Coding Isis (19 page)

Margot looked cross now. ‘So you’ve hit a brick wall because this guy has confidential military records, and you thought you could get me to pull the details, for a cup of coffee?’

Now it was Ben’s turn to look embarrassed.

‘I’d expect at least dinner and a movie for something like this.’

Ben looked up and she was grinning. He smiled. ‘You got me,’ he said. ‘Dinner and a movie it is. How about tomorrow night?’

‘I’ll see what I can do.’ Margot checked her watch. ‘Listen Ben, I need to get back. Call me.’

‘I will.’ He watched her leave the coffee house and he had to admit he enjoyed the view. She didn’t look back.

Chris put some coffee on and Michelle made scrambled eggs and toast. They worked well as a couple, they had a certain harmony, they always had, pretty much from the first week they’d started dating. Michelle was stirring the eggs and Chris stepped up behind her and put his arms around her.

‘I really missed you, you know?’ he said.

She just smiled and pulled his hug tighter, all the while keeping the eggs from sticking in the copper pan.

‘What was it like?’ she said.

Chris knew what she was asking about, but still he asked, ‘What?’

‘You know, prison.’

‘The food wasn’t as good. But the sex in the showers was comparable,’ he said.

Michelle left the cooking just long enough to deliver a punch in the ribs. That was Chris. If there was ever an awkward discussion to be had, or a moment when he needed to open up and bare his soul, he made a joke or said something stupid. Michelle knew it was just his way of dealing with it and that he’d probably feel better when the subject changed.

Michelle went back to the eggs and Chris buttered the toast. ‘It wasn’t nice,’ he said. ‘I guess that goes without saying, but the worst thing was the feeling of being powerless. It all just happened to me and there was no one there to make it fair. I guess I’d always believed that if people were innocent they could never end up in a situation like that. I was wrong.’

Michelle spooned the eggs on to the toast and Chris carried the plates to the table. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ she said.

Chris raised his eyebrows and waited.

‘All this business over the murder, you going to prison, Dad. I think I’m going to go to law school.’

Chris was delighted. He jumped up from his breakfast and came around to Michelle. He put his arms around her and hugged.

‘That’s fantastic baby!’ he said. ‘When?’

‘I don’t know, I haven’t done anything about it yet. I just wanted to be more use, you know? And to be honest, when I was investigating and trying to get some evidence to get you off, I really enjoyed it. I think seeing the amount of work my dad put in and the way it consumed his life had put me off. Now I’m really excited about it.’

‘You’ll make a great lawyer, I know it.’

Chris sat and finished his breakfast. He felt happy as he watched Michelle. She was so cute when she ate. He hadn’t expected her to go back to studying. For some reason he figured the next stage in their lives would be kids. But this was good too. He arched in the chair. His muscles felt in a knot. Time to get some exercise.

‘I think I’m going for a run,’ he said.

Michelle squared away the breakfast things and went up to the bedroom to get dressed. The cat saw her coming and ran under the bed looking guilty. She thought about how they’d never given it a name. Chris had said they should just call it the cat and it had stuck. That was so like Chris. The cat meowed noisily and walked towards the bathroom door and Michelle saw why it was looking so guilty; there, just by the door was a dead bird. It was tiny and lay on its back with its wings flat to its side. She rushed over to it to pick it up before the cat got there; she didn’t want to spend the morning cleaning up blood and feathers from the bedroom. As she came closer she saw it was still alive. She picked it up and it weighed almost nothing, its head flopped back as she cupped it in her hand, she looked at it as its tiny little chest pumped up and down. She couldn’t tell if it was the heart about to beat right out of the chest or if it was just the lungs rapidly sucking air in. The bird’s eyes were fully closed, she figured it didn’t have long in this world. She carefully carried it to the window and all the time the cat meowed and rubbed against her legs. She slid the window open, held out her hand, and let the bird fall to the ground below.

‘Goddammit cat,’ she said. She washed her hands and then dressed.

It was nearly an hour later that Michelle started to feel bad about the bird. It was probably dead now, but she felt guilty that she’d tossed it out the window like a piece of trash. It was a beautiful living thing and then it became a toy for a cat. Just a waste.

She found herself close to tears, but she didn’t really know why. She left the house and walked to the pavement beneath her window. She picked up the body of the bird. It was still now. Carefully she took it inside and placed it in an old tissue box. She put some flowers in with it and then took it to the garden to bury it. She patted the earth down and said the Lord’s Prayer, because she didn’t really know any other and it seemed, somehow, appropriate. She went inside and half-watched TV, but really she waited for Chris to come home.

Chris ran towards Rock Creek Park. He’d been a regular through the park which was one of the better places in D.C. for runners, but he hadn’t been back since Jasmine had been killed. He didn’t know why he was going back there today. He needed a run, but somehow he felt drawn there. Maybe he was hoping he would see a gunman crouching on a grassy knoll. Some little clue would help. Maybe just seeing the area would help this whole thing to make more sense.

He turned from the road and started along the track. The clouds gave the air a heavy feel and his breathing came hard. He was definitely out of shape, but still he pushed on. He wasn’t far in to the park before he started to feel wrong, he slowed and put his hands on his knees to help catch his breath and that’s when he noticed the staining on the track. It was a dark muddy brown but he knew that it had once been a rich crimson. He squatted down and put his hand to the stain, his fingers were spread as he touched the ground.

‘What the hell happened to you Jasmine?’ he said. ‘What shit had you gotten yourself into?’

