Edge

scenery three or four times.”
    His way of telling me he’d used evasive driving techniques.
    “Good. Keep Amanda busy and don’t let her near your landline.”
    “Oh, about that. I just remembered it’s broke.”
    I liked the old detective. “Thanks.”
    “Keep ’em safe, Corte.”
    “I will.”
    A mysterious chuckle. “I wouldn’t want your job for any money.”

Chapter 9
    RYAN STEPPED OUT of the bedroom, carrying his shaving kit. He’d washed up. He’d changed his shirt.
    And he’d had a drink. Bourbon, I thought. A fair amount.
    I like some wine or beer occasionally but you can’t deny that alcohol makes you stupid and careless. I can prove it. When I’m playing a board game that involves skill not chance—like chess or Arimaa or Wei Chi—and I’m not in a seriously competitive mood, I might have a glass of wine. The occasional successes due to some bold, unforeseeable strategy on my part, inspired by a nice Cabernet, are vastly outnumbered by the mistakes I make, thanks to the grape.
    Ryan’s drinking was something else I’d have to factor into the protection equation, along with his eager pistol and his role as protector of his family. I assessed the situation: an armed, drinking cop with a hero complex; a woman in shock—though she didn’t know it yet—and furious with her husband for bringing this tragedy on the family (also in the dark about that); and a giddy, irresponsible sister with no self-esteem, who whipsawed back and forth between panic and grating giddiness.
    Of course, every principal I’ve ever protected has had some glitch or foible—Lord knows I do too—and if their quirks affect your job you simply note them and compensate; if they don’t, forget the issue and get on with your business. We’re shepherds; we’re not parents.
    Joanne too noted the real purpose behind her husband’s fake mission to the bedroom but didn’t acknowledge it. Much less share a look with me.
    I made some coffee and poured a good dose into a Styrofoam cup. I stepped into the corner and asked Ryan to join me, cop to cop, and we sat down together. Before I could speak, Ryan said, “Look, Corte. I was wrong. I mean, what Jo was saying: If you hadn’t been there, it could’ve been . . . well, I don’t even want to think about it.”
    So he had heard his wife after all.
    I acknowledged the gratitude with a nod and noted that booze made him agreeable and sentimental, not hostile. If it weren’t for the gun on his hip, I might have encouraged him to have another drink.
    His comments had been spoken loudly enough for Joanne to hear and I decided he was apologizing to her too, indirectly.
    I said, “I know you think this is a mistake but on the off chance it isn’t, I want to find who hired Loving.”
    “The primary,” he said. “I overheard you. That’s what you call them?”
    “Right.”
    “At first, I was thinking it was all bullshit. But after what happened at the house . . . I mean, it doesn’t make sense that anybody’d go to that kind of trouble if they didn’t think I knew something.”
    “No, not Henry Loving,” I said. Then I explained that we always try to get to the primary. “We do that, and arrest him, then usually we get information that leads to the lifter. Or the lifter will just vanish, since their only interest is getting paid. With the primary in custody, the lifter isn’t going to be collecting the balance of his fee. He just takes off.”
    “There’re only two major cases I’ve got at the moment.”
    That was all? I wondered, surprised. A cop of his age and experience, in a city like D.C., would normally be inundated with open case files. I asked, “Give me the details. I’ll have somebody check them out. Carefully. They won’t disrupt your investigation.”
    “But I must’ve collared a hundred perps in my day. No, more. It might be revenge.”
    I was shaking my head. “I don’t think so.”
    “Why?”
    “For one thing he doesn’t want to clip you. He wants information. Besides, you worked street crime.”
    “Yeah.”
    “How often was revenge a motive? And who was behind it?”
    Ryan considered this. “Only a dozen times. Usually jealous lovers or a gangbanger after another one for diming him out. You’re right, Corte, nothing like this.”
    “Tell me about the cases.”
    The first, he explained, was a forged check, written on the account of a man who worked for the Pentagon.
    “The victim’s name is Eric Graham. Civilian