Christine Fitzgerald was almost to the front door when the boy came in. She stopped, surprised. "Lee?"
Lee Fusco, Lionel's son, was dressed for school and had his backpack over his shoulder. "Hey, Miss Scotty," he said, looking at the floor.
"Is your dad parking the car or what?"
"No, I'm …" His face went red and he didn't seem to know where to look. He shifted from foot to foot, glanced up at her. "I'm, um, here by myself. I need to talk to you."
"Okay." Christine dropped her own bag on a chair and took off her coat. "You want some mocha or something?"
"I, um, no, that's okay."
She gestured him into a chair on the other side of the table and sat down. "Does your dad know you're here?"
"No."
"Ah, shit, Lee."
He looked up again. "I didn't know what else to do. Dad said if I got jammed up and I didn't know where to go I could talk to you."
"You can talk to me," Christine assured him. "Take your coat off."
He did, awkwardly, without standing up. "You can't tell him I was here. He'll kill me."
"No kidding."
"Really. You gotta promise."
"I can't, Lee." Christine shook her head. "Not until I know what's going on."
The boy hesitated. "I should go." He started to shrug back into his coat.
"If you leave now, I'll be on the phone before you get to the sidewalk."
The boy looked stricken. Scared.
"Look," she said calmly, "tell me what the problem is. If we can solve it without getting your dad into it, we will. And then I'll decide whether he needs to hear about it or not. But I can't just promise you I won't tell him until I know what it is. I won't lie to you that way. If I think you're in danger, or I think he needs to know, I will help you tell him."
The boy stared at the table top for a very long time, thinking it through.
"It's the best offer you're going to get," Christine finally said. "And trust me, your dad's a lot better at handling things than you're giving him credit for."
Lee shook his head. "It's not that. He's a required reporter."
"A what?"
"We learned in school, in health class. If I tell him, he has to report it."
She felt her pulse start to race. Required to report child abuse. Cops, teachers, social workers. Damn it. She took a deep breath and made herself speak calmly. "Okay. Let's have it."
He looked around the café anxiously. "The thing is … I have this friend. And she was, um …" The boy's cheeks got redder every second. He looked away again. "When you caught me, when your computer caught me, um, looking for, um …"
"Porn," Christine supplied.
"Yeah." She didn't think he could be any redder, but he managed one more shade. "It wasn't me. It was my friend." He glanced up swiftly. "I know what that sounds like, like everybody must say that, but it … it's true. It really was her and not me. I didn't even know about it." He looked down again. "I didn't even know girls liked that stuff."
Christine fought to keep her face blank. "Yeah, they do, sweetie."
Lee took a deep breath. That seemed to have been the hard part of the conversation, because his cheeks slowly faded to a more normal color. "Anyhow, yesterday after school, she asked me if she could look on my computer again. And I told her no, 'cause, you know, I got caught and I knew I'd get caught again, and I thought she'd be cool with it, but she, um, she started crying."
The woman waited.
"And so I got to thinking," Lee finally continued. "When she was looking before, she wasn't just, you know, looking at naked guys or whatever. She was searching in girls. Which was kinda … I mean, I don't care if she's into girls, but I was surprised 'cause I kinda thought she liked me, but whatever. But I remembered she was looking for something really really specific. A description of a certain girl. Like, you know, if you were looking for an actress but you couldn't remember her name so you just put in her description?"
"She wasn't looking for an actress, though."
The boy shook his head gravely. "I think she was looking for herself."
Christine sighted softly. Then she reached across the table and took Lee's hand. "Did she tell you who's taking the pictures?"
"She wouldn't tell me anything. And I didn't really ask. She was crying. I was just … when it was going on I just wanted her to stop crying, you know? But then I got to thinking, last night, about everything she said and then all the stuff she didn't want to talk about and I … but if I'm wrong, if she's just … I don't know, Dad says everybody explores and maybe she's just … I mean, if you accuse somebody of this and it's wrong, her whole family could be … but if it's not, I can't just …can you help me? Please?"
"Oh, yes," Christine said. "I can help you. And I will." She squeezed his hand. "As it happens, I am probably the best predator hunter in the city. I will find out who's taking this girl's picture, if anybody is, and I will stop them."
He looked at her steadily for the first time. "Thank you." And then, "What about my dad?"
"Let me dig around some," she said. "I'll see what's up, if this has any legs to it. But then we're going to have to tell him." She considered the boy. Because whatever happened, the children – Lee and his friend both – were going to need some kind of counseling. Decent therapy now might prevent a lifetime of pain for them. But she'd need Lionel's help to make it happen.
"But he'll have to report it."
"Like I said, I'll dig first. So we'll know exactly what we're dealing with." She nodded to herself. "If we need him to, your dad will bend the rules for us."
Lee looked at her doubtfully.
"This will be okay," Christine assured him. "I will find out the truth, I promise. If someone's hurting your friend, I will stop them. And then I will help you talk to your dad about it. This is going to be okay." She released his hand and sat back. "I need you to tell me everything you know about her. And then – how did you even get here?"
