could ever prove it. As long as he wasn’t caught, he had a perfect alibi. He had tremendous power, he realized, so long as he could find Henry.
He was suddenly nervous that someone would recognize him now that he was back in his hometown. Should he disguise himself? Where was he going to stay? He hadn’t thought everything through since he’d been so concerned with whether he could return to America without using his own passport. Now that he’d done it, what was next?
He took a taxicab to a boutique hotel on Beacon Street and checked in using Bram’s passport and cash, claiming, with a terrible Dutch accent, that his credit card had been recently stolen. The clerk said they needed a credit card for incidentals, but Corbin offered a cash deposit of two thousand dollars (he’d traded in nearly five thousand pounds at the cash exchange at Logan, using Bram’s ID), and the hotel manager finally agreed. Alone in the room, Corbin stripped off his clothes and stood under the shower for nearly half an hour, trying to will his body to relax. Ever since he’d received the e-mail from the police, Corbin had felt like a man possessed, finally knowing what he had to do. What he hadn’t yet allowed himself to feel was the pain of what had happened to Audrey, the sadness that she was gone forever. But now the thoughts came anyway, along with uncontrollable tearless sobs, Corbin’s jaw clenched so tight that he worried his teeth might shatter. The only thing that calmed him was the thought of getting to Henry and crushing him in his hands, making him pay for what he’d done. Henry had been in Boston less than a week ago. There’s a chance I can find him, Corbin told himself. As soon as it got dark he would walk to his apartment building and wait in the bushes, to see if anything happened, if Henry, for whatever reason, made an appearance.
It was almost noon. He had barely slept or eaten since hearing about Audrey, but now his stomach was growling loudly, and his head was light with lack of food. He pulled on jeans, a T-shirt, and the hooded Jack Wills sweatshirt he’d bought at Gatwick. He pulled the hood tight around his head, tightening the strings so that it wouldn’t come loose, and left the hotel, turning right and walking toward the hospitals. He passed a barbershop he’d never really noticed before, doubled back, and pushed through the doors. There were two barbers, one old and bald, and the other young and bald, clearly the son. The dark interior was about as wide as a train car and smelled of pomade. The young barber was free, and after being seated, Corbin asked for a buzz cut.
“How short?” the barber asked.
“As short as you can go.”
The barber set his clipper to the lowest setting and began taking off almost all of Corbin’s hair. Sports talk radio was playing from an old boom box high up on a shelf, and Corbin was able to turn his mind off for a moment, listening to callers complain about the lousy relievers the Red Sox had this season.
“You want a shave as well?” the barber asked after finishing.
Corbin ran his hand across his chin. He hadn’t shaved in over a week, and his beard was thicker than it had ever been. “Sure,” he said. “Shave everything but the mustache.” He’d read or heard somewhere that if a man wanted to change his appearance he should shave his head and grow a mustache. It was one of those things that had stuck in his head for years, even though he’d always wondered if it were true. But when the barber was done, and Corbin stared at his nearly bald head and the beginnings of his reddish mustache, he did think he looked different enough to possibly fool someone who happened to glance at him. It was enough.
After leaving the barbers, Corbin walked down toward Mass General Hospital and found a Greek pizzeria he’d never been to; he ate a large meatball sub and drank two Cokes. Then he got a turkey sub to go and brought it back to the hotel. Who knew when he’d get a chance to eat again? Back in his room, he cracked the window that looked out over slate roofs toward the Common. It was a windy day, and it felt good to let some of the blustery, cool air