graver actually was having to make an effort to control a nearly hysterical frustration at being so completely at a disadvantage. He could hardly contain his grief for Burtell’s death or his rage at Kalatis’s silent, anonymous audacity. He was forcing himself, at considerable expense to his nervous system, to be controlled and methodical and logical.

“Paula,” he went on, “I want you to debrief Valerie Heath just as we discussed. Tonight, as soon as we get through here. Before you do, tell her what happened. Tell her Sheck was just killed by a bomb with another CID agent… no, just another man. When you’re through, blindfold her again-I sure as hell don’t want her to know where she’s been-and you and Lara take her car and another one and drive her somewhere-a parking garage-and release her. Give her her keys and tell her to get the hell out of the state. Then both of you come back here and wait.”

He walked a few paces into the room and addressed Neuman.

“Sheck lives in Nassau Bay?” he asked.

Neuman nodded. “Yeah, just across the lake from South Shore Harbor.”

“You need to get over there, Casey, and pick the place apart Take a garbage sack and fill it up with anything remotely informative.” He hesitated. “There’s going to be a lot of action over there. Spectators standing around in their back yards watching the excitement across the water. That’s good for you. But be careful. Kalatis’s people are going to want to make sure he didn’t leave anything behind. They may have already been there. Or they may get there ahead of you and still be there. If not, they might walk in on you. Just watch your ass. Okay? But take the place apart. Unscrew air-conditioning grates, wall plugs. Shit like that And call in every half hour… on the secure handsets. And wear latex gloves.”

Neuman nodded eagerly. He was wired, ready to do it.

“I’m going to meet the surveillance people and listen to what they picked up. When I’m through, I’ll get right back here. We’ll go from there.” He looked at each of them. “Don’t use my telephone and don’t answer it. I’ll leave the answering machine on. It’s important,” he said, “that we keep in touch. But use the handsets.”

Chapter 52

Victor Last lay on his back staring up at the ceiling, his right arm hanging off the side of the bed holding a champagne glass. He was naked. The sheets were a pale tea rose silk. His left hand held one of Rayner Faeber’s very generous, very jiggly breasts. She lay with her blond head tucked up under his arm, and when he looked down he could see her other breast with its peachy aureole, her so very white and nearly plumpish body, and her splayed legs-she liked to splay her legs-with her dusty pubis at their apex. She smelled of a kind of bath oil that she said she could buy only at this one small shop in the Rue du Bourg-Tibourg. It smelled like… heather. He loved the stuff, which he told her once and so she always put a dash of it in her bathwater when she knew they were going to be together.