While the team was in NY getting ready for the gala and the Careeses were on their way to the island, what have some of the other players on the board been up to? Let's briefly check in with them, then we'll catch up with John and Joss.
XXX
The killer waved as he hefted a duffle bag over his shoulder. He was a little taller than Ricky Hansen, whose dead body was in the duffle bag, but he knew at this distance from the rundown private airport's main hangar, with the pilot's jacket and hat on, nobody would notice the difference. They only thing they'd be concerned about was their payment, all in cash, securely locked away in a container under the pilot's seat.
He'd snapped Ricky's neck quickly, cleanly and efficiently, so quickly that Ricky hadn't had time to react, his face placid and open as the killer closed the dead man's eyes. Again the killer felt a twinge of regret; he could have let Ricky live, could have even used him for the return trip to Ashbow, where he planned to gleefully watch the shock, grief and hysteria over the Careeses' deaths.
But he'd decided at the last minute that Ricky was a loose end that he couldn't afford; a snap decision, he smiled wryly, but the right one.
Besides, he reminded himself, Ricky had been playing a dangerous game for a long time; the criminals he worked for would curse when they learned of his death, then shrug and move on to the next pilot on their list.
The killer strode purposely to a nondescript van that Ricky had secured for him as part of the arrangements, tossed the duffle and his own small valise in the back and drove away.
XXX
"We're here, New York!" Brittany Boucher shouted happily as she twirled around in a circle.
Brittany laughed as she watched the crowds surging past her and Matt Storey. The day so far had been a delicious blur; racing back to their apartments to toss a few things into bags, then rushing to the Ashbow airport. While Matt had worked on a number of construction jobs around the country, Brittany had only been as far east as Chicago; she was glowing with excitement and the smiles and frank glances from the other travelers leering at her ample breasts excited her even more.
She tantalized them by removing her bra in the restroom while they were waiting to board the plane, her nipples hardening as she imagined other men - more powerful, more richer, more everything men - wanting her and desiring her as she walked through the gala, men who could buy and sell the men who eyes followed her now as she boarded their first flight.
Smiling as Matt's eyes became hooded with desire as he watched the other men watching her, Brittany squealed loudly when as soon as he could, he pulled her into the plane's lavatory. "We're gonna join the Mile High Club, baby," Matt growled as he slammed her against the wall and roughly entered her.
She gasped with pleasure at the thought of other people knowing exactly what she and Matt were doing in there.
But that pleasure would be nothing against being at the gala tonight, Brittany thought, seeing and being seen by the people who really mattered.
"We're in New Jersey, babe," Matt said smugly, pointing at one of the signs. "Newark Airport, remember?"
She rolled her eyes. "I know where we are, Matt. And I know where we're going. New York!" She twirled around again. "New, New, New Yo –Oh!"
Brittany stumbled forward as she collided with another person and almost fell, but he caught her, clutching her body against his.
"Sorry!" the man said. His face was red and he wiped his sweaty forehead. "I wasn't watching where I was going. Are you okay, Miss?"
"Yeah, I'm fine." She squinted as the man stared at her. He looked vaguely familiar, but for the life of her, Brittany couldn't place where she'd seen him before. She didn't remember him on the plane from Ashbow, or the connecting flight from Cincinnati.
The man smiled at her confused look. "We were just on the same flight. Someone like you," his eyes dropped to her breasts, "stands out." His face flushed, then he asked, "Do you need a ride, maybe to your hotel? I've got a rental." His eyes fixated on her breasts again. "Be glad to take you anywhere you want to go, anywhere."
Matt stepped forward, glowering, but before he could say anything, Brittany said, "That would be great! Are you sure you've got enough room? For all three of us?"
The man's eyes flickered at Matt, and he flushed again. "Yeah, sure. If you wait outside, I'll go get the car and will swing by to pick you up."
