The Chaos Kind (John Rain #11)(48)

She came in through the back of the building and let herself into her apartment. Ordinarily, Frodo, hearing the key in the lock, would be waiting at the door. But not this time. The lights were on, but the apartment was silent.

“Frodo? Where are you, boy?”

No response. She felt a little uneasy. Could Ali still have been walking him? Not impossible, but . . .

The peacoat was hanging by the front door. She reached into the pocket and pulled out her phone. A text from Dave—sent just a minute after she’d run out, naturally. His plane had been delayed, but they had landed and he was on the way. He could still meet her if she wanted, or another time. She smiled, and realized she’d really been worried that he’d blown her off. But . . .

“Frodo?” she said again. He always greeted her. Ali was still out with him. That must have been it.

She saw lights flashing against the venetian blinds. She went to the window and peeked through.

There were police cars all over the street. An ambulance. People standing around at the periphery. And at the center . . . Oh, God, was that someone lying on the sidewalk?

She bolted out the door, down the stairs, and through the front entrance. Yes, someone was on the sidewalk. But there was yellow tape strung up and people in the way and she couldn’t get close enough to see.

She heard whimpering. Frodo. She turned and saw a uniformed cop, a woman, holding him.

“Frodo,” she said, running over. “Frodo, I’m here, boy.”

“Yours?” the cop said.

“Yes. Yes. Come here, boy. Oh, my God.”

The cop handed him over. Frodo whimpered and licked her cheek. She turned and looked at the person on the ground again. But there were still too many people, and shadows from the lights flashing from the patrol cars. She tried to tell herself she was wrong, it was someone else, but the clothes, and who else could have been with Frodo . . .

“Do you know her?” the cop asked.

Maya was suddenly aware she was crying. “Yes. I mean, I’m not sure. Oh, my God, what happened?”

“Detective,” the cop called out, holding up a hand. “Over here.” One of the people kneeling near the person on the sidewalk stood. He clicked off a flashlight and started over. As he ducked under the yellow tape, Maya saw a tough-looking guy with a dark goatee and a badge hanging from a lanyard. “Someone who knows the deceased,” the cop added.

“Deceased?” Maya said. “What, no, that isn’t possible . . .” She looked again. She had to fight the urge to shout at Ali to get up, this joke wasn’t funny . . .

“I’m Detective Pacquiao,” the goateed guy said. “Do you know Ms. Watkins?”

“Oh no,” Maya said, shaking her head. Frodo was licking her tears, but she barely felt it. “No, no.”

“I’m sorry. Believe me, I know how shocking this can be. Do you know her?”

“Yes. But . . . I don’t understand.”

“She was shot. She was with the dog . . . Yours?”

“Yes. She was walking him for me. I had a date. Who didn’t even show up. But . . . why? Why would anyone shoot Ali?”

“At the moment, we think a mugging. I’m so sorry. Take a minute, and we’ll have a few questions for you, okay?”

Maya tried to answer, but she was crying too hard. She thought, I shouldn’t have asked you. You’d be fine now, none of this would have happened, it’s my fault.

She realized with relief tinged by shame that if she hadn’t asked, probably she herself would be the one on the sidewalk.

I don’t care if it would have been me. It should have been me.

And then a crystal-clear shard of a thought cut through her confusion and grief: It was supposed to be me.

She didn’t know where the thought came from. She couldn’t have articulated the basis.

All she knew was that she had to call Tom.





chapter

thirty-eight





RAIN


It was past midnight and they were back in Delilah’s apartment. Rain was at the laptop. He’d read the secure-site update from Larison. And he’d seen more fallout on the news: Schrader, mysteriously released from prison; three men killed in the Seattle Four Seasons; QAnon protests sprouting in major cities all over the States. He needed to go. But there were no flights until morning.

It was strange to imagine them all doing something without him. He’d wound up as the group’s de facto leader twice before. It wasn’t a role he had asked for, or one for which he considered himself well suited. But at the same time, the thought of them operating alone was . . . worrisome. Was he just flattering himself? Or looking for an excuse to get back in the game?

“Just so you know,” Larison had said, “Dox thought about bringing you in at the outset. But it sounds like you’ve persuaded him you’re serious about being retired. So you can blame this on me. I’m not as solicitous. Plus I don’t really believe you. Look at me, I live in paradise with someone I love. This is the kind of thing I do for a vacation. I don’t think you’re so different.”

Rain had thought about protesting, but then didn’t. What would it have accomplished? Beyond which, he was afraid Larison could be right. And that protesting would prove it.

He looked over at Delilah. She was sitting on the couch on the other side of the room, pretending to read. It was strange to have to coordinate on something like this. There had been a time in his life when there was no need to compromise, when he had lived alone, aloof, apart. But when he looked back on that time now, he realized all of it was itself a giant compromise, one that, while protecting his body, had been steadily suffocating his soul.