He exhaled. It was all Dietz.
“Here’s the kicker,” Dietz went on. “I had someone I know up there keep an eye on him. At night he’s been watching over a house in Greenwich in his own car.”
“Whose?”
“A woman. Someone you know well, Saul.”
Lennick blanched. “Karen?”
He tried to piece it together. Did Karen somehow know? Even if she had found out about the incident with Lauer, how would she possibly have connected it with the other? A year ago. She had found the safe-deposit box, the passport, the cash.
Did Karen somehow know that Charles was alive?
Lennick moistened his lips. They had to speed this up. He pressed Dietz. “How are things going down there?”
“We’re making progress. I’ve had to do some ‘off-road’ stuff, if you know what I mean. But that never seemed to bother you before. I think he’s on a boat somewhere. But somewhere close. I’ve traced him through three of his banks. He’ll need money. I’ll have him soon. I’m closing in.
“But, listen,” Dietz said, “regarding the detective, he may have found certain things in my office … related to what I’m doing here. Maybe even about you. I can’t be sure.”
A police detective? Things were growing deeper than Lennick was comfortable with. That was surely crossing the line. Still, what choice did he have?
“You know how to handle these things, Phil. I’ve got to go.”
“One more thing,” Dietz said. “If the detective knows, there’s always the chance that she knows, too. I realize you’re friendly. That you have something to do with her kids.”
“Yes,” Lennick muttered blankly. He was fond of Karen. And, having been like an uncle to them since they were small, in charge of their family trusts, you could say he did have something to do with the kids.
But it was business. Lauer had been business, the Raymond kid had been business, too. The furrows on his face were carved deep and hard. They made him seem older—older than he’d felt in years.
“Just do whatever it is you have to do.”
Lennick clicked off. He splashed some water on his face, smoothed back his hair. Shuffling in his slippers, he trudged back to bed.
The evening news had finished. Mimi had turned off the light. David Letterman was on. Lennick turned to her to see if she was asleep. “Shall we catch the monologue, dear?”
Karen waited two days. Charles didn’t reply.
She wasn’t sure he ever would.
She knew Charles. She tried to imagine the shock and dismay that her e-mail must have caused.
The same shock he had caused when she saw his face up on that screen.
Karen checked her e-mails several times a day. She knew what must be going through him now. Sitting in some remote part of the globe, the careful construct of his new life suddenly crumbling. It must be killing him—retracing every step, running through a thousand possibilities.
How could she possibly know?
How many times, Karen imagined, he would have read over those two words. Replaying everything in his mind, racking his brain, all the preparations he had made. His bowels acting up. Not sleeping. Things always affected Charles that way. You owe me, she said to him silently, relishing this image of him, panicked, rocked. You owe me for the hurt you put me through. The lies …
Still, she couldn’t forgive him. Not for what he’d done to her—to the kids. She no longer knew if there was love between them. If there was anything still between them, other than the memory of a life spent together. Still, it didn’t matter. She just wanted to hear from him. She wanted to see him—face-to-face.
Answer me, Charlie …
Finally, after three days, Karen typed out another message. She closed her eyes and begged him.
Please, Charlie, please….I know it’s you. I know you’re out there. Answer me, Charlie. You can’t hide any longer. I know what you’ve done.
I know what you’ve done!
Charles sat in the corner of a quiet Internet café in the harbor on Mustique, where he had put in, staring in horror at Karen’s latest message.
A collection of dreadlocked locals drinking Jamaican beer and a party of itinerant German surfers in tattoos and bandannas. He had a pressing fear, even here, that everything was closing in on him.
I know what you’ve done!
What? What do you know I’ve done, Karen? And how? Hidden behind his shades, he took a sip of a Caribe and read the message over for the tenth time. He knew she would keep at it. He knew her. This was no longer something he could just ignore.
And how in hell did you find me?
What do you want me to say to you, Karen? That I’m a bastard? That I betrayed you? Charles could sense the anger resonating in her words. And he didn’t blame her. He deserved whatever she felt. To have left them as he did. To have put them through that anguish. The loss of a husband, a father. Then, after it all finally subsided, to suddenly find out he was alive!
Answer me, Charlie.
What do you know, Karen?
If you knew, truly knew, you would understand. At least a little. That it was never to hurt you. That would have been the last thing in my heart.
But to protect you, Karen. To keep you safe. To keep Sam and Alex safe as well. You would know why I had to stay away. Why, when the door opened and the path presented itself, I had to “die.”
Please, Charlie, please…. Answer me, Charlie.
The surfers were cackling loudly in German at something they had found on YouTube. A heavyset island woman in a colorful shift sat down across from him, towing a young daughter sipping on a Fanta. Charles realized he had spent so much of the past year hiding, in shadows, turning away from who he was. From everything he once loved.
But all of a sudden it was like he felt alive again. For the first time in a year! It was clear to him, you could never fully kill it. What was inside you. Who you are.
And now Charles realized that if he only touched this key, a flick of his hand, sent this message back, answered her, it reopened everything. The whole world changed again.
I know what you’ve done.
He took a swig of beer. Maybe it was time to move on again. To Vanuatu in the Indian Ocean. Or back to Panama. No one would find him. He had money there.
He lifted his shades. He looked closely at the words he had written. Pandora’s box was about to open again. For her and for him. And this time there would be no closing it. No sudden bomb blast interfering—nowhere to hide.
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