He stood and walked slowly looking for tell-tale signs of Jasmine’s last few minutes. The occasional drop spotted the path for the next few yards. Had she really kept running after being shot? The human body was an incredible thing and he’d heard of occasions where people had survived being shot in the head. There was that woman from down south, was it Mississippi? He’d remembered reading about it, the report had said that her husband had shot her in the head and then turned the gun on himself. She’d then made herself a cup of tea and waited for the police to arrive, apparently offering the officer something to drink. The county sheriff had said she appeared to be in a confused state. Is that what had happened to Jasmine? Shot in the head without realizing it?

A little further on he arrived at a big patch of brown. This must be the place she finally collapsed. What was she thinking as she lay on the ground watching the clouds drift past? What a lonely end.

Chris looked around for somewhere a sniper might hide out, somewhere high with a clear view of the track. He knew the caliber of bullet was used in weapons such as the M107 Long Range Sniper Rifle but he had two problems with that being the weapon that was used. First of all, it was a weapon tasked for destroying lightly armored vehicles or equipment, not blowing away joggers in the park. Secondly, this wasn’t the sort of weapon you could sneak around with. At around 40 inches when compacted, he couldn’t imagine anyone, no matter how crazy, lugging something like that into the park where a .38 special would have pretty much the same effect. Why would anyone use a long range weapon in a place where it was impossible to travel more than fifty yards without hitting a tree? And the thoughts of a .50 caliber handgun being used was even more ridiculous. Why would anyone want to try to conceal such a weapon when a much smaller and more subtle handgun would be just as good? It made no sense. None of this did. He stood and carried on with his run.

Ben rinsed his razor under a cold running faucet. The shower was running and he tried to shave before the mirror fogged, though not so quick as to make a hack job. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been on a date, and if truth be told, he felt a little nervous. He examined his reflection. He was fifty-two, but he couldn’t remember how he got to that age. When he’d been in his twenties, full of piss and vinegar, he’d figured that anyone over forty had one foot in the grave. Now, he didn’t feel any different to those days, maybe a little slower on the basketball court, hell of a lot slower, but he was still fit. He ate well, didn’t smoke and tried to stay out of the sun when he could. He’d kept a full head of hair and that helped keep him looking younger, he guessed. It seemed to Ben that no matter what real talents you had in life, a good head of hair and good teeth would get you a long way. He’d met so many assholes in this town where those two attributes were practically all they had going for them, and yet, here they were, serving their country in congress.

He finished shaving and then stepped into the shower; the water was hot and felt good on his skin. He thought about Margot. Maybe she’d be in the shower now too? Maybe later on they’d be in the shower together. Now there was a thought. He turned the faucet to cold and that helped him get his mind off things.

He’d booked a table at an Italian restaurant in the North West district, close to the Italian Embassy, which he figured meant the food was likely to be good. The prices certainly indicated he was in for a rare treat. Ben usually ate at home and he was a good cook, but he thought Margot deserved something special, and it wasn’t like he spent a lot of money on women.

He entered the restaurant and found Margot waiting for him at the bar. She was wearing a little black dress. He wasn’t up on fashion, but he liked what she was wearing. She was sitting alone nursing a drink and he was surprised that no one had offered to join her. Or maybe they had and she’d given them the brush off already. Ben walked up to the bar and ordered Bourbon on the rocks. He asked if Margot wanted another, but she’d only just arrived and ordered her white wine spritzer.

‘You look amazing,’ he said. He meant it. He’d thought she looked good in her uniform the day before but now she was something else. The years had been kind to Margot, or at least she’d been very good at taking care of herself. She smiled and took a sip of her drink.

‘It’s been a long time since I went on a date. I bought this today. I’m pleased you like it.’

Ben decided that if she was buying clothes just for their date, then that was a good sign. Unless she really liked shopping, in which case it was probably a warning sign. A young lady came over and said that their table was ready. She showed them to a table towards the back and a barman carried their drinks on a tray.

‘I must say my evening meals usually consist of a sandwich at my desk. I tend to work long hours.’

‘Me too,’ she said, ‘this is a real treat. We should make this a regular thing. It would be good for both of us.’

Ben couldn’t quite figure if Margot was simply implying that it would be a convenient arrangement to have a friend to dine with on a regular basis or whether she was saying that they should be seeing each other regularly.

Margot smiled and Ben wondered whether she was reading his confusion. He’d never managed to figure out the female mind, although he had the majority of the male population for company in that respect. He looked at the menu and flicked to the wine list.

‘Would you like wine?’ he asked.

‘Sure,’ she said, ‘why not.’

He didn’t want to appear cheap but some of the prices were a bit beyond his usual budget.

‘How about a Chianti Classico?’ he said.

‘Sounds fine to me.’ She carried on studying the menu.

Their waiter arrived and he looked quintessentially Italian with an olive complexion and black hair. Ben ordered the wine and they decided to share an antipasti platter. Ben ordered the Wild Boar and Margot went for the Veal Florentine. Ben loved Italian food, ever since he’d holidayed there with Yvonne, his ex-wife.

The waiter brought the wine and poured for Ben to taste. It tasted fine and he nodded his approval.

‘I still have my cheerleading uniform you know?’ Margot said.

‘Does it still fit?’ he asked. He realized that was probably a dumb thing to ask but the look of horror on his face must have been priceless. They both burst into fits of laughter and Ben poured more wine into their glasses.