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Together they made their way to the front of the room. Walt swallowed hard as he came closer to the casket, seeing his partner’s face in profile. He’d always hated the waxy appearance of dead people in caskets. His childhood, it seemed, was riddled with moments of kneeling in front of sturdy, mahogany caskets that held elderly relatives. He was supposed to say a prayer as he knelt in front of the caskets, his parents had told him, but all Walt had ever been able to do was stare in confusion at the thick makeup smeared across the dead person’s face. This childhood quirk had carried into his adult life, and as Walt approached Jason’s family he wondered if they were pleased with the way he looked, lying stiff and unmoving in the casket, or if he was as unrecognizable to them as he was to Walt.
“You know Jason’s family?” Jim asked.
Walt shook his head. “No,” he said just as the couple in front of him finished talking and moved on to the casket.
An older couple were the first family members in the receiving line. Walt reached out his hand and offered his best smile.
“Walt Jenkins.”
“Hi, Walt,” the man said, taking his hand in a warm embrace. “How did you know Jason?”
Walt swallowed hard, the tape on his neck stretching against the strain. “I was his partner.”
“Oh,” said the woman. “We’re Jason’s parents.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Walt said. “Jason talked about you all the time, sir. About your time in the Bureau. He spoke about both of you. I’m really sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” Jason’s father said. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m fine, sir.” Walt released the man’s hand. “This is Jim Oliver. Jim heads up the field office here in New York.”
“Your son was a great agent and a good friend to us all,” Jim said.
“Thank you.” Jason’s father smiled. “Have you met our daughter-in-law?” he asked Walt.
“No, sir,” Walt said.
“She had to use the restroom,” Jason’s mother said. “She’ll be right back. I’m sure she’d want to say hi.”
Walt smiled and gave a quick nod, beginning a thirty-second span of painful small talk that felt like it lasted an hour. All Walt wanted to do was take a quick knee in front of the casket, pretend to pray, and then get the hell out of there.
“Here she comes,” Jason’s mother said, pointing over Walt’s shoulder.
“Sweetheart,” Jason’s father said, motioning with his hand. “This is Jason’s partner.”
Walt turned and felt his knees buckle when he saw Jason’s wife.
“Meghan,” Jason’s father said. “This is Walt Jenkins.”
Walt imagined the terrified look on Meghan’s face was a mirror image of his own. She stopped a couple of strides away from him, unblinking and unmoving, her mouth agape. It was obvious to everyone—Jason’s parents, Jim Oliver, and anyone else within eyeshot of Walt and Meghan—that they knew each other. That they had been sleeping together for the past year and were in love was less obvious, but only slightly.
“Have you met before?” Jason’s father asked in a credulous voice.
“Uh, no,” Walt managed in a strained voice on the brink of cracking. He held up his hand to wave, but it looked more like an act of surrender. “I’m . . .”
He placed a hand on his bandaged neck and felt the dampness of blood seeping through the gauze.
“. . . . . . . . . very sorry for your loss.”
It was all he could manage before he turned and walked quickly to the back of the room, through the atrium, and into the dark hallway. He pushed open the door and squinted against the sunlight as he sucked for air. His lungs hurt and his chest heaved. He stumbled to his car and fell behind the steering wheel. Starting the engine, he pulled away even before he had the door closed.
CHAPTER 33
Manhattan, NY Friday, July 2, 2021
“SHE WAS YOUR PARTNER’S WIFE?” AVERY ASKED, LEANING CLOSE TO Walt—a position she found herself in as she hung on every word of his story.
“My dead partner’s wife, yes,” Walt said, taking a needed swallow of rum. “That’s why she hadn’t returned my calls all week. She was busy dealing with her own tragedy—her husband’s death. She had no idea I was Jason’s partner or that I was the other agent who’d been shot. We were together for a year and she never told me she was married. She knew I worked in the New York field agency for the Bureau, but she never pressed me for details about my job. I always took it as sort of a separation of church and state. You know, let’s not talk about work. Let’s just enjoy each other’s company. But she didn’t want to know anything about my work because she didn’t want to know if I knew her husband.”
