There was only one woman Jack wanted to see when he reached the airport. He found her at baggage claim.
“I missed you,” said Andie as they locked in a tight embrace.
Sunday evening at MIA at the height of tourist season was like the running of the bulls in Pamplona, complete with the trampling of stragglers and the goring of innocent bystanders. Parking was out of the question, so Jack met up with Andie on the lower level as Theo burned through a half tank of gas circling the terminal. Andie was carrying a heavy winter coat and wearing a black sweater, which was way too warm for a balmy night in Florida. Jack liked her in cashmere, however, and he was feeling her warmth and breathing in the familiar smell of her hair when he realized that she was no longer a phony blond.
“Your hair-it’s like it used to be,” he said, smiling.
“I like things the way they used to be.”
“Me, too,” said Jack, his smile turning a little sad.
Two days had passed since Neil’s burial, since Andie had promised to get out from undercover and return to Jack and Miami as quickly as possible. She already had her bag, but out of curiosity Jack checked the flight information on the nearest luggage carousel. She’d flown in from JFK, but Andie was on to his detective work, and she shot down immediately any notion that he had uncovered the location of an FBI operation.
“You don’t really think I fly home direct from an assignment, do you?”
He supposed not. “Speaking of,” said Jack, touching her newly restored hair. “I hope this doesn’t mean you did something drastic
… like quitting?”
She shook her head. “I got a week. I just thought you might like to spend it with the real me.”
“You’re the best.”
Jack took her bag. They exited through the pneumatic doors, continued on the sidewalk past the long line at the taxi stand, and stopped at the curb. A cabdriver laid on his horn, which set off the audio version of the domino effect. Traffic was endless, eight lanes of cars and shuttle buses streaming by at something less than cruising speed at Grandpa Swyteck’s nursing home. Somewhere in that mess was Theo, unless he’d gotten fed up and ditched them.
The horn blasting subsided, and Andie took his hand. “Have you thought about what I asked on Friday?”
“About what?”
“Buying us a snowblower,” she said, shooting him a look. “About letting law enforcement do its job.”
“Yes. I’ve thought about it.”
Jack wanted to drop it, but Andie seemed determined to secure his agreement that trying to find out what had happened to Neil could be hazardous to his health.
“Have you been talking to Vince Paulo and Chuck Mays?” Andie asked.
Theo pulled up to the curb and popped the trunk-Perfect timing. Jack wedged the bag between the golf clubs and spare tire, then climbed into the rear seat with Andie. Theo steered back into the incredibly slow flow of traffic. They might as well have been moving backward.
“Welcome to the Bob Marley Taxi Company, mon,” said Theo, putting on a Jamaican accent, “where da whole world move like a stroll on the beach.”
Andie rolled her eyes. “Hello, Theo.”
“I like the new hair,” he said, glancing in the rearview mirror. “Old hair.”
“Thanks. Jack was just telling me about his talks with Chuck Mays.”
“You already told her about-”
Jack groaned, and Theo caught himself, but it was too late.
Andie’s expression demanded an explanation.
“Come on, Andie,” said Jack. “Mays has resources that even the cops don’t have. You know as well as I do that even the FBI turns to guys like him when they really need to find someone.”
“Then let the FBI turn to him. You don’t need to get involved.”
“With all due respect to your fidelity, bravery, and integrity,” he said, invoking the slogan on the FBI shield, “I’m not convinced that the FBI is entirely committed to solving this crime.”
“We think it’s a cover-up,” said Theo.
“Thank you for translating,” said Andie.
“So does Chuck Mays,” said Theo.
“I’m not surprised,” said Andie.
“So does Shada Mays,” said Theo.
“Shada?” she said, looking at Jack.
“She’s alive,” said Jack.
Andie massaged between her eyes, as if staving off a migraine. “Did Chuck tell you that?”
“Yes.”
“And you believe him?”
“I think so.”
“She just vanished, is that it?” said Andie. “No reason.”
“We don’t know the reason,” said Jack.
Theo wedged his way into the next lane, but traffic was still barely moving. “But we do know that Shada was cheating on her husband when she ran.”
“What?” said Jack.
“It’s obvious,” said Theo. “Didn’t you read the memorial plaque at the cemetery? ‘In memory of Shada Mays.’ That’s it. No ‘loving mother and wife.’ Nothing.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“Maybe not by itself. For me, the clincher was when Paulo came to Shada’s defense and said the only reason she ran was to escape from the daily reminders of her daughter’s murder. Makes sense, I guess. It’s also the only explanation that makes you feel sorry for a woman who basically abandoned her husband. And what does Mays do? He turns it all around and paints himself as the saint who let her go. A guy with an ego like Chuck Mays doesn’t let go of anything, least of all his beautiful wife. She cheated, and he kicked her ass out the door. Maybe the only reason she cheated was so that he would kick her ass out the door. But the bottom line is the same.”
“That’s a big leap of logic,” said Jack.
“Dude, you’re talking to a bartender. You know how many guys I’ve talked to who got that same chip up their ass?”
Jack blinked, confused. “I think you’re mixing up chips with bugs or shoulders with-”
“You know what I’m saying,” said Theo.
“So she wasn’t the perfect wife,” said Jack. “It doesn’t really matter.”
“It does matter.”
“He’s right,” said Andie. “It matters.”
Jack did a double take. Andie had been curiously silent since the conversation had turned to adultery.
“It matters how?” asked Jack.
“You said it yourself: You think someone is trying to cover up the fact that Jamal Wakefield was in a secret detention facility when McKenna was murdered. That gives you one motive for two murders: first Jamal, and then Neil.”
“Don’t forget about Chang,” said Theo.
“Okay,” said Andie. “Throw him in there, too. It all breaks down if Shada was cheating on her husband.”
Jack made a face, not comprehending. “What am I missing here?”
“Good grief,” said Andie. “Don’t you get it? Chuck Mays had reason to kill Jamal-or to have him killed-even after he found out that Jamal didn’t kill his daughter.”
“Why?”
“Dude!” shouted Theo. “Jamal was banging his wife!”
They fell silent, and Jack suddenly felt stupid. It wasn’t the kind of thing he normally missed. Andie took his hand.
“Jack, this is why you need to stop playing detective. You’re a smart man, but you’re grieving. You were too close to Neil to see all the possibilities.”
Jack glanced out the window. “How long has the FBI known?”
“Known what?”
His gaze turned back to Andie. “That Shada Mays was cheating on her husband. And that she’s still alive.”
“You know I can’t answer that question.”
“This isn’t idle curiosity,” said Jack. “We’re talking about Neil.”
“It doesn’t matter who we’re talking about. I can’t tell you what the FBI knows.”
“Then I’ll make you a deal,” said Jack. “Let me know when you can tell me. That’s when I’ll stop playing detective.”