" 'Stands out'," Matt snickered as they watched the man hurry away. "Your tits, that's what 'stands out' for him. You should have seen his face when you crashed into him. Dude was all red and sweatin'"
"So what?" Brittany smoothed back her blonde curls. "He gets a close up look and we get a free ride to the hotel."
Matt leered at her. "Whattya think he'd give us if he got to cop a feel? I'd even let him suck on them for a while, for the right price…and if I got to watch."
"You're a pig, Matt Storey," Brittany huffed. "A certified grade A porker."
He laughed. "No – I just know what you're really like, Britty-Titty. I'm not fooled like everybody else back home." He tugged on one of her curls, drawing her towards the exits. "You remember him on the plane?"
"No…" for some reason Brittany thought that she might have seen him before, but if he was someone important, she would have remembered him. She shrugged. "If you wanna know so bad, maybe you should ask him who he is."
Matt snorted. "Why bother? I'm gonna forget him as soon as he drops us off. Let's go, babe, before he finds someone else with bigger tits than yours and offers them a free ride instead."
A free trip to New York and now a free ride to the hotel, Brittany smiled to herself as they headed down the escalator. This day was just getting better and better.
XXX
The killer smiled as he opened the trunk to the rental car. Everything was going perfectly.
After abandoning the van with Ricky's body inside on a side street in the city, he then took a variety of public transportation to Newark Airport, rented a car using one of his fake IDs and credit cards, made his way inside the terminal and then bumped into Brittany on purpose, pretending that he'd been travelling with them.
Focusing on Brittany's breasts as though he was mesmerized by them, the killer had bitten on a pellet made of capsaicin* that made him flush and sweat convincingly, without a telltale odor. As he hurried away, he spit the pellet out, knowing that couple only noticed his 'reaction' to her and not anything else about him.
He flushed for real at the thought that he could ever be even remotely interested in someone like Brittany Boucher; she was nothing, less than nothing, not even worth mentioning compared to someone as beautiful, intelligent and accomplished as Josie, but she, and her stupid boyfriend, were a means to an end.
"Let me take that for you," he smiled again as he took her suitcase. "Doors are unlocked, make yourself comfortable."
"Don't forget mine," Matt tossed his suitcase at him.
The killer winced convincingly as the bag hit his chest. You'll pay for that, he thought, but he smiled weakly at Matt's challenging sneer, letting him think that he was cowed by the hulking brute.
As the couple got in the car, the killer clipped a tracking device to one of the zipper pulls on Brittany's bag. Like many young women, she had several different tchotchkes attached to her luggage; she wouldn't even notice it.
The ride to the hotel was excruciating, but he forced himself to ask questions about their trip to the city, listening closely to Brittany's chatter as she raved about the gala and what celebrities were supposed to be there, reassuring himself that she had no idea who he was. The couple would barely remember him once he dropped them off at their hotel.
Waving, he pulled away from the hotel and drove to a nearby parking garage which had a view of the front entrance, smiling as he viewed the couple's progress via the tracking device, watching on his handheld as they went from the front desk to the elevators and then finally entered their hotel room.
Now all he had to do was wait for them to leave.
He'd given Brittany enough money that he knew the couple would immediately go shopping for clothes to wear for tonight, giving him plenty of time to slip into their room and execute the next step of his plan.
XXX
Chauffeur Rocco O'bern loved to test himself:
Sometimes in his work – he could find alternative routes to every airport within 100 miles of the city.
Sometimes in his private life – he'd won over his future mother-in-law by listing all the counties in her native Ireland.
And sometimes just for fun – he could list all the US Presidents and Vice Presidents – in order.
When people asked why he was always testing himself, he said it was because he was Irish and Italian, "Double I – intelligent and insightful."
His wife Mary would say it was because he was an idiot and an irritant.
God, he loved that woman.
Tonight he was testing himself about the person he was chauffeuring to the gala at the New New York City Opera, Mrs. Johann Careese from Ashbow, Oklahoma. Rocco liked to imagine what the client looked like before he met them and someone who came all the way from Oklahoma for an opera sounded intriguing.
