And then Cowl’s gaze moved on, as he was laughing, scowling, grinning, waving, and even playfully flipping one man off. But he didn’t come back to Devine. And Devine wondered two things: why the look had landed in the first place, and what would come of it. Or maybe Cowl was seeing right through Devine and wondering about some problem in the Japanese bond market, or whether a tax audit was going funny, or whether the blond princess would find out he was screwing young, nubile financial whizzes on the fifty-second floor.

  But, no, Devine had seen enough assholes in the world to know that Cowl was staring at him and seeing him, and there was a good reason for it.

  And it was then that he realized his mistake, the one that had been nagging at him the whole ride in.

  Sweet cheeks. He had called Stamos that.

  The same term Cowl had used after screwing her barely a half hour before. Heat-of-the-moment thing on Devine’s part, bravado. And stupid, which bravado almost always was.

  Stamos had told Cowl all of this, and Cowl, smart and paranoid asshole that he was, had put two and two together and decided that Devine had seen things last night he should not have seen.

  Thus the stare. And in that stare, he read decisive action coming.

  So Devine went back for seconds because this actually might be his last decent meal.

  Retired General Campbell would probably have to recruit a new spy.

  CHAPTER

  15

  “TRAVIS?”

  He had just left work when the person had called out to him. He turned to his left and there was Jennifer Stamos.

  “Yeah?”

  She drew closer. She was dressed more casually than he was. Newbies struggling not to drown had no latitude in their professional appearance. But her casual was not that casual. Black jacket and skirt, white blouse with a bit of cleavage exposed. No stockings because of the heat, revealing smooth skin. Sensible low-ride pumps instead of the jacked heels from the previous night.

  “About what happened last night?” She eyed his facial injuries, but made no comment.

  He didn’t know which “about what happened last night” event she was referring to, so he kept silent. You learned more by listening, and by speaking less your words tended not to come back to bite you. He had already made one error on that score. He just stared at her blankly.

  “The fight?” she prompted.

  “What about it?”

  “How did you do that to those guys? They were all bigger than you.”

  “I was in the Army. They teach you how to fight.”

  “That’s right, you told them you were in the military. A Ranger.”

  “Those guys got their shots in on me, for sure. But they knew nothing about really hurting another guy. I do. And I did, last night. But it was their choice, not mine. I walked out, they came after me. I gave them another chance to back off and they didn’t take it. So I had no choice.”

  “I . . . I feel a little guilty. I could have deescalated things.”

  “And I chose to defend myself and walk out of that alley with my brain still intact.”

  “I . . . I couldn’t believe what was happening.”

  “So what happened to them?”

  “I called an ambulance, like you told me to.”

  “And the police?”

  “I didn’t say I called the cops.”

  “Someone sure as hell would have.”

  “Okay, the cops did show up, but I sort of snuck away before that.”

  “Before you ‘snuck’ away, are you sure you didn’t tell anybody my name?”

  She looked surprised at the inquiry. “No, I wouldn’t do that.”

  “Why not? What does it matter to you?”

  “Boy, you sure don’t make it easy for someone to like you.”

  He composed himself and reloaded. Just dial it down, Travis. You need info and she can provide it.

  “I do appreciate you not giving my name away and for warning me about the sneak attack by Rick. But when those guys’ egos act up on them and they get all pissy, they could go to the cops with a whole different angle, where they were the victims instead of being merely stupid and alcohol fueled.”

  “I guess they might.”

  He stared down at her. She looked very small in her two-inch satin pumps. And he looked very big in his cheap suit.

  “Why were you asking all those questions about Sara?”

  “Because she’s dead and I was curious,” he replied.

  “Curious about what? She killed herself.”

  Devine said, “Curious about why she did it. It’s happened before at Cowl. Four years ago. The guy had just been fired via the ever-so-personal email torpedo. And his fiancée gave him the ring back when she found out. So the guy ate a round from a gun he bought illegally two hours later.”

  “How did you find all that out?” she said, looking both puzzled and worried.

  “Come on, these days can anyone actually have a secret that someone else can’t find out about with a few computer clicks?”

  “And do you have secrets?” she said aggressively.

  “A ton of them. And at some point, they’ll come back to bury me.”

  They may already have.

  This statement seemed to take her aback. He decided to change tactics and show he actually had some empathy.

  “Look, Jennifer, I’m not proud of what happened at that bar. While I was trained by the Army to do it, I don’t like wrecking guys. I gave them multiple chances to walk away and they just wouldn’t do it. But I would have much preferred it never happened.”

  “Why were you at the bar?”

  “If you want the truth, I saw you go in. I wanted to talk to you about Sara. She was really nice to me, and I’m beyond bewildered that she would have killed herself. I mean, she had everything to live for, unless I’m missing something.”

  Stamos was quiet for a few moments. “Are you going straight home, or can we get a bite to eat and maybe have a drink? I thought we could talk. You know. About Sara . . . and stuff.”

