Unsolved (Invisible #2) - James Patterson Page 0,125

can’t stay in one place more than a handful of days was how Mary Ann put it. Can’t put down roots. Even if he goes back and forth between the same places, he has to keep moving. Always moving.

Books saw some of that in Petty, his inability to commit to working at the store on even a semipermanent basis.

And that’s the easy part of his illness. The worst part is the paranoia.

It doesn’t happen often, Mary Ann had said. But when it happens, it’s scary. He thinks he’s back in the war being hunted. He thinks he’s in danger. He has that part of the PTSD mostly under control, but stressors can trigger it.

Stressors like an FBI agent looking at you suspiciously and then following you in his car.

“Sergeant, I’m sorry for what I put you through. Following you like I did.”

He looks away, as he often does, nodding a bit, fidgeting with his hands. “Seems like I should apologize. For what I did to your face. Looks like it hurts.”

Books laughs. “It does.”

“Mary Ann told me why you did it. You thought I was…the serial killer.”

“It was just…well, your schedule, leaving every weekend—”

“Homeless people are either lazy or crazy, right?”

“No, Sergeant, it’s not that—”

“Yeah, it is. Yeah, it is.” He glances at Books, a quick peek, before looking back at the floor. “It’s okay. Everybody thinks that way. A homeless guy can’t carry on an intelligent conversation. A homeless guy can’t read War and Peace.”

There’s no point in getting into a debate. Petty lives this life every day, sees the looks on people’s faces as they pass him.

“You’re welcome to stay at my store anytime, Sergeant. My house too, if you ever wanted.”

Petty doesn’t look at Books, but his eyes fill with tears.

Books puts a hand on his shoulder. “Sergeant. John. I’m your friend. I’m here if you ever need anything. A job. A place to stay. Something to eat. Anything.”

He acknowledges the statement, a tear rolling down his face. “Mary Ann, she doesn’t have long. I’ll probably try to spend some more time with her. Y’know, try to sit still a little more. When it’s over, I’ll probably go back to California.”

“Sure. Well, I’d like to be at the funeral, if you could let me know. Or maybe you could stop by the store to say hi sometime.”

Petty peeks at him again, his eyes narrowed. “Is there still gonna be a store?”

“Is there—you mean—”

“I mean that I never seen you so happy as this last week, when you were back to being an agent.” He shrugs. “None of my business, I guess.”

“Well, that’s…complicated.”

“If you say so.” Petty points a finger to his head. “I mean, if I didn’t have all this going on inside? If I had a woman I loved and a job I loved, I’d grab both of ’em and never let go. It wouldn’t be complicated,” he says, shaking his head. “I just wouldn’t let go.”

129

“BONITA LIVED her life as a hero,” I said, “and she died a hero.” That’s how I began my eulogy, before an overflowing crowd in the Baptist church in Alexandria. I spoke first, before her two boys, Mason and Jordan. They asked me to do it. They said she would have wanted it.

“Heroes are people who go out of their way to help others, who make sacrifices to help others, who reach beyond themselves to make the world a better place. I can’t think of anyone who fits that description more than Bonita.”

When it was over, we spilled outside into mild weather, a shiny blue sky and a gentle breeze. It felt unfair that the weather would be so beautiful on a day like this, but then, I figured, Rabbit probably would have smiled.

The funeral was this morning at nine. I told Books I wanted to head into work afterward. He tried to talk me out of it, but he knew he couldn’t.

So I went home, changed out of my funeral attire, and drove to the Hoover Building. Which is where I am right now. I have only two goals today, and then I’ll go home and see what comes.

First: I delete all of the data files we initially received during the Citizen David investigation, all the data containing license plates caught on cameras and readers at all the bombing sites. Rabbit couldn’t delete them. She didn’t have that level of access. But I’m a supervisor; I do. And besides, Rabbit took all the bulk data and collated it into