“I really am sorry to hear that. We’ve been friends for a long time, Jerry.”
“Going on fifteen years, but I don’t think you stopped by to take a walk with me down memory lane. What’s on your mind?”
“Remember the gun Emily talked to you about the night we stopped by her place together?”
“You mean the hypothetical one?”
“Only I knew you didn’t believe it was only hypothetical. You kept pressing me to see it.”
“So now you’re saying the gun is no longer hypothetical?”
“That’s right, it’s no longer hypothetical. It’s a Beretta 92FS pistol.”
Jerry’s eyes narrowed a bit at the description.
“I had that gun run through the system this morning and turns out it belongs to you.”
“Damn!”
“You’ve been searching Emily’s house for it, haven’t you?”
“Maybe.”
“Have you been tailing her?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Why are you being so evasive, Jerry? We’re not going to charge you with breaking and entering—with you being so sick, I mean. What would be the point?”
“Then why are you pressing the issue?” He crossed his arms and glared at her.
“I merely want to know, and I want to be able to put Emily’s mind at ease. With the gun located, we won’t be seeing any more of that behavior, will we?”
“All right, you’ve got me. I was just trying to get that freakin’ gun back—I didn’t want it connected to me. Guess I’m getting too old, too rusty to work undetected. It sucks to get old, Isabel.”
“I have to agree with you there. So, now that we have that mystery resolved, let’s move on to why this gun was so important.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Because we’re friends, Jerry, I’m going to give you the chance to tell me what happened. You can ask for a lawyer to be present, that’s certainly your right, but since you don’t have long to live, it isn’t likely you’d ever be held accountable for any of it. It wouldn’t be financially prudent to pursue a case against you. I’d simply like to know what happened to David Gerard before you’re no longer able to tell me.”
Jerry turned his head and stared out the window, biting on his upper lip.
Isabel wondered if he was thinking over his options.
He turned back and met her gaze. “Okay, I’ll tell you.”
“Everything?”
“I might as well. What do I have to lose at this point?”
“I just want to make sure you understand that you’re telling me all of this under no duress whatsoever, that no one is pressuring you to do it.”
“No, none.”
“Do you want a glass of water before you start?”
“No, I’m good.”
“Okay, then. Tell me what happened to David Gerard.”
“All right.” Jerry cleared his throat. “I was working in DC about seven years ago and got word my daughter, Natalia, had been killed in France. She’d been going to school there. An accidental shooting I was told. I never could really get a straight answer. Then, a couple of years later, a friend of mine in the CIA told me he’d read a report that said she had been killed in a shoot out between David Gerard and an enemy spy. She and David had been seeing each other and an operative from one of the unfriendly countries opened fire on them.”
“So you think it was David’s fault your daughter was killed?”
“I know it was,” he snapped.
“Even if he didn’t pull the trigger or purposely put her in harm’s way?”
“David Gerard was a CIA operative. He had no business getting involved with a civilian and putting her life in danger. He should have known better, instead of letting his Johnson make his decisions for him.”
“So you decided to do something about it? Avenge your daughter’s death?”
“By the time I found out the truth, he’d left the CIA and moved west with his new wife, but I didn’t know where.”
“Then how’d you find him?”
“I was here in town visiting someone, thinking of retiring here. I went to lunch with a colleague from the FBI’s Boise office and saw Gerard eating on the patio of a restaurant with his wife, laughing and enjoying the fresh air.” He shook his head. “While my Natalia lay cold in her grave, he was laughing and enjoying the sunshine with somebody new. It wasn’t fair.”
Isabel noticed her ailing friend’s eyes fill with tears at the mention of his daughter’s name.
He wiped his hand across his eyes and drew in a deep breath. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Must be allergies.”