She was staying at the Dorchester, so Rocco knew she had money and was probably older. He had never heard of Ashbow, so he assumed it was a small town. The gala was a benefit for community gardens so she was altruistic and didn't mind getting her hands dirty. She was the only passenger to a Saturday night event that screamed couples, so either Mr. Careese was no longer on this earth or the guy had somehow managed to beg off.
He imagined a plump matron swathed in lace or sequins, ankles wobbling on too high heels as she teetered towards him.
The woman who walked out of the hotel was anything but.
Rocco thought three things:
One, he totally failed his test.
Two, Oklahoma…OK!** Definitely, sensationally, fantastically OK.
Three, if there was a Mr. Careese, he was a damn fool for not being at her side.
XXX
The damn fool was pacing at the top of the opera house steps.
The New New York City Opera was the centerpiece of a group of artistic companies clustered around a small plaza. Dubbed Little Lincoln Center by its fans and the Rinky Dinky Lincoln by its detractors, the other companies had come out in support of the gala and those who weren't attending the event were being entertained by a variety of performers scattered around the open space.
Savvy marketers, the Opera management knew that many of its biggest fans couldn't afford to attend the event, so this was a way for them to get dressed up, have a little fun, watch the red carpet arrivals and of course, donate too, via purchasing little buttons that granted them entrance to the plaza.
While the vast majority of the gala's attendees would get dropped off just outside the entrance and make the short walk to the opera house, a few select VIP vehicles, including Joss' limo, would pull directly into the plaza and discharge their passengers right in front of the opera house steps.
"Mr. Reese, stop pacing."
"Just fitting in, Finch."
"Perhaps, but the sound is distracting."
"I'm doing what every other husband does who's waiting for his wife, Harold."
Reese didn't bother keeping the bite out of his voice. Indeed, there were several other men and two women pacing anxiously along the opera house steps, using their ubiquitous hand held devices to check the time, text or converse urgently with whoever was on the line. One of the women was in tears and a man angrily shut his device off and stalked down the steps.
Reese had already spotted several of Finch's so-called crack operatives pretending to be revelers in the crowd, there had yet to be a peep out of the infallible Machine, and his friendship with Joss was sure to end after she endured several long hours of being pawed at and slobbered over by him while Finch watched and listened in, making comments like a virtual cross between a heckler and a chaperone.
He closed his eyes as 'Some Enchanted Evening' blared as someone's ringtone.
Cluster fuck, this was a giant cluster fuck. "Are you sure she's alright? Finch?"
"Obviously the CIA has been going about it all wrong – next time they should just threaten to make you spend an elegant evening with a beautiful woman," Harold snapped, then he took a deep breath. He knew that his friend was on edge with good reason. They were no closer to discovering who the killer was and The Machine was silent. Was this all going to be for nothing?
Finch softened his voice. "Detective Carter will be at the opera house in a few minutes, John. You can see for yourself on the cameras you installed."
Reese didn't reply. After slipping into Joss' apartment this morning and watching her sleep, he had not seen or spoken to her for the rest of the day, and now, superstitiously, he didn't want to see her before she arrived at the opera house, as if some bad luck would befall them if he did.
He had pretended to be part of a couple before of course, during a mission, but this was the first time with someone he cared about, the first time he wanted it to be real.
When Reese left the Dorchester Hotel that afternoon he'd walked out with luggage containing Johann Careese's tuxedo and accessories. Sure he wasn't being followed, he went to the private men's club Careese stayed at when he travelled to the city without his wife. With Josephine Careese being prepped at the hotel, no one would question her husband taking refuge at the club and then getting dressed for the gala there.
After making sure his presence was noted by several staff members, Reese slipped out of the building. He made his final checks and then went to his apartment, showered, shaved and dressed, traveled to the gala on the Ducati, parked nearby and then walked into the plaza. Reese stood on the opera house steps watching the crowd, looking for something, anything that would identify the killer, even though he knew it was pointless. Thousands of people were pouring into the space, providing perfect cover, plus someone who had been killing as long as the killer had wouldn't have any obvious tells or tics to separate him from the rest of the crowd.