  He looked at his watch. It was not yet 6 p.m. They let you off early on Saturday, or so they said. Actually, he’d just walked out. There were other newbies up there still analyzing away, writing reports to later be trashed, terrified to leave their seats until the coast was truly clear. Which would, in truth, be never.

  “I’m always game for a beer. And talking about Sara might be good for both of us.”

  “There’s a place I know down by the water.”

  He loosened the skinny tie he’d bought online for three bucks. Then he held out his hand in the direction of the harbor. “After you.”

  CHAPTER

  16

  THEY SAT OUTSIDE AND TOOK in views of the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island set over churning, brackish water. The weather was nice, if humid. A storm might be rolling in as storms often did this time of year after the day’s buildup of heat. It was Mother Nature’s way of venting. They were sitting under an umbrella, but the sun had long since passed over them and was starting its drop into the western horizon, where it would later flame the sky into an alchemy of red and gold. When Devine was in the Middle East he never tired of that sight for one reason: He wasn’t sure he’d be alive to see it again.

  Stamos ordered chips and guac and a margarita. Devine had a Budweiser.

  “They have a lot of good IPAs here,” she pointed out, eyeing his can of beer.

  He drank his drink and said, “Bud is fine with me right now.”

  “You had a Sapporo last night.”

  “That was because last night I was fine with Sapporo.”

  “Have you been to Japan?” she asked.

  He nodded. “And Korea and Germany and all the other usual stops for Army guys.”

  “But you were mostly in the Middle East?”

  “Yeah, mostly there.”

  “And you fought in combat?” she said.

  “That was pretty much all there was there. You wanted to talk about Sara?”

  Stamos stared down at her hands. “She always seemed so put together. I . . . I actually looked up to her. I had pegged a few people there as possible suicide material, but never her.”

  He nodded and said, “She never seemed that way to me either. But you said you didn’t really see that much of her and didn’t know her that well.”

  She wouldn’t meet his eye. “That wasn’t exactly true. I know because of the rankings in the Book everyone thought we were bitter rivals.” She paused and drank her drink, looking out at the Statue of Liberty. “But there’s more to life than work.”

  “As my old Army buddies used to say, ‘You’re preaching to the choir, Devine.’ ”

  She ran her gaze over him. “Devine? Isn’t that Irish? You don’t look Irish.”

  “My father’s definitely Irish, with fair skin and reddish hair. But I’m Greek on my mother’s side. My grandparents came over from Mykonos.”

  “You definitely take after your mother, then.”

  “You Greek on both sides?”

  “Through and through,” she replied.

  “Siblings?”

  “Four sisters. All older.”

  “That must have been a fun household,” he said jokingly.

  “It was, actually,” she said firmly.

  “Stupid remark, sorry.”

  “You have siblings?” she asked.

  “Yeah, they’re wonderfully perfect and smarter than me and have great lives.”

  “Come on,” she said skeptically.

  Devine said, “I’m being serious. That’s exactly who and what they are. Both a lot older than me. Both have hit the very top in their chosen professions.”

  “Oh. You must be proud of them.”

  “I’m glad they’re happy.” He thirstily drank his beer down and waved to the waitress for another. “So, back to Sara. When was the last time you saw her?”

  “About a week before they found her. She came to my office.”

  He looked puzzled. “Why? Last night you said you two were working on different things.”

  “That’s right.”

  She drank her margarita after gumming the salty edges, then squeezed the lime wedge over the chips and dug into the guac. He watched her do this, and then looked out to the water for a moment before glancing back at her.

  “Then why did she come to see you?” he persisted.

  “What, are you playing detective or something?”

  “I’m just playing a human being. So what did she say?”

  “She was asking about some play or other. Whether I’d seen it.”

  His interest perked up. “What was the play? Did she want a recommendation?”

  Stamos fingered the drink and now she looked out toward the water, as though the answers would all be there. “Waiting for Godot. Have you seen it? I don’t know anything about it.”

  Devine nodded. “I actually saw it here in New York, before I shipped out to West Point.”

  “Really? I thought you’d be out binge-drinking or . . . you know . . . the girls.”

  “I had a high school English teacher, Harold Simpson. I told him I was going the officer route at the Point. He told me to go see the play before I did. It happened to be on Broadway back then.”

  “Why did he want you to see it? Did he not want you to join the Army?” she asked.

  “I don’t think that was it. He’d served in the Army during Vietnam. He wasn’t West Point. He got drafted. He came back pissed off and against the war. But he fought. He did his job. And the country treated those vets like shit. Not fair to fight your heart out, survive, and come back to that.”

  “But why would he want you to see that play in particular?” Devine sipped his fresh beer. “I really can’t explain it for you. It’s just that sort of a play. You have to see it for yourself.”

  “Did you like it?”

  “I’m not sure it’s a play you either like or don’t like. I’m not sure that’s the purpose.”

  “Then what is the purpose?”

