A cashmere sweater. A pair of cashmere socks. A pair of handcrafted leather shoes. He examined his reflection in the mirror. Archie had never looked more in his life like he was wearing someone else’s clothes.

Archie picked his filthy tux pants off the floor and transferred his phone and the compass into Jack’s pockets, and then tucked his gun in his waistband.

Finally, he picked up the brass pillbox with the hair in it.

The pillbox was small, about the size of a child’s palm. The brass lid shone under the bathroom lights. Archie held it in his hand for a long moment—such a perfect pretty object in his imperfect hand—and then he slipped the box into his pocket. There were many explanations, but that didn’t mean it would hurt to run a DNA analysis, if only for his peace of mind. There was nothing to do about the rented tuxedo and shoes. They were ruined. Archie picked up the dirty clothes and eased them into the bathroom trash. As the tux fell from his hands the image of the gargoyle flashed in his mind again. His throat burned and he rubbed his eyes. Then he snatched the bottle of pills off the vanity. He pocketed the bottle as he headed downstairs. The pills made a satisfying rattle every time he took a step.

Chapter 19

CHAPTER

19

The van was small and dark and crowded and it smelled like BO and stale peanut butter and mildew and cigarettes. The cop with the five o’clock shadow sat in front of a bank of monitors, switches, and dials. Susan had to sit on the carpet, which was gray and stained with spilled coffee. Inside, the van didn’t look like a van at all, but more like a recording studio in a submarine. The cop with the stubble was named Richard. He was sitting in a gray velour chair with armrests that looked like it had been salvaged from the driver’s side of an RV. Richard’s partner called himself Bear. He had a Vandyke beard and dark oval wire sunglasses pushed up on top of his head, and a stool to sit on that wasn’t as comfortable as the chair, but still better than the carpet.

“I can call a cab,” Susan said, twisting her legs around in an effort to get comfortable.

“Sanchez will be here in a few minutes,” Bear said.

She’d been waiting for Sanchez for an hour now. Richard and Bear couldn’t leave their post, apparently. But they also wouldn’t let her leave until she was debriefed. She wondered if getting debriefed by the FBI involved waterboarding. She hoped it involved a bubble bath and an expensive hotel suite.

“Someone’s on the move,” Richard said, his narrow eyes on one of the monitors.