They had done everything they could – Finch was in the library watching the surveillance feeds, Fusco was parked outside the hotel and Harold had just informed him that Sheriff Shannon was down the street in a van near the intersection, in case the killer attempted to plant something on the limo or even tried to get inside while waiting for the light to change. Private security was discreetly stationed in the building, the plaza and the surrounding streets and he and Joss would be armed once they entered their private box.
Now all Reese had to do was be a loving husband.
In his final review of the files earlier today, he paid close attention to the way the Careeses interacted as a couple away from their children, particularly the way that Johann Careese touched his wife. As a prominent couple in Ashbow County, the Careeses attended numerous events and while there were the expected gentle hugs and chaste kisses, linked arms and clasped hands in the staged photos, it was the candid shots and videos that told the true story, each part of a lexicon that Reese committed to memory.
The story that Johann Careese's hands told was older than language, older than words, older than thoughts.
Love. Desire. Possessiveness.
Secrets.
They traced her arms, curved around her elbows, caressed her wrists, grazed her palms. They twined around her waist, pressed against her hips. They cupped her cheek, swept back an errant lock of her hair. They ran across her shoulders and nestled in the small of her back. They rested on her knees and drifted over her thighs. They outlined her full lips and brushed snow from her long eyelashes. They lifted her chin and covered her small hands.
He touched her because he loved her, because he wanted her, because he knew what he had with her was rare and precious.
He touched her to memorize every moment they had together because he had secrets, because he knew he would lose her if she knew the truth.
They were different people, but the two men looked and moved so much alike that Reese could read in his eyes, in his facial expressions, in the way he touched his wife, things that other people couldn't.
Johann Careese had secrets, things he had not shared, and was not sharing now, with his wife.
Reese checked the screen on his phone. A blip told him that Joss' limo was getting close. Finch was right, she would arrive in a few minutes.
What was more the important, he thought, the secrets or the things that wove into the fabric of a life together?
Would Josie Careese forgive her husband if she knew?
Would she forgive the man who knew how she took her coffee, who carried her wallet in his jacket pocket, who smoothed down her collar?
Would she forgive the man who made passionate love to her, who walked the floor with a sick child, who had held her while she grieved for her parents night after night?
What made Careese think he could do it, that he could live a normal life, Reese thought.
Was it arrogance, the blind assurance that he could do it, or paradoxically, had he humbled himself enough, to see the greater purpose in the ordinary life that millions of men dedicate themselves to every day?
Did he make a conscious decision not to tell her the truth or was he just swept away with the thought of being with her?
How had he disconnected himself from that old life, how did he keep from sliding back, from letting it haunt him?
Perhaps it was simply that Careese loved her.
Once he knew that, everything else fell into place, and those secrets, whatever they were, sat on a dusty shelf in his mind, occasionally checked to make sure that they were still locked away, abandoned and forgotten.
Reese watched as a blood red carpet cascaded slowly down the steps. Huge lanterns lit the walkway. Music began swelling softly in the background. The twenty foot main doors of the opera house swung open and a lone figure of a woman stood in silhouette in the center.
The crowd in the plaza, held back by velvet ropes and security guards, craned their necks forward as the first VIP limo pulled into the plaza.
As Reese stopped pacing, the wedding ring caught in the light. It didn't pinch or grab, or move around; beautifully crafted, he had forgotten that he'd had it on.
"You know she's never asked…us, for anything other than the truth, Harold."
Finch paused before answering. "Yes, I am…aware…that Detective Carter didn't take advantage of this unique circumstance, John."
The two friends were silent. Joss could have used her uncanny resemblance to Josephine Careese to ask for whatever she wanted, but they had already bought her cooperation with something much more elusive, dangerous and seductive - the hope that they could be there in time.
