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Chapters (97)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright
  4. Dedication
  5. 1.
  6. 2.
  7. 3.
  8. 4.
  9. 5.
  10. 6.
  11. 7.
  12. 8.
  13. 9.
  14. 10.
  15. 11.
  16. 12.
  17. 13.
  18. 14.
  19. 15.
  20. 16.
  21. 17.
  22. 18.
  23. 19.
  24. SIX MONTHS LATER
  25. 20.
  26. 21.
  27. 22.
  28. 23.
  29. 24.
  30. 25.
  31. 26.
  32. 27.
  33. 28.
  34. 29.
  35. 30.
  36. 31.
  37. 32.
  38. 33.
  39. 34.
  40. 35.
  41. 36.
  42. 37.
  43. 38.
  44. 39.
  45. 40.
  46. 41.
  47. 42.
  48. 43.
  49. 44.
  50. 45.
  51. 46.
  52. 47.
  53. 48.
  54. 49.
  55. 50.
  56. 51.
  57. 52.
  58. 53.
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  60. 55.
  61. 56.
  62. 57.
  63. 58.
  64. 59.
  65. 60.
  66. 61.
  67. 62.
  68. 63.
  69. 64.
  70. 65.
  71. 66.
  72. 67.
  73. 68.
  74. 69.
  75. 70.
  76. 71.
  77. 72.
  78. 73.
  79. 74.
  80. 75.
  81. 76.
  82. 77.
  83. 78.
  84. 79.
  85. 80.
  86. 81.
  87. 82.
  88. 83.
  89. 84.
  90. 85.
  91. 86.
  92. 87.
  93. SIX MORE MONTHS LATER
  94. 88.
  95. 89.
  96. Discover More
  97. About the Author

Lopez is retired. Has no actual obligations at this point, except to his own ethics and morality. No responsibilities, except to himself and his own instincts. So he could ask this kid exactly what he’s up to. Or give free rein to the kid’s curiosity and intuition.

“I’ve still got my guys at the Eleventh. I’ll get you that right away.”

Sure enough, Zack’s phone rings with the return call in ten minutes.

“Real name: Demetri Calunius,” says Lopez. “Born Bulgaria, 1958. Arrived in the US in 1969. A couple of arrests here on minor charges but no convictions.”

“Thank you, Detective. I can take it from here…”

“And get this. Immigration records indicate he arrived here unaccompanied. No parents or relatives with him. Alone, at eleven years old.”

“Huh.”

“One more thing to know. International police forces now link a lot of old stored national data. So there might be a way to get information about him growing up in Bulgaria, even though he was only a kid.”

“Huh. Interesting. But I can’t be asking you or them for more research favors. And obviously my looking would require access and permissions and—”

Lopez cuts him off. “Ready? Your password is RLopez5570890. It’s still active.”

Emily hates him. Steve hates him. Chris, the GreenGirl manager, fired him. Dennis, his new GreenGirl manager, tolerates him—for now. But Detective Lopez, retired, living somewhere on eastern Long Island, for whatever mysterious reason, still believes blindly in him.

68.

68.

Zack digs in.

He works on his laptop in a corner of the GreenGirl before his shift. Sits there all day, in fact. Fueled by free coffee.

At six, he folds up his laptop, stows it in the back, and works his shift. Then pulls his stunt once more for camping in the GreenGirl storeroom.

Once Dennis leaves and Zack emerges from the women’s bathroom (he figures this might be the last time he can use this trick), he doesn’t want to risk anyone seeing the laptop’s glow so he works in the back room with the door closed. He barely even notices. He is not in a supply room in a GreenGirl in midtown Manhattan. He is instead immersed in confusing, terrifying Bulgaria in the 1950s and ’60s, thanks to a chain of research links and the help of an extant police password and the wonders of Google Translate.

By morning, he is deep into the history of Bulgaria’s child adoption and foster care system, and 1960s criminal procedure in Sofia, its largest city.

Zack soon understands what he’s looking at. A wake of chaos and collapse, judicial and otherwise, in a repressive postwar Soviet satellite. Laws and rules are in flux, opportunists prevail. But some ingrained systems of the old repressive Soviet regime seem to still be in place, and the judicial clerks, steeped in their ways, knowing nothing else, seem to have kept on dutifully, blindly, making notes and records.