Hawkins left his mother watching the Lawrence Welk show and followed Rachel’s route along the street and up onto the Expressway. He turned right at the interchange and headed for eastern Long Island. He reached Laurel by ten-­thirty, found Sutter Lane, and drove slowly until he saw the van in a driveway. He stopped across the street and looked at their house. It was medium-­sized. Bigger than his. Two magnolia trees stood on either side of the door and they were just starting to show pink blossoms. The downstairs was lit and he knew if he walked around the back the kitchen would be, too. He watched the windows and wondered what they were doing behind them. Leah would be asleep and Rachel would have made Levy something to eat. A sandwich probably, since it was so late. Tuna fish, or sliced cold roast beef. Levy loved that, on black bread which he’d smear with a cut piece of garlic. They must be in the kitchen together. He was eating and she was making tea. All Hawkins had to do was get out of the car, ring the bell, and he’d see Levy at last. He stared at the house until he saw Jacob come into the front room; Hawkins strained to see his features, but he was too far away. A wind came up and blew the curtains and Levy crossed the room to shut the window. Hawkins slipped down in his seat; he heard the window close and after a moment he sat up again. The front lights were out, there was no porch light, and from the street the house was dark. The scene was peaceful again.

Hawkins started his car and drove up the street until he reached number eighteen, the Garner house.

TV cables had torn furrows in the lawn and reporters and bystanders had knocked stones off the front fence. There was a light on the first floor and another upstairs. The door was closed but looked crooked. One of the guards came over to Hawkins.

“Please move on,” he said politely.

Hawkins showed him his badge, got out, and stood at the entrance to the drive. The guards waited. Hawkins looked at the empty lit windows for a while. It had been a pretty house, top of the heap for a black man from Norwalk, Connecticut.

“Is it empty now?” he asked. The cop nodded and Hawkins got out of his car and went up the path.