As the silhouette began to sing, she held her arms up to the sky and the moon, as if it was a long lost lover finally coming home to her, emerged, heavy, round and golden, from the clouds.
XXX
"This is one of our smaller models – I hope it's alright, Mrs. Careese," the chauffeur, who introduced himself as Rocco said.
Joss smiled. As expected, John had chosen well. This was a sleek well designed model, easily maneuverable, with few of the straight edges other limos had, making it harder to conceal an explosive device, and if she wasn't mistaken, the windows were bulletproof. "No, not a problem at all."
The hem of her dress lifted on its own as she stepped into the vehicle, swirling around her ankles neatly as she sat down. Score one for Finch's Nerd Herd, she thought.
When the chauffeur confirmed the pickup on his handheld, Joss had noticed the crossword puzzle on the screen, "You do crossword puzzles, Rocco?" she asked as they moved slowly through the city traffic.
"Oh, that's just one of my warm up puzzles, Mrs. Careese. I do a couple of easy ones first, before I move on to the hard ones. Those I do with paper and pencil."
Grateful for his chatter, Joss half listened as Rocco told her that his goal was to compete in the American Crossword Puzzle Tournament*** someday. The chauffeur gave an exhaustive review of the event, including the history, rules, etc. "I do several puzzles a day"- he flipped the dome light on and held up several newspapers – "The Times, Newsday, the Observer, but my favorite is the one in the Ledger, the guy that does the puzzle within a puzzle."
Joss nodded absently. "Me, too, Rocco."
"The guy's great – today's puzzle, Back to Bach, also has a nine letter word that you're supposed to unscramble. I'll do it tonight while I'm waiting for you."
She leaned forward – he now had her full attention. "Wait – you'll do the whole puzzle - tonight?"
"Yeah, I try to reduce my times every time I do a puzzle. I did last week's in three hours, but I think I was lucky. How long does it take you?"
"A little longer," Joss smiled. She and John worked on the Saturday puzzle for a week and even then, sometimes they didn't get all the answers.
"Check with me after the gala and see how far along I am," the chauffeur smiled back.
"I will, Rocco, I will."
As they began to get near the opera house, the chauffeur became silent as he focused on making their way through the tangle of vehicles and pedestrians streaming towards the plaza and Joss took several deep breaths to calm herself.
She had spent hours preparing, knew the layout of the opera house, the guest list, facts about the Careeses and their lives in Ashbow County, was wearing this beautiful dress. Even though she hadn't spoken to John today, she knew that he had thoroughly prepared as well.
Except for kissing.
They hadn't prepared for kissing.
A light hug, fingers briefly linked, a hand on a lapel – Joss knew they could do that. She had spent enough time with John since they met, knew that they were both comfortable with a touch on the hand, a pat on the arm.
They had fought side by side and sat for hours in cars, John had looked over her shoulder when they read case files and she had sheltered under his in a sudden downpour.
So the gentle touches, the things expected at a formal event, they could do.
But kissing, feeling John's lips against hers, tasting the strong mouth that had infuriated her, made her laugh, made her cry was something else. She had seen those lips curve in a sexy smirk, firm in fierce determination and rarely, so rarely, genuinely smile, that it lit up everything around him and made you feel like it was all going to be okay.
Maybe they should have practiced.
She covered her mouth with both hands to keep from laughing out loud hysterically at the thought, then leaned back against the seat, closing her eyes.
Chaste hugs and gentle pecks. Who was she kidding?
Joss knew that she and John would have to kiss as soon as she exited the limo, on the assumption that the killer would be in the crowd, watching. They would have to kiss as though it was their anniversary, as though they deeply loved each other, as though they would be making passionate love to each other in a few short hours.
Joss had examined the photos and the videos. While Josie Careese did not touch her husband as much as he touched her, it was clear in her eyes, her soft smiles, the way her body curved towards his ever so slightly, that Josie felt the same way about Johann as he did about her.