"On the bus."
"Won't the school call your mom when you don't show up?"
The boy looked away again. "She always leaves her e-mail logged in when she's home. I sent a message to my school saying I had a dentist appointment this morning. And then I just got on a different bus."
"And you came all the way here by yourself."
He gave a small imitation of his father's smirk. "I can read a bus schedule."
"You display a disturbing level of original thinking," Christine answered. She considered. "If I take you back to school, can you get through the rest of the day? Keep your game face on?"
Lee nodded. "Yeah."
"All right. Let's do that, then. And I'll find out what I can."
"Should I say something to Marisa?"
"No. Let me handle it. You have a cell phone?"
"Yeah."
"All right." She brought got a pad and pen from the converted bar and gave it to him. "Write down your number, and everything you know about her. I'll call you when I know something, but that'll probably be after school, okay?"
"Okay."
"Let's go, then. You can write while I drive."
Lee scrambled back into his coat. "Thank you."
"You can thank me if I actually accomplish anything." She grabbed her own coat. "Come on."
Red Geis stared at the empty lot.
He looked at the scrap of paper he'd scrawled in the business center. Then he looked at the addresses on each side of the lot. He was in the right place. He hadn't had any doubt, of course. It had been decades since he'd lived here, but he hadn't forgotten his first home.
He'd shut off the GPS in the rental car within three blocks of the hotel. It was too cheerful, too annoying. And he thought he knew his way around still. He didn't, of course; even the streets he remembered had changed. But his general sense of direction was true. He'd only made a few wrong turns before he got there.
He remembered everything about the house that had stood there. The scraggly twisted tree in the back yard. The loose board in the living room floor that he used to kick while he sprawled on his stomach watching cartoons. The way the back screen door squeaked. The light over the kitchen sink that flickered sometimes.
And other things. So many other things.
The house was gone. It looked like it had burned down. There was nothing there now but rubble, hidden in high brown weeds that the winter hadn't quite killed, and trash. A short pile of bricks stood where the chimney had been.
It seemed appropriate, somehow.
Geis climbed out of the car and walked to the sidewalk. He looked up and down the street. No one was out. He doubted that anyone who lived here would know where the man had gone, anyhow. It looked like it had been years since the fire. Of course the phone book hadn't been updated. No one even used phone books any more. He should have used the computer.
He looked around one last time. Then he got back in the car, reluctantly turned on the GPS, and drove to nearest library branch. It was closed; apparently it had been for some time. So much for modern navigation. It took him half an hour and several wrong turns to find the next-closest one. It took him even longer to make the public-access computer tell him what he wanted to know.
He missed the simplicity of the basic computer on his desk in the precinct. He knew what he was doing there; he could find anything. This whole internet thing was a pain in the ass.
Eventually, he found what he was looking for. Maybe.
Then he had to find a city map; he couldn't bear the GPS voice any more.
By the time he left, the librarian was watching him curiously. Belatedly, Geis realized that he'd been muttering under his breath for some time. He shrugged, embarrassed, and walked out.
Harold Finch's phone chirped softly.
He glanced at the screen. There was no message.
He stood up and got his coat. Bear bounced to his feet. "Yes," Finch said, "you might as well come along." He pocketed the phone, got the dog's leash, and left the library.
Ten blocks away, a pay phone rang. Bear waited patiently while Finch answered it and listened. Then they walked back to the library.
The dog trotted over to his food bowl, which should have been empty. He picked up something from it and crunched happily. Finch shuddered at the sound of the mouse skull crushing between the dog's teeth. He needed to remember to start checking the bowl before Bear did. On reflection, though, the idea of removing the mouse heads that the cat deposited there was just as distasteful as listening to the dog eating them. He shuddered again and clicked on his phone. "Mr. Reese?"
"New Number, Finch?"
"Yes."
"I'm on my way."
Harold detoured to the drawer and got a special treat for Bear. They were a new type which he and Reese had researched and located together. They were mint-scented.
Finch told himself that they took the vague and probably imaginary smell of carrion off the dog's breath.
On second thought, he got another treat and gave them both to the dog.
Still vaguely dissatisfied, he sat down at his computer and started the research on their new Number.
They started at FAO Schwartz.
Will stopped just inside the door of the massive toy store and looked around helplessly. "We don't even know what she likes."
"Tigers," Julie pronounced simply.
"Tigers."
"We talked about it in the ER. She loves tigers. Everything tigers. But not Tigger. She is not into the Pooh thing. That's for babies."
Will nodded. "The things you learn about people," he said. "Okay, tigers."
"We should get them a new car seat," Julie said, gesturing to a section to the side. They walked that way.
"The one they had did fine."
"They're like motorcycle helmets," she said. "Once they've been in an accident they should be replaced."
"I did not know that."
"That's because you don't have a hundred siblings." She sighed. "Crap. I'd managed to forget about that."
"I'll be fine with your parents," he insisted. "Maybe they need a car."
"My parents?"
Will smirked at her.
"They should have insurance," Julie answered. "Although, that car was pretty old, they may only have liability. I suppose the driver that caused the wreck's insurance should cover them."
