We Know

The TV now showed firefighters getting the apartment blaze under control. "The escaped suspect detonated stockpiled explosives before fleeing the raid. In a bizarre twist, preliminary forensics suggest that the terrorist whose body was recovered had been killed prior to the blast, and police are looking into the possibility that he was tortured and executed by his confederate." Back to the solemn newscaster. "Much of the evidence authorities were seeking was destroyed."

Callie turned off the TV. "No photo has been released. Of the escaped suspect."

Steve said, "Yet."

My hands had made fists in the fabric of my shirt. "There's more." I almost didn't recognize my voice.

"I'm sure," Steve said. He walked back toward the kitchen, and we followed. Callie eased down into her chair as if it were just another family dinner, but Steve and I stayed on our feet.

"Please. Hear me out. I need your help."

Steve let out a guffaw. "My help?"

"Just listen to me. And if you don't believe what I have to say, I'll leave and you'll never have to see me again." At this, Callie stiffened. "But if you do believe me, I sure as hell could use your help. Someone else could be at risk."

Steve stared at me until I got uncomfortable. I counted twenty ticks of the kitchen clock behind me, which is a long time to be stared at. Finally he glanced at Callie. She'd been watching us silently, not saying anything, which was so out of character that that was probably what got him. He pulled the chair partway out, sat with his arm resting on the table, and angled his head at the opposing chair. I sat.

I told them the story top to bottom, filling in details I'd skipped last time, giving them my version of the confrontation at Mack's apartment. I showed them the ultrasound and the lab report and the Polaroid of Bilton and the woman. When I finished, I said, "I need to locate the mother who had the DNA analysis done. Or at least find out anything I can about her. And her daughter. And I don't have anyone else who can do that for me."

Steve said, "You have to turn yourself in, Nick. It's the only way-"

"No," Callie said.

We both looked at her, surprised.

"If he goes in and this thing is real, this'll be the last time anyone sees him," Callie said. "Help him,

Steve. Please."

"And what if he did kill that guy? Plus the money-who knows where he got that? Sure, he's your son, but let's be honest: You haven't known him for years."

Callie said, firmly, "I believe him."

Steve's high forehead was glistening. He drew a hand through his curly hair, settled back in his chair, and grimaced.

I looked down at the dirty plate in front of me. "Thanks, Mom."

Steve took a deep breath, held it, crossed his arms. Then he said to me, "I'm a police officer. I've never helped you. I've never been in contact with you. If I saw you, I would probably be obligated to arrest you. Do you understand?"

I nodded.

He tugged a detective's notepad from his back pocket, jotted something down, and showed it to me, the way people do in movies when they make some big financial offer. It was a phone number. "Memorize this," he said. "It's my cell. Do not call it unless you are about to be killed."

I studied the number and nodded.

He slipped the notepad back into his pocket. "Leave me a phone number. Preferably a mobile. I can't just go in and start asking questions without raising suspicions, but I'm working a P.M. tomorrow and can grab some desk time when it's quiet. I'll check to see if there's a BOLO out on you-that's a 'Be On The Lookout'-or if the pursuit is contained to the Secret Service. And I'll run Jane Everett through the databases, but you're asking a lot here, kid. Medical confidentiality is a mess, and I can't produce a warrant even if we knew which hospital she had the baby at, which we don't. I have to go the other route-old-fashioned slogging-see if I can find a Jane Everett in her late forties or fifties who has a seventeen-year-old daughter. If she looks like the broad in the Polaroid, even better. Though she's young enough there she'd have aged a good deal. If I get something-and that's an if-Y\\ call you. In the meantime you are to stay underground. And you were never here. Not without putting your mother and me-and Emily-at risk."

I said, "I was never here."

"How about that?" Steve said. "We agree on two things."

Induma sat, legs curled beneath her, on the enormous sofa. I could tell she was upset, because she'd pulled one of the oversize pillows into her lap. Jane Everett's paternity report rested beside her on the cushion, where she'd set it after a cursory glance. From the upstairs bathroom carried the sounds of the running shower and Homer singing, a gravelly outtake from The Pirates of Penzance. Alejandro was at his apartment for the night, a relief on many levels. Pomegranate candles were burning on the coffee table, adding a pleasant tinge to the air.

"We shouldn't have come here," I said. "They're gonna start digging into my relationships. We don't know when they'll come knocking."