The Dark Room(78)

It wasn’t until they made the last turn to the safe house that Cain understood where they were going. They’d taken the bridge out of the city to the U.S. Coast Guard station on Yerba Buena Island.

The apartments, which must really have been barracks, were in a low building that faced a small, puddle-strewn parading ground. Past that, and a jumble of rocks dumped long ago in a protective seawall, was the bay. He put Lucy’s suitcase on the bed and then stood next to her by the little window. The curtains had faded to the color of sand but might once have been orange. Lucy pushed them back, and they looked out together. The grounds below were dark, and no one was outside. They hadn’t seen anyone at all except the guards at the gate. There were no boats tied up along the quay, though there seemed to be enough docking space for several. Rain pooled on the empty concrete piers. Maybe all the guardsmen were on patrol.

Across the bay, the port of Oakland blinked in and out of the fog. Four-legged cranes with their long necks, ships tied up underneath them as they gave up their loads of Chinese cargo.

“I brought a couple of books,” Lucy said. “Thick ones.”

“That was a good idea.”

“You’ll be careful?”

“I promise.”

“Are you going back to the house?”

“I’ll probably have to.”

He might have to go for the investigation; he might have to go because he hadn’t thought to pack anything for himself. Not even a toothbrush.

“The back of my calendar has a list of all my students. Their parents’ phone numbers.”

“I’ll call them.”

“But don’t say what happened,” Lucy said. “Or they’ll never come back.”

He nodded and reminded himself to call Frank Lee. He’d seen the calendar on the music room floor, with blood on it. It probably wasn’t in the house anymore. But Frank could pull it from the evidence boxes and make the calls.



The bed was just wide enough for the two of them if they slept on their sides, spooned together. That would be okay. There was a little desk, built into the wall. Next to it was a chest of drawers with a small TV on top of it, the kind with a bunny-ear antenna set on top. He wasn’t sure if it would work or not, but it didn’t matter. They wouldn’t turn it on.

The sink in the bathroom was bolted straight to the wall, the pipes hanging down underneath. Rust showed in scratches at the bottom of the shallow bath. The walls were made of dark-paneled pressboard; the light came from a bare sixty-watt incandescent bulb.

He came back and sat on the end of the little bed, next to Lucy.

“What do you have to do now?” she asked.

“Find him.”

“But how?”

He thought about that. He thought about Grassley, who was probably in the basement beneath 850 Bryant Street by now. Grassley hadn’t liked to be alone down there, but he would be tonight, until Dr. Levy’s assistants came in and moved him to the steel table. On the ride from the city, Nagata had called to update them on Chun’s status. She was out of surgery, but her brain was swelling. She’d been hit in the head with something. A hammer, a bat. The butt of her own gun, after it had been taken from her. They still didn’t know, and Chun was in no position to tell them. The last Nagata had heard, the doctors were debating whether or not to induce a coma.

Cain had only just been getting to know both of them, was just figuring out what each of them had to offer. And he’d overlooked so much, even though it had been right there for him to see. He’d ascribed no significance to the way Grassley always waited for Chun, walked alongside her. It had been right there for him to pick up, but that was true for everything. All of the evidence was sitting in plain sight, waiting to be recognized.

“Gavin?” Lucy said. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.”

There was a tap on the door. A pause, then two more taps.

Cain got off the bed and walked to the door, then bent down to look through the peephole—Fischer. He let her in, then sat down on the bed again, gesturing for her to take the chair at the built-in desk.

“I’ll knock tomorrow morning,” she said. “Six thirty. They’re bringing my car over, so we’ll use that.”

“Okay.”

“We’ll do this, Cain.”

“Okay.”

“Every day, we get a little closer. Tomorrow, even more.”

“What about Lucy?” Cain asked. “She’ll need to eat, and there’s nothing here.”

There was no kitchenette in the room, not even a mini fridge or a plastic cup in the bathroom. If she wanted water, she’d have to drink straight from the tap.

“Downstairs, on the other side of the quad, there’s a cafeteria. There are signs pointing the way.”

“It’ll be open?”

“They do coffee and sandwiches all night—for dispatch, for the fast boat crews,” Fischer said. “Breakfast starts at seven.”

“She can walk the grounds and no one will bother her?”

“There’s no place safer.”

“You’ve stayed here before.”

“Twice,” she said. She looked at Lucy. “It’s not bad. If you go in the cafeteria, you’ll find people to talk to, if you want. But if you’d rather be left alone, they’ll do that.”