Brimstone

"I sent it by special courier to a woman on the island of Capraia. Comes from a line of violinists. She'll restore it to the Fosco family at a time of her choosing, when the new heir is settled in. Somehow, I think that's what Pendergast would have wanted."

It was the first time Pendergast's name had passed between them.

"I know you couldn't explain on the phone," she went on. "But what happened, exactly? After you took the Italian police to Fosco's castle yesterday morning, I mean."

D'Agosta did not reply.

"Come on, Vi

D'Agosta sighed. "I spent the rest of the day combing the Chianti countryside. Talking to farmers. Talking to villagers. Anyone who might have seen anything, heard anything. Checking my hotel for messages. Of course, there was nothing. But I had to be sure, you see-absolutely sure .    "

Hayward waited. After a moment, he went on.

"The thing is, deep down, I was already sure. We'd searched the castle. And then there was that look Fosco gave me, that awful look. If you'd seen it .    " He shook his head. "Close to midnight, I drifted back to the castle. Went in the same way we'd come out. I took the time to figure out how the microwave device worked. And then I .     used it. One last time."

"You brought Fosco to justice. Avenged your partner. I'd have done the same thing."

"Would you?" D'Agosta asked quietly.

Hayward nodded.

D'Agosta shifted restlessly. "There's not much more to tell. I spent this morning back in Florence, checking hospitals, morgues, police reports. More to keep busy than for anything else. And then I boarded the plane."

"What did you do with that weapon?"

"Disassembled it, smashed the pieces, and deposited them in half a dozen garbage cans around Florence."

She nodded. "And what are your plans now?"

D'Agosta shrugged. He hadn't given this any thought. "I don't know. Go back to Southampton, I guess. Face the music."

A small smile crept over her face. "Didn't you hear what I said? It's the chief who's facing the music. He got back from vacation and was so eager to hog the limelight that now it's all coming back to roost. Braskie's ru

"Even worse for me."

She changed lanes. "There's something else you should know. They've suspended the NYPD hiring freeze. That means you can work the city again. Get your old job back."

D'Agosta shook his head. "No way. I've been away too long. I'm old goods."

"It hasn't been that long. They're rehiring by seniority. And with your experience in Southampton, and as FBI liaison .    " She paused to negotiate the ramp onto the Long Island Expressway. "Of course, it couldn't be in my division. But they've got openings in several of the downtown precincts."

D'Agosta sat a moment, letting this penetrate. Then he looked at her sharply. "Wait a minute. My old job back, openings downtown. You didn't have anything to do with this, did you? Have a talk with Rocker, or something like that?"

"Me? You know the kind of cop I am. By the book. Miss Straight Arrow " But her smile seemed to deepen briefly.

Up ahead, the maw of the Queens-Midtown Tu

From the passenger seat, D'Agosta watched her: the beautiful lines of her face, the curve of her nose, the little furrow of concentration as she negotiated the evening traffic. It was wonderful just to see her again, to be here by her side. And yet he could not escape the sense of desolation that enveloped him. It was like a hollowness he carried around, a vacuum that could not be filled.

"You're right," he said as they entered the tu

Hayward kept her eyes on the road. "You don't know he's dead."

D'Agosta didn't answer. He'd told himself this already: once, twice, a thousand times. When everything had been stacked against them-when there seemed no way they could possibly survive-Pendergast had always saved them. At times, it had seemed almost miraculous. And yet, this time, Pendergast had not reappeared. This time, it felt different.

Then there was that other feeling, the one that made him almost physically ill. It was the image of Pendergast, there in the clearing, surrounded by dogs. Everyone-the hunters, the handlers, the beaters-closing in. Only one of us can get through. There's no other way.

D'Agosta felt his throat close up. "You're right. I have no proof. Except maybe this ." He reached into his pocket, drew out Pendergast's platinum chain and pendant: a lidless eye over a phoenix, rising from fiery ash, now pitted and partly melted. The chain he'd retrieved from Fosco's burning, smoking corpse. He stared at it a moment. He balled the hand into a fist, pressed a knuckle against his teeth. He felt a ridiculous impulse to burst into tears.

The worst of it was, D'Agosta knew he was the one who should have been left on that hill. He wished, more than anything else, that he had been left on that hill.

"Anyway, he would have contacted me by now. Or you. Or some body." He paused. "I don't know how I'm going to tell Constance."

"Who?"

"Constance Greene. His ward."

They drove through the rest of the tu

"Let me off anywhere," he said, sick at heart. "Pe

"Why?" she replied. "There's nothing for you out there. Your future's here, in New York City."

D'Agosta remained silent as the car cruised west: past Park, past Madison, past Fifth.

"You have a place to stay in town?" she asked.

D'Agosta shook his head.

"I-," Hayward began. Then she, too, fell silent.

D'Agosta roused himself, glanced at her. "What?" It was hard to tell, but in the reflected light of the streetlamps, he thought she was blushing.

"I was just thinking. If you're coming back to the NYPD, working here in the city .     well, why not stay with me? For a while," she added hastily. "You know. See how it works out."

For a moment, D'Agosta didn't answer. He just looked back out at the lights passing over the windshield.

Then he realized, quite abruptly, he had to let go. Let go, at least for the moment. The past was over and done. Tomorrow was an unknown, still to come. He had no control over either. All he could control, all he could live, was the here and now. Knowing this didn't make things any better, really-but it did make them easier to bear.

"Look, Vi

D'Agosta smiled faintly.

Ahead, a traffic light turned red. She eased to a stop, then turned to look at him.

"So, you coming back with me, or what? It's not polite to make a lady ask twice."

He turned to her, squeezed her hand.

"I think I'd like that," he said, his smile broadening. "I think I'd like that very much."