  He took his gaze from the Statue of Liberty and placed it on her. “What to make of your own life, maybe. But if you ever see it, arrive at your own conclusion. So, you told her you hadn’t seen it. What did Sara say about that?”

  “She said it might be worth going to see. That I might want to check it out.”

  “So she had seen it. Which theater was it?”

  “I forget. Somewhere on Broadway. And recently. But you really can’t believe that a stupid play had something to do with her killing herself?”

  “It’s not a stupid play. Samuel Beckett wrote it, and he later won the Nobel Prize for literature. Are you sure she didn’t tell you more than that about her interest in it?”

  Stamos looked uncertain. “I think she wanted to, but . . . she never came around to telling me. I . . . tried to get her to fill me in. But . . .”

  “But what?”

  “I don’t know, she seemed . . . scared.” She looked up at him. “Does that make any sense?”

  “Maybe it did to her,” he said thoughtfully. “Why exactly did you want to talk to me?”

  “About Sara, like I said.”

  “I think you have something else on your mind.”

  She looked nervously at him. “You were at the office late last night.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I asked the security guard later after you left and I slipped away from the ambulance guys. I went back to the building. He said you had come inside earlier, right after I did.”

  “I didn’t see him.”

  “He was just coming back from making his rounds. He saw you, but you didn’t see him.”

  “Okay, so?”

  “He told me you left right after I did. He thought . . . I mean he didn’t say it, but I believe he thought you and I had . . . you know, gone up there to . . .”

  Devine sat back. Okay, here we go.

  “I left my phone in my cubicle and went back to get it. Is that a crime?”

  Her response was immediate and direct. “I was in there a lot longer than it took for you to get your phone.”

  Yes you were. “And while I was there I logged on and did some work. I didn’t even know you were there, but that’s what you were doing, right? Catching up on some work?”

  “Y-yes, that’s right. A report I was working on.”

  “Well, good for the goose, good for the gander, right?”

  She gave him a searching look and he hoped he had passed the test. Or rather Cowl’s test. Because this further explained the look Brad Cowl had given him in the dining hall earlier. And it also was the reason she had wanted to meet with him.

  “When you left last night, you called me ‘sweet cheeks.’ ”

  Here we go. Round two.

  “It was shitty and degrading. I guess the adrenaline was pumping after the fight and I turned into a stupid punk trying to act big. I used to call the girls in high school that, and I wasn’t referring to their faces. Thought it was cool. I was a jerk. I’m really sorry.”

  Her searching look faded and she looked down. “Apology accepted.”

  Devine rose, opened his wallet, and said, “I need to grab the train home, and then catch up on some sleep and ice my aches and pains. What do I owe you for the beers?”

  She looked up at him. “I invited you for drinks. So I got it.” As he put his wallet away she said, “So, did you kill anybody over there?”

  “That was sort of the point,” answered Devine.

  He headed to the subway, leaving the woman alone with her margarita, chips, and guac.

  And doubts.

  About me.

  And maybe about herself, too.

  CHAPTER

  17

  THE SMOKE-AND-COFFEE CAR was parked out in front of Devine’s place, and Detective Hancock had the driver’s door open. He was sitting sideways in the seat with his feet on the pavement. He looked up as Devine walked into view.

  Hancock stood. As he did, his jacket swung open, revealing a gun in a belt clip holster.

  “You prefer the Glock to the Sig?” asked Devine as he drew nearer.

  Hancock glanced down in surprise. “You can tell just from the butt of the gun?”

  “I can tell from a lot of things.”

  “Army stuff coming through again, huh?”

  “Army green pours through every pore I have. What’s up?”

  Hancock focused on his face. “Whoa, what the hell happened there?”

  “Playing pickup basketball at the high school over there and fell flat on my face trying to do stuff I don’t have the skill to do against kids half my age and a lot better than I’ll ever be. Looks worse than it is.”

  “Right. Leave that shit to the youngsters. I have some follow-ups. Got a minute?”

  “And if I said I’d rather get some shut-eye?” said Devine.

  “Won’t take long. Let’s take a walk. You good with that? Nice night.”

  Devine started walking and Hancock fell in beside him.

  “How’s the investigation coming? Have you found out why she killed herself?”

  “She didn’t kill herself. That’s why I’m here with more questions.”

  Devine stopped walking; so did Hancock.

  “Come again?”

  “She didn’t take her own life. This is now a homicide investigation.”

  Devine held on to that game-changing word for an eternal moment. “Homicide, as opposed to suicide?”

  “This is not for official distribution, you understand,” said Hancock.

  “So why tell me?”

  “I hope being straight with you will make you straight with me, that’s why.”

  “I have been straight with you.”

  “Don’t think so.”

  “But you guys said suicide,” countered Devine.

  “That was the prelim. Things have changed. Homicide can be made to look like suicide, especially for victims who were found hanging.”

  “I know,” said Devine, looking off now.

  “How?” said Hancock quickly. “How do you know?”