The Innocence Game Part 14

"I'm what they call 'almost good-looking.' "

"What the h.e.l.l does that mean?"

"It means I'm not quite one of 'them,' but almost."

"Not quite one of who?"

"Never mind. You don't get it."

I got it. I just never met anyone who would actually acknowledge it. Never mind talk about it.

"You're one, Sarah. h.e.l.l, you define the category."

"That's sweet, Ian, but you're wrong. I'm almost one."

If Sarah Gold was in the "almost" category, I shuddered to think where I fell.

"Jake's one," she said. "You're a guy, but you can still see it. Looks, brains, probably played sports. I'm sure Mr. Havens has no trouble with women."

"Let's talk about something else."

Sarah opened her eyes and crinkled her nose. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You just told the truth."

"Sometimes that gets me in trouble."

"It's fine."

"You're a good-looking guy, Ian."

"Can we change the subject?"

"You are." She might have been smiling when she said it, but I was looking straight into the sun and couldn't tell.

"I'm thirsty," I said. "You want a drink or something?"

"Sure."

We went across the street and got a couple of lemonades at Foodstuffs. Then we sat at a table in the shade.

"What do you know about Jake?" she said.

"Jake again."

"I told you. I don't have a thing for him."

"It's okay if you do."

"I know it's okay, but I don't. I'm serious, Ian. What do you know about his family?" Sarah took a sip of her lemonade. I could feel her gaze p.r.i.c.kle my skin.

"I'm not following you."

"Why do you think he's so into the Wingate case?"

"Because of the letter he got?"

"There's more to it than that." She pulled her chair closer until our foreheads were almost touching. Her words came out in a rush. "Jake had a younger brother who drowned back east. Cape Cod, I think. Have you heard this?"

I shook my head.

"Jake was ten or twelve, and his brother was, like, eight. They were diving off some rocks, and his brother got caught up in the ropes from some lobster pots. Jake's dad had told them not to swim there, but they did anyway. Jake dove down a bunch of times to try and save him. Instead, he watched his brother drown."

"Jake told you all this?"

"We went out for a few beers after we walked you home the other night."

"And why are you telling me?"

"I don't know. I guess Jake just seems really intense about Wingate."

"And you think that's because of his brother's death?"

"What do you think?"

"I think you should have asked him why he was the one who got the letter about Wingate. If maybe the person who sent it knew about his brother. Knew Jake would be vulnerable to that sort of thing."

"Is that what you believe?"

"Maybe." I looked out across Central. The sun was hard and bright in the middle of the street. A woman in jeans and a white top was yelling at her kid, who had wandered too close to the curb. We finished our drinks and walked some more. The conversation about Havens lay heavy between us. After a while we turned back down Central. By the time we got to Sarah's car, a breeze had sprung up. The air felt good on my skin.

"You headed home?" I said.

Sarah nodded. "Come on. I'll drop you off."

I sat in the front seat, with the flat of my foot up against the dashboard. Sarah didn't mind or I wouldn't have. A cut from Exile on Main Street came on the radio. "Shine a Light." She sang along with the lyrics.

"You like the Stones?" I said.

"I saw the movie. Scorsese."

"Get the alb.u.m. Exile on Main Street. Listen to the whole thing."

Sarah saluted. "Yes, sir."

We pulled up to my house.

"Thanks for the lift," I said. "I'll see you Tuesday?"

"You want to ride together?"

"Sure."

"Good. I'll pick you up." She leaned over and gave me a dry kiss on the lips. A brother-and-sister kiss if there ever was one. Put our night on the beach to bed. I began to get out of the car. She touched my arm. "You gonna get those boxes out of my trunk?"

"I didn't forget."

"You want me to help you bring them in?"

"Let's just put them in my car for now."

We transferred Havens's Bankers Boxes to my backseat. Sarah sat up on the hood and swung her feet in the air. "Wednesday. The Fourth of July parade."

"What about it?" I said.

"Are you going?"

I never went to the parade. Then again, I wasn't entirely stupid either. "Never miss it. Why?"

