Gone Tomorrow

cop. This is something I need to know about.”
    Jake was quiet for a spell. Then he shrugged and said, “I guess you could call it a love-hate relationship.”
    “In what way exactly?”
    “Susan loved Peter, Peter hated her.”
    “Why?”
    More hesitation. Another shrug. “It’s complicated.”
    “How?”
    “Peter went through a phase, like most kids do. Like girls want to be long-lost princesses, or boys want their grandfathers to have been admirals or generals or famous explorers. For a spell everyone wants to be something they’re not. Peter wanted to live in a Ralph Lauren advertisement, basically. He wanted to be Peter Molina the Fourth, or at least the Third. He wanted his father to have an estate in Kennebunkport, and his mother to have the remnants of an old fortune. Susan didn’t handle it well. She was the daughter of a drug-addicted teenage whore from Baltimore, and she made no secret of it. She thought honesty was the best policy. Peter handled it badly. They never really got past it, and then the divorce came, and Peter chose up sides, and they never got over it.”
    “How did you feel about it?”
    “I could see both points of view. I never inquired about my real mother. I didn’t want to know. But I went through a spell where I wished she was a grand old lady with diamonds. I got over it. But Peter didn’t, which is stupid, I know, but understandable.”
    “Did Susan like Peter as a person, as opposed to loving him as a son?”
    Jake shook his head. “No. Which made things even worse. Susan had no sympathy for jocks and letter jackets and all that stuff. I guess in school and college she had bad experiences with people like that. She didn’t like that her son was turning into one of them. But that stuff was important to Peter, in its own right at first, and then later as a weapon against her. It was a dysfunctional family, no question.”
    “Who knows this story?”
    “You mean, would a friend know?”
    Lee nodded.
    Jake said, “A close friend might.”
    “A close friend she met quite recently?”
    “There’s no timetable. It’s about trust, isn’t it?”
    I said, “You told me Susan wasn’t an unhappy person.”
    Jake said, “And she wasn’t. I know that sounds weird. But adopted people have a different view of family. They have different expectations. Believe me, I know. Susan was at peace with it. It was a fact of life, that’s all.”
    “Was she lonely?”
    “I’m sure she was.”
    “Did she feel isolated?”
    “I’m sure she did.”
    “Did she like to talk on the phone?”
    “Most women do.”
    Lee asked him, “Have you got kids?”
    Jake shook his head again.
    “No,” he said. “I don’t have kids. I’m not even married. I tried to learn from my big sister’s experience.”
    Lee stayed quiet for a spell and then she said, “Thanks, Jake. I’m happy that Peter’s OK. And I’m sorry I had to bring all that bad stuff up.” Then she walked away and I followed her and she said, “I’ll check the other things too, but it will take time, because those channels are always slow, but right now my guess is that Lila Hoth will pan out just fine. She’s two for two so far, on the adoption thing and the mother-son thing. She knows stuff only a genuine friend would know.”
    I nodded agreement. “You interested in the other thing? Whatever it was that got Susan so scared?”
    “Not until I see actual evidence of a crime committed in New York City, somewhere between Ninth Avenue and Park, and 30th Street and 45th.”
    “That’s this precinct?”
    She nodded. “Anything else would be volunteer work.”
    “You interested in Sansom?”
    “Not even a little bit. Are you?”
    “I feel like I should warn him, maybe.”
    “About what? A million-to-one possibility?”
    “It’s actually much shorter odds than a million to one. There are five million men called John in America. Second only to James, for popularity. That’s one in thirty guys. Which means that in 1983 there could have been about thirty-three thousand Johns in the U.S. Army. Discount it maybe ten percent for military demographics, the chances are about one in thirty thousand.”
    “Those are still very big odds.”
    “I think Sansom should know, that’s all.”
    “Why?”
    “Call it a brother officer thing. Maybe I’ll head back to D.C.”
    “No need. Save yourself the trip. He’s coming here. Tomorrow mid-day, for a fundraiser lunch at the Sheraton. With all the heavy hitters from