“Oh.” Jakob cleared his throat, scuffing the gravel with his shoe. “Well, it all worked out.”
“Yeah,” Sander said. “I guess it did.”
Jakob nodded at a car parked under the big oak in the yard. Its hood was open and there was a neat row of tools laid out on a blanket draped over the bumper.
“I was out tinkering with the car, I like to do it after the kids go to bed. It’s pretty well protected from the rain under there. Then I saw the flashing lights and wondered what had happened, so I followed them. When I got back, I just ended up out here.” Jakob was holdinga bottle of beer. He took a sip and rubbed his fingers together like he wished he had a cigarette. “Alice is asleep upstairs with the kids. She probably doesn’t even know I was gone.”
Sander sat down next to him. Jakob noticed the bandage on his hand, but he didn’t ask aboutit.
“Was Killian alive for real? Was that really him?”
Sander didn’t respond right away.
“I think so. Or, it was him and it wasn’t him.”
Jakob held out his beer, eyebrows raised. Sander shook his head. They sat in silence for a while.
“How are you doing?” Jakob asked at last. “About Felicia, I mean. I saw them drive her off, so I basically figured it out.”
“Oh.” Sander blinked. “I don’t know.”
“You didn’t know? That it was her?”
For an instant, despite all the time that had passed, he was ashamed. He should have known; they should have been close enough for her to tell him. But maybe they never were. He had only thought so—all the things he had confided in her. She was the only one who knew the truth about him. Sander felt his heart beating against his rib cage.
“She never said a word.”
“I guess it can’t be easy to talk about something like that anyway.”
A brief silence.
“Nice car. What is it?”
“A 1969 Chevy. I found it in a barn down in Snapparp about a year ago. It’s a 327 with Fuelie heads and a Hurst shifter. Put me back ten grand.”
“Nice,” Sander said again, since that was basically all he could say about cars.
Jakob gazed out at the yard and the land. For a moment they both watched the thin streak of warm light as it slowly grew on the horizon.
It had been such a very long night.
“You know,” Jakob said, as if something were weighing on him, “Iwas so scared when the police came to talk to me. And your betrayal—Iknew you were the one who told them about the shirt.”
“Again, I apologize. I felt like I didn’t have any other choice. I’ve got too much to lose.”
“And I don’t? Did you think about me at all? About Alice? Our kids?”
Sander didn’t respond. He just squinted into the darkness.
Someone was heading their way on foot. A figure appeared. When Jakob spoke again, the words came out slowly and searchingly.
“So I had to tell the police the truth. I didn’t have any other choice either. I’m sure you understand.”
A chill from the past heaved up through the years, rising through Sander’s legs like water in a sinking ship. The figure grew, became clearer. It was Vidar Jörgensson.
“Good morning,” he said calmly, gazing at the sunrise. “If that’s the right phrase.”
The burly officer was holding a brown paper bag. He stuck a hand inside and pulled something out, held it up to Sander.
