Nantucket Sawbuck (32 page)

I had given up on hearing from her, finally, with a mixture of sadness and relief. And then the letter arrived, unmistakable with its green and purple Irish stamps, the angular right slanted handwriting and the County Cork return address. It was thick, too. She obviously had a lot to say. Maybe she had sent pictures. I wouldn't mind having a picture or two of her tucked away in a drawer to indulge myself in my weaker moments. I weighed the letter in my hand for another second or two. I knew I was better off without it, pictures and all.

I threw it into the trash can beside my desk and turned back to the night watch log on the blotter in front of me. I read the same sentence three times—something about a three-car crash on Polpis Road. I tried it for a fourth time and then gave up. I let out a sigh so deep it turned into a shudder, and bent over to retrieve the envelope.

I was staring at it, still not quite willing to open it, when Haden Krakauer stuck his head in the door.

“You have to hear this, Chief. Somebody's threatening to set off a bomb at the Pops concert this year. It's on tape. The guy says he's going to take out the whole financial ruling class of this country with one brick of C-4.”

I looked up. “Jesus.”

“Come on, check it out. This guy is serious.”

I dropped Fiona's letter into the trash can for the last time, jumped to my feet and followed Haden Krakauer out the door.

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