A Perfect Grave Part 29

"Dex is such an a.s.shole," Justin said. "Billy's my hero. He should form a gang and be the leader. Call it the Justice Squad, or something cool like that."

"Hey," Brady said, "You think Spider-Man can beat up Superman?"

"Not in a million years," Ryan said. "Superman's not human and Spider-Man is."

"Well, he could," Justin said bouncing the ball, "if he could web him with green kryptonite."

"What if Superman had, like a tumor?" Brady said.

"A what?" Ryan said.

"Like a brain tumor that was going to kill him unless he had this operation?"

Justin stopped bouncing the ball. He exchanged a look with Ryan, then looked hard at Brady. The three boys had been best friends ever since they could talk.

"That's what you've got, isn't it?"

"That's it."

"You're joking, right?" Ryan said.

"Clue in, doofus," Justin looked at Brady. "This is why you've had all those doctors' appointments and went in that MR deep-sleep-chamber thing, right?"

"Right."

"So, are you going to die?" Ryan asked.

"I'm supposed to have this operation soon to take it out. And if everything goes okay, then I should be fine."

"If it doesn't?" Ryan asked.

"Then, I guess I'll die."

"Does the tumor hurt right now?" Ryan asked.

"No. And I take medicine."

Justin resumed bouncing the ball, giving it hard slam bounces.

"You're not going to die, dude," he said.

"How do you know?"

"Because you're not, okay?"

"But how do you know, Justin?"

Justin turned his back, slam-bouncing the ball, pretending to position himself for a crucial shot.

"Justin, tell me, how do you know?"

"Because you're twelve years old and you're our friend and people close to us are not supposed to die. Not until they're old and s.h.i.+t."

"Brady's dad died, right in front of him," Ryan said.

"Shut up," Justin said. "You just shut up."

"Guys, stop. No one knows what's going to happen to me."

"I do," Justin turned. Still bouncing the ball, his sights locked on the basket. "I'm going to take this shot, and if it's good, Brady will have his operation and live."

"And if you miss?" Ryan said.

"I won't miss. I'm going to make this shot and then we're going to start building that tree house we've always talked about. In the forest behind the warehouse."

Justin softened his bounces, preparing to make the shot.

"Hey"-Brady held his hands out for the ball-"give me the ball. This is kinda dumb. Don't do this, Jus, cause if you miss, everything will get weird."

"I'm not going to miss."

"Justin, listen to Brady."

"I'm doing it!"

Justin raised the ball, moved it slowly behind his head, concentrated on the target, and sent the ball spinning from his fingertips in a high arc. During the time it traveled, the boys held their breath, hearing nothing and seeing nothing but the ball, as if collectively willing it to complete its mission.

Which it did.

In a clean swish.

The boys shot their fists into the air and jumped.

"Yes!" Justin said, "I told you I wouldn't miss." Justin said, "I told you I wouldn't miss."

Out of the corner of his eye, Brady noticed the ball rolling away. Their glorious victory ball. Still wearing a smile, he started chasing it as it followed the same course as before. The ball rolled from the court, pa.s.sed the swings, and then the mommies and babies at the kiddie seesaws. Then it bounced along the gra.s.s toward a park bench until a man's shoe stopped it.

Dead.

The man on the bench set aside his take-out coffee and his copy of the Seattle Mirror. Seattle Mirror. He'd been reading the articles under the headlines, He'd been reading the articles under the headlines, HOMELESS MAN HELD IN NUN'S MURDER: ARRESTED AT FUNERAL HOMELESS MAN HELD IN NUN'S MURDER: ARRESTED AT FUNERAL and and SISTER ANNE BRAXTON REMEMBERED AS THE SAINT OF SEATTLE SISTER ANNE BRAXTON REMEMBERED AS THE SAINT OF SEATTLE.

The man picked up the ball and spun it playfully in his hands until he raised his head to look directly at Brady, who saw himself reflected in the man's dark gla.s.ses. The stranger studied Brady's face for an intense moment, as if it held the key to a mystery.

"This belongs to you?" he said.

"Yes, sir."

"And I bet you expect me to give it back?"

Brady's eyes cast around. He just wanted the ball back.

"I guess, yes."

"When someone has something that belongs to you, it's only right for you to expect them to give it back, right?"

"I guess."

"It's a rule to live by." The man bounced the ball back. "Be sure you remember that."

Chapter Forty-One.

Early the next morning, Sister Denise stood before the Mirror Mirror building and begged G.o.d to forgive her for what she was about to do. building and begged G.o.d to forgive her for what she was about to do.

Tightening her grip on her bag, she entered the newspaper offices through the gray limestone archway and walked across the marble floor of the lobby to the woman at the reception desk.

"I'd like to speak with Jason Wade, one of your reporters, please."

"Do you have an appointment, ma'am?"

"No, but he was looking for information regarding Sister Anne."

Denise pa.s.sed Jason Wade's card to her. The receptionist looked at it, then back at Denise, noticing the small silver cross hanging from the black cord around her neck.

"This is about the murdered nun?"

"Yes. Sister Anne."

"Your name?"

"I'm sorry. I'd like to keep this confidential. Please tell him I'm here to see him privately."

The receptionist knew that "walk-ins" could be critical to a huge story. Her polished fingernail ran down the list of reporters' names and she punched an extension on her console.

"Have a seat, Sister, please. I'll get someone right away."

Ah cripes, Jason winced.

Stepping from the elevator with his first cup of horrid cafeteria coffee, he realized he was not even going to make it to his desk. Eldon Reep had spotted him and was waving him into his gla.s.s-walled office.

A great start to the day.

Like a dictator plotting strategy, Reep was hunched over the table in his room studying editions of the Mirror Mirror, the Seattle Times, Seattle Times, and the and the Post-Intelligencer. Post-Intelligencer.

"The story's going to go flat if we don't find an angle to advance it, Wade."

"There's nothing new. Cooper's no longer a suspect, he's a key witness."

"What are your sources telling you? Has he given them a new prime suspect?"

"Just that mystery guy he claims to have met at the shelter."

"The knife came from the shelter, so it's pretty clear the killer came from there."

"Probably."

"We'll go back to setting up the story like this: She was murdered by someone she tried to help, but the question is why? By all accounts, everyone at the shelter loved her."

"Except for the guy who killed her."

"Okay, somebody flipped out."

"I don't know. There's something different here. He did it in her apartment. There's an indication he confronted her at the shelter, that he knew her, had upset her about something. That he followed her or was waiting for her. Maybe she had a history with the guy. We don't know much about her life."

"All right, you and Ca.s.sie go back to the shelter, go back to the nuns, keep pus.h.i.+ng, because somebody's going to bust this thing wide open and we're not going to let our guard down. Understand?"

"Excuse me, Jason," a news a.s.sistant stood at the door. "Reception says there's a woman here to see you."

"Who?"

"The person won't give her name, but reception's pretty sure it's a nun."

Sister Denise twisted her bag's strap as she waited in the reception area.

The more time that pa.s.sed, the more she doubted herself.

Was this the right thing to do?

Yes, it was. She had to do this. They had to find the truth, she thought, as a reporter approached. He had an earring, a few days' stubble, and a nice smile.

"I'm Jason Wade," he held out his right hand. "I recognize you from the shelter and the town house, but I didn't get your name."

She kept her voice low, "Denise."

Jason sensed her unease.