Chapter 17: What Warner Knew

Warner took his phone out of his coat pocket and held it up to me in front of the whole lobby.

"Watch it," he said. "Then tell me who you sleep beside."

The screen showed a street at night.

I knew the corner before the picture steadied.

A bus shelter, a dry cleaner with its grate down, a storm drain.

The time in the corner of the frame said 9:04 p.m.

A grey sedan sat at the curb with its engine running and its lights on.

"That's Monday night, the night before you left him," Warner said. "From his car to dawn, six hours and more. He was back last night."

I should have turned away.

I took the phone out of his hand instead, and he let me.

At 9:09 the driver's door opened, and Declan got out.

He walked into the middle of the intersection and stopped.

There was no traffic.

He stood in the crossing with his arms out from his sides and his face lifted toward the empty road.

He stood there for the whole minute.

At 9:11 his arms dropped.

He walked to the curb and sat down on it with his head in his hands, and he stayed there until the picture jumped to the grey of morning.

The lobby had gone silent.

I watched the sedan sit through the night with its engine running and its headlights burning on an empty street.

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