Page 52 of A Week Away
“What’s his name?”
“That’s the part I need.”
“You know that’s not how a Boolean search works?”
I didn’t completely know what that meant, but I got the gist. “Do you think you can do it in the next hour? I don’t have my mobile phone with me. I’m at a diner.”
That was met by a very chilly silence. I went ahead and gave her the number on the pay phone.
“This isn’t connected to one of our cases, is it?”
“No.”
“I’ll have to ask Lydia.”
“Is she there?”
“Hold on.”
A few moments later, Lydia picked up. “What happened to you?”
“I have some things to take care of.”
“Who was that kid?”
“Uh… well, in a way he’s my son.”
“In a way?”
“A nonbiological way. His name is Cassidy Reilly.”
“Oh. Oh my God! Where are you?”
“Detroit.”
“How long will you be there?”
“Maybe I’ll come home tonight. It depends.”
“Do you need anything from me?”
“Actually, I need Karen to?—”
“She’s already on it. Though it doesn’t make much sense.”
My breakfast/lunch arrived and I was about to say good-bye when I remembered something. “Hey, do you know what alprazolam is?”
“Xanax. My doctor gave me some after the shooting. It’s for anxiety.”
A few months before, when I’d shot a man in the lobby of our offices Lydia had taken the blame. I could see how that might make her anxious. Joanne on the other hand was one of the least anxious people I’ve ever met. She was either taking the drugs recreationally or they were working very well. I thanked her and said good-bye. Then I sat down in the booth and dug into my breakfast. It was perfect.
Long after I’d finished breakfast, around my fourth cup of coffee, the pay phone rang. I got up and answered. Not bothering with hello, Karen said, “Vito Giancarlo. Twenty-eight at the time of his death in 1986. A couple years before, he was contracted to put a bomb in this guy’s car. It didn’t go off so he got caught. He turned on his boss, a guy named Ferretti. Which resulted in his getting stuck with a shiv in Marquette prison.”
“Perfect.”
“You owe me.”
“I know. I won’t forget.”