"The drunk? You think he's insured?"
"Hmmm." Julie walked into the row of car seats, bypassing the newborn models. "Good point. It's tricky, though. I mean, toys, small gifts, people don't get upset about. Cars are … big."
"I wonder if Uncle Harold could find out."
"About the insurance? Probably."
"If they're not covered," Will said slowly, "I wonder if he could find some way to … have the insurance pay them off anyhow."
"You mean launder our money on an insurance check?" she said.
"You think that's a bad idea."
"I think it's a great idea," Julie corrected. "And I think your uncle could probably pull it off."
"He's always been good at subterfuge." Will shook his head. "I meant to give you the ring this morning."
Julie squinted at him. "How do subterfuge and engagement rings go together, exactly?"
"Well, Uncle Harold, and then Dad, and then Mom, and then Mom's ring. Obviously."
"Obviously." Julie nodded, unconvinced. "Your mind is a fascinating place sometimes, Ingram."
A saleswoman came up to them. "Can I help you?"
"We need a car seat," Julie announced. "For a toddler. She's two."
The woman nodded, led them a little further down the row. "How much does she weigh?"
"Thirty-two pounds."
Will looked at her and Julie smiled. "They weighed her in the ER."
"You probably want a convertible model, then," the saleswoman said. "Something that can be used as a booster when she gets a little bigger."
"What's the safest convertible you have?" Will asked.
"Well, this one," she said, pointing. She looked them over subtly; the jeans, the casual shoes, the older coats. "But it's quite expensive. If you'd like something a little more economical …"
"Price doesn't matter," Will assured her. He smiled to himself. He almost never used those words, even though they were completely true. This time he liked the way they sounded.
"Then this is the one you want."
Julie nodded. "Can you deliver?" They'd taken a cab, because parking was always a nightmare; getting something as big as a car seat home would be problematic.
"Of course. Come to the check-out and I'll get your information. Or do you have more shopping to do?"
"We need a tiger," Will announced cheerfully.
The woman hesitated. "A tiger. A toy tiger?"
"A tiger for a two-year old."
The woman glanced to her left, and Will realized that she'd caught sight of the security guys who were following them. They were a comfortable distance away; he's mostly forgotten about them himself. To her credit, the saleswoman's attitude barely shifted; she probably treated all her customers as if they could afford to shop there.
She led them to the land of stuffed animals.
There were life-sized stuffed tigers, and there were palm-sized little toys. "Something cuddly," Julie said. The two of them started looking through the assortment. Of course the tigers were mixed in with the other animals, so it took a bit of searching.
"I'll be right back," the sales lady said. "I might have something else to show you."
When she was out of earshot, Will said, "We don't even know her last name."
"Bella's?"
"Yeah. We can't have them ship to her house if we don't know where she lives."
Julie considered, then brought out her cell phone. She added the code that would block her information when she dialed, and asked for admissions. "Hi," she said when they answered, "this is Melanie, from Dr. Cooker's office. He saw a patient in the ER last night and I'm trying to get the billing together, but I can't read his notes."
Will looked at her, bemused.
"Yes, a little girl, two years old. She was in a car accident. Brought in with her pregnant mother? It looks like her name is, it starts with a B, maybe Bella? Bertha? This man, I swear …"
"Bella Flores, yes, that looks right. I guess. Do you have an address?"
Will gave her his notepad and she scribbled the address down. "Thanks so much."
As she put her phone away, he shook his head. "Speaking of good at subterfuge."
"Hey, I got it, didn't I?"
"Remind me about the ring when we get home."
She made a face. "Y'know, maybe we should wait on the ring until you meet my family."
"Julie …"
"It's not that I don't want to marry you, I promise. But if I walk in there with a rock on my hand they will lose their minds. More than they're already going to."
Will sighed. "Fine. But remind me to show it to you. We probably have to get it sized or whatever anyhow."
The saleswoman came back with a t-shirt on a hanger. It was covered with black and orange stripes, and said the word Tiger across the front. "I thought you might like this," she said.
"I love that," Julie answered. "Is that the right size, do you think?"
"It should be, for her weight. I also found this." She brought out a clear vinyl bag. The contents were also tiger-striped. "It's a car seat cover."
"Perfect," Will pronounced. He picked up a tiger off the shelf. It was very squishy and soft. "And this."
Julie reached and picked up a smaller version of the same tiger. "And this one, for the baby."
"Yes."
The saleswoman smiled. "There's an infant, too?"
"On its way."
"We have the shirt in newborn size, too."
Will grinned. "Yes, to all of it."
It took rather a long time to get checked out. They picked wrapping paper for the tigers and shirts, wrote out a little card for the parents, and gave the clerk the address to have them delivered to. She seemed pleased to see Will's onyx Amex card, but again she didn't change her behavior in any discernible way.
Will and Julie didn't notice the woman with the cell phone, apparently a tourist taking a video inside the store. The bodyguards did, but the giant toy store was such a New York landmark that they didn't find it remarkable. Or reportable.