The sins had been far too great.
Though Josepe had several siblings she’d contacted none of them. Instead, she’d arranged for people from her estate to be at the airport and transport the body to a local crematorium, which accommodated her request for a quick incineration. She’d decided that it was far too complicated to explain to brothers and sisters as to how one of their own had spiraled into insanity. And she certainly could not tell them the U.S. government had sanctioned their brother’s death.
Her anger remained hot. There’d been no need to kill Josepe. She could have wrestled him under control. Apparently, the threat he posed was so great that murder had become the only acceptable option.
Some of that she could understand.
But not enough to make it right.
Cotton should not have pulled that trigger.
And not just once.
But twice.
Unforgivable, no matter what Josepe had done.
That’s why there were courts. But Stephanie never could have allowed him to speak publicly. Instead, he had to be silenced.
One of her employees had already dug a hole large enough for the silver urn. She would place Josepe there and, eventually, explain to his family what happened, leaving out the awful parts, noting that their brother had simply crossed a line from which there’d been no return.
But that would be another time.
Today, she would say her own goodbye.
MALONE STEPPED FROM BEHIND THE COUNTER IN HIS BOOKSHOP. Business was light, usual for a Monday morning. He’d arrived home twenty-four hours ago after an all-night flight from Salt Lake City through Paris. He could not remember when he’d ever been this rattled. Cassiopeia had said little to him, storming off from Falta Nada.
He was frustrated, tired, and jet-lagged.
Nothing new, except for the frustrated part.
His employees had, once again, done a masterful job of keeping the store running. They were the best. He’d given them all the day off, deciding to handle things himself. Which actually helped his mood, as he didn’t feel like socializing.
He stepped to one of the plate-glass windows and stared out at Højbro Plads. The day was wet and stormy, but people still hustled back and forth. It had all started right here, in the shop, five days ago with a call from Stephanie. He wondered about Luke Daniels and what the young man would do next. He’d wished him well in Salt Lake and hoped that, maybe, one day their paths might cross again.
His thoughts were interrupted by the opening of the front door.
A FedEx deliveryman entered with a package that required a signature for acceptance. He signed the electronic pad and ripped open the box’s perforated tab as the courier left. Inside was a book sheathed in bubble wrap. He laid the bundle on the counter and carefully unwrapped it.
The Book of Mormon.
Original edition, 1830.
The one he’d bought in Salzburg, stolen back by Cassiopeia and Salazar.
Protruding from the top was a slip of paper. He removed it and read a note written in black ink.
This was found in Salazar’s plane after it was searched. I decided that you should have it as compensation for all that you did. You shouldn’t work for free. I know this was tough and I’m told there might be consequences. God knows I’m not one to give anyone woman advice, but tread light and be patient. She’ll come around.
Danny Daniels