"I was thinking it might be fun."

"You want to go?"

Sarah nodded. "If it's okay."

"It's okay."

"Great. What time?"

"I've got some things to do in the morning. Maybe around ten? We can get some breakfast and then head over."

"It's a date. You going over to Jake's apartment tomorrow?"

"I gotta pick up the rest of his files."

"Good."

"Why is that good?"

"I don't know. You guys seem to work well together. You click."

"What planet are you living on?"

"Do you really think someone sent Jake that letter because of his family?"

"If they wanted to hit a nerve, he's the guy. What does it matter? The case deserves to be looked at."

"You're right." Sarah slid off the hood and gave me another hug. "See you Tuesday."

I watched her car until it disappeared around the corner. Then I climbed into my own and picked through the material Jake Havens had collected. Sarah had a.s.sumed the boxes of evidence were going into my house. I'd learned a lesson, however, from my run-in with the Chicago police. So I took out my cell phone and made a call.

21.

Jake Havens lived at the corner of Forty-sixth and Greenwood, in a South Side neighborhood called Kenwood. Like my cla.s.smate, the neighborhood was something of an enigma. Walk ten blocks in one direction and you'd find Barack Obama's Chicago home. Beyond that, the University of Chicago. A half mile the other way and stripped-down buildings stood naked in the sun. Boarded up. Vacant. Silent. Save for the cash-and-carry drug trade. And that went on 24/7.

It was almost four in the afternoon when I pulled up to Jake's building. There was a small park across the street named after the Chicago poet Gwendolyn Brooks. A couple of kids were playing hoops on an asphalt court, and a mom pushed a stroller along one of the park's sunlit walking paths. A mail carrier worked the far end of the block, and a shirtless man stood in the street, washing down his car with a hose and a sponge.

Havens lived on the second floor of a brick six-flat. I knocked on his door. It creaked open at first touch.

"h.e.l.lo? Jake?"

I took a step inside and stopped. A dusty hallway stretched out in front of me. At the other end was a room with windows covered by heavy shades.

"Havens? You here?"

I walked tentatively down the hall and into what appeared to be a living room. There was a cheap sofa sitting on a threadbare rug and a couple of small round tables. On one of the tables was a framed photo of Jake as a boy. I picked it up. Jake was standing in a boat, smiling into the sun, and holding a largemouth ba.s.s that was half as long as he was. Sitting next to him was a younger boy, with a shock of flaxen hair and a face full of freckles. The younger kid looked up at Jake with a mixture of innocence and awe that would have broken my heart if I'd let it. I moved my eyes back to Jake. The strong jaw was there, the clear eyes, the certainty of who he was, the instinctive command of the moment. I wondered if this had been the trip. If this had been the summer. Jake at ten years old, diving into the cold salt water, following the lines of the lobster trap, watching his brother drown.

I put the picture down and ventured deeper into the apartment. A kitchen, draped in darkness, was set off to one side of a short hallway. On the other side, two doors. One was closed. The other stood open. A yellow light burned inside. I walked toward the light.

It was Havens's bedroom, except I wasn't sure where he slept. The bed itself was covered with paperwork from the investigation. Files carpeted the floor and ran in a row down one wall. Photos, sketches, and random notes were pinned to the walls, doors, furniture, and every other available bit of s.p.a.ce. I pulled a piece of paper off Jake's headboard. It was a diagram of the interior of a building.

"The original's in one of the boxes I gave you."

I jumped in my skin and turned. Havens stood in the doorway, arms crossed, a crooked smile on his face.

"Hey." I sounded weak. Out of breath. "Your front door was open so I came in."

" 'Coming in' means you walk in, see no one's around, and wait in the living room."

I felt my face burning but knew I wasn't going to back down. Not with Havens. "If you're waiting for an apology, it's gonna be a while."

He shook his head and s.n.a.t.c.hed the diagram from my fingers. "You know what this is?"

"A mechanical drawing of some sort?"

"It's Skylar Wingate's grammar school."