With a certainty that stunned her, Joss knew how it was between them.
Joss knew that the Careeses would attend an event, fulfill their social obligations and leave, just a little before everyone else. They'd drive away, but soon would pull over in some secluded spot, and make love, tearing at each other's clothes, desperate to join together. They would twist in the seats, stretch out on the hood, lean against a tree or lay in an open field, the moonlight shining on their naked bodies. Just before they entered their home, she would brush a smudge of dirt from his jacket and he would pull a blade of grass from her hair, smile at her and then slowly draw it between his lips, and she would shiver, thinking about him being inside her again.
Joss knew that they would meet during the day while their children were in school, smirking at each other like illicit lovers, as they retired to their bedroom. Here the lovemaking would be gentle and languorous, the sunlight streaming through the windows, as they explored every inch of their naked bodies as though they were new to each other and perhaps each time they made love, it was. Each time they found new ways to heighten the passion, each time they learned how to please each other even more. They would hold hands as they walked to their cars, and she would still feel his gentle parting kiss hours later, touching her lips with her fingers.
Joss knew that when it was one of those days – a sudden downpour, a problem at work, bickering children, a brief spat – at the end of it they would just lie together, bodies joined and listen to their quiet home, knowing that no matter what had happened earlier, they were together, their children were safely sleeping nearby and they all loved each other. Those couplings would be the sweetest.
Joss knew by reviewing the files that the love hadn't diminished – in fact, it had grown, despite four children and the day to day necessities and tedium of modern life.
Practice. Yeah, right.
How do you practice for a love like this, Joss thought.
Had Josie been afraid of it, or had she jumped in with both feet?
Had she ever thought that it was a dream, that Johann Careese would sweep out of town in the same whirlwind that he'd swept in and Josie would be left standing there, alone, wondering if he'd ever truly existed?
Had she wondered about not just having a love like this, but what it would do to her if she ever lost it?
Maybe it was just that Josie loved him.
Once she knew that, then everything fell into place, and it was only about loving him; nothing else really mattered.
The limo slowed, and as Joss opened her eyes, the wedding ring caught in the light. It didn't pinch or grab, or move around; beautifully crafted, she had forgotten that she'd had it on.
The chauffeur handed their credentials to event security and they pulled smoothly into the line of limos entering the plaza.
"I see we're scheduled to bring two people back, Mrs. Careese," he said. "Your husband?"
"Yes, Rocco."
"What's he like, if you don't mind my askin'?"
Joss laughed. "He's a smartass," she said without thinking, but as the limo neared the VIP circle, she saw a tall silhouette.
John was standing at the top of the steps of the opera house.
"He's the best," she said softly.
And tonight he's yours, the tiny voice in her mind whispered seductively, beguiling to her.
Rocco laughed. "He sounds like my Mary. I tell everyone that I drive cars at work and my wife drives me crazy at home, but I couldn't do without her. How long you've been married?"
"Fifteen years. Today's our anniversary."
"Congratulations! You just sit there, Mrs. Careese, and I'll come back to help you get out."
Joss held her breath as she watched John smoothly descend the stairs, the words of the tiny voice echoing in her mind.
*Capsaicin is the active component in chili peppers that creates a burning sensation or heat.
**Oklahoma is the title song from the 1943 Pulitzer Prize winning Rodgers and Hammerstein musical Oklahoma! Here's a snippet of the lyrics:
We know we belong to the land
And the land we belong to is grand!
And when we say
Yeeow! Ayipioeeay!
We're only sayin'
You're doin' fine, Oklahoma!
Oklahoma O.K.
The state of Oklahoma officially adopted it as its state song in 1953.
***The American Crossword Puzzle Tournament is directed by New York Times Crossword Puzzle Editor Will Shortz. Per the tournament's site it is the nation's oldest and largest crossword competition. The three day event, which will be held next April in Stamford, Connecticut, was featured in the 2006 film Wordplay.