Page 120 of The Instruments of Darkness

“I need coffee,” he said. “By the way, Sonny’s not coming back. I had to cut him loose.”

Ungar didn’t need to ask why. He’d heard about the beating delivered to Sonny at the Capital. It was unfortunate. Sonny had been their Internet specialist, trawling the dark web and chat sites to seek potential recruits.

“Damn,” said Ungar, following his leader. “I liked him.”

“So did I, but he fell into bad company.”

They crossed the creek to head back to their camp.

And Ellar Michaud watched them go.

CHAPTER LXXVII

The Kopper Kettle had been a fixture in Topsham since the 1980s. I knew a man who used to drive up there from Portland every Friday just to have the black pastrami eggs Benedict, followed by a raspberry muffin. The rest of the week he ate like a rabbit that was off its feed, but Fridays were guilt-free.

I parked by the blue entrance awning shortly after 1 p.m., the Stars and Stripes flapping in the breