Page 25

“Yours is a calling,” I replied. “The rules are different.”

“I suppose we have that much in common. Come on, I’ll show you the house, then leave you to nose around. I don’t want to hang over you while you do whatever it is you do: dust for fingerprints, or listen for dogs that aren’t barking.”

“I don’t do fingerprinting since we unionized,” I said. “And there’s always a dog that isn’t barking, or else I’d have to find another racket.”

She led me to the back door, which opened into a small kitchen,which in turn opened into a living room that wasn’t much bigger. To the left was the hallway and the front door, and beyond the hallway was another narrow room with a dining table and too many chairs. The whole place felt dark and claustrophobic. I couldn’t imagine one person living here happily, or not for long, let alone two.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said, “but I don’t spend much time down here. Upstairs is prettier, with better light. You’ll see.”

“How did you and Wyatt divide up the space?”

“What there is of it, you mean? He kept some of his stuff in the dining room. It’s all still there. I started going through it after he left, then stopped, the paperwork I gave you excepted. It didn’t feel right. I have less of a problem with you poking around because that won’t be personal. We shared the bedroom and had our own closet spaces. Wyatt wasn’t messy or anything, not like some guys I’ve known—though, to be honest, the women I’ve lived with were worse than any boyfriends I’ve had. But Wyatt didn’t have many possessions. It’s hard to make a mess if it’s just you, two bags, and a few books.”

She showed me upstairs. She was right about the layout. It was nearly all bedroom, freshly painted in creams and whites, with paintings and prints on the walls, an Indian rug on the pine floor, and a comfortable armchair by one of its two windows to catch the afternoon sun. The closets were built in and might have been oppressive but for the rattan inlay on the panels. To the right of the bed was a closed door, which presumably led to the bathroom. Through the windows, I could see blue water.

“Toiletries apart, Wyatt’s things are in the closet on the left. The rest, as I said, are in the dining room. If you want to go through my belongings, feel free, unless you blush easily.”

I told her that probably wouldn’t be necessary, and she tapped her welding mask.

“Back to the great effort,” she said. “If you need coffee, there’s a Nespresso machine by the sink and milk in the refrigerator. Soda, too—orbeer, if you’re the type that likes to start early. Anything stronger, you’ll have to buy yourself.”

“Coffee when I’m done. We can talk again then.”

“Okay.” She looked sad and young again. “I really did like Wyatt, you know.”

“I know.”

“But when you find him,” she said, “I’m going to bill him for your time.”

CHAPTERXX

Roland Bilas had been raised Catholic, even if it was years since he’d darkened a church door. Nevertheless, Catholicism was a hard habit to break, and after sharing with Erica Kressler what he’d done, he at last experienced something of the release that came from a shriving. He wasn’t even required to do penance, or not beyond enduring Kressler’s look of mixed incredulity and disgust; he had no intention of sinning again in a similar fashion, because he didn’t think it would actually be possible, some offenses being unique.

When he was done, Kressler let him stew before she spoke.

“I wish you hadn’t told me,” she said.

“You asked,” Bilas pointed out, not unreasonably.

Kressler capped her pen, seemingly fearful that if she did not, she might be tempted to use it, thereby committing to paper that which was better left unrecorded.

“Clients of mine have been threatened in the past,” she said. “Deciding how to handle it is where idealism meets reality. Ideally, we’d ignore threats; in reality, that’s not always an option. My instinct is that you’ll have to throw the feds a bone, one with marrow in it. When the Mexicans are notified of what you were carrying in your suitcase, they’ll want to know how you came by them, which will require you to cooperate. The feds will encourage you to do that because it’ll keep the Mexicanshappy and maintain good relations. If you don’t cooperate, they may decide to make an example of you. Worse, the Mexicans could seek your extradition, given the value and rarity of the items. We can fight the request, but it’ll cost you, and there’s still a good chance you’ll lose. Have you ever seen the inside of a Mexican prison, Roland?”

Roland admitted that he’d never seen the inside of any prison.

“The only Mexican prison I’ve seen was in a Netflix documentary,” said Kressler. “It didn’t appeal, even at one remove, and I doubt you’ll like it any better in person.”

“Technically, the mantas and pottery are Peruvian,” said Bilas. “I just acquired them in Mexico.”

“Really? How interesting. And do you think a Peruvian prison will be significantly more luxurious than a Mexican one?”

“Probably not.”

“Then shut up. How much crossover exists between your personal activities—meaning the textiles and the pottery—and what you did for this man, Devin Vaughn?”

“None, or very little.”

“They’re not the same thing. Which is it, Roland?”