He seemed genuinely sympathetic. "Oh, no. Just to get you out of there. I knocked at the back door. Frank let me in himself. You've been living with that all these years?"

A tear obscured my right eye but wouldn't fall. I saw Wydell, warped, through the glassy veil. "You just didn't want a witness."

"You were a kid, Nick. I couldn't talk with you there. And I didn't want to have to kill you, too, if it came to it."

"You were there when I got home."

"Yes. A nice, friendly visit. Once he saw it was me, he even set the gun down on the coffee table. I wanted to resolve it with him. Come to an understanding. But we couldn't."

"He wouldn't say who had the master docs."

Wydell shook his head regretfully. "He was bleeding out, but he wouldn't say. It took much longer than I'd planned."

"I thought killing him wasn't the plan."

The reel played in my head, familiar from countless screenings. The bang of the garage's side door against the outside wall. Frank pointing, not at the key in the alarm pad as I'd always thought but at the open door beyond. The dying utterance he'd choked out. W…? W-why? Not a word, not a question. But the first syllable of the name he'd been trying to tell me: Wydell.

I said, "By the time you got Jane to give up Charlie's name, he'd vanished. And didn't reemerge until a few months ago to make the senator a discreet business proposal."

The sprinkler stopped abruptly, the relative silence broken by my breathing.

Wydell gestured at me with the gun. "So you're pretty fucked here, Nick. Every agency's on alert. But I can present a solution to you. Get this mess cleaned up."

"That's what you're good at, I suppose."

"Yes, I am. And right now I'm your only option."

"Well," I said, "not the only one." I spread my arms, like a scarecrow, or Jesus Christ in a wind-breaker. "Check me," I said, "for a wire."

"I could rip that thing off you. Torch the recording."

"It's a live feed. To-as you types like to say-a secure location."

"How about I hold you down and start breaking things until you give instructions to whoever's on the other end?"

I reached under my shirt and tugged the wire free. Then I broke it in half and threw it toward the outfield. "Point of no return," I said.

His lips set with amusement, and he scratched that crooked nose with a single long finger. "You're still a stupid kid. With all my years in the game, you really think I'd give you a chance to record me?" He tugged a little black box free from the back pocket of his pants and held it up. "Pink-noise generator."

I unzipped my jacket, let the flap fall, revealing a device of my own. "Pink-noise filter."

I wished Induma could have seen the look on his face. Her gadget did look pretty impressive hanging there. I watched Wydell's expression change. His forehead lined, and then his cheeks quivered. His perfect posture didn't alter, but his head canted forward an inch or two.

He came at me fast, fist laced around the gun, swinging to break teeth. Sidestepping him, I grabbed his wrist and yanked his elbow forward until it locked and then bowed the wrong way. It didn't snap. It just yielded with the gentle crackle of a fresh sprig bending. I rode his shoulder down, driving his face onto the pitching rubber.

His breathing was tight and gave off a whistle from his throat. I peeled the gun from his grip, then stood over him. Wydell didn't move.

"Leave," I said. "Forever."

His breath shoved a furrow into the dirt of the mound. "You're letting me go?"

"On the run. Yes. If you stop, you know what'll be waiting for you."

"Why don't you turn me in?"

"By first light every major law-enforcement agency will be looking for you. There won't be a safe place for you anywhere in the country. You won't be able to walk down the street or board an airplane. Who you've been, who you are right now, will cease to exist." I took a step closer, and he cringed a little. I said, "I'm not gonna turn you in because this is gonna be so much worse."

My finger had found its way through the trigger guard. His eyes were closed in fearful anticipation, but I pocketed the gun and walked away. When I reached the edge of the field, I paused and looked back. He was still lying there, flat on his face, his arm bent grotesquely out to the side like a broken wing. I could hear his labored breathing. He might have been crying, but I wasn't sure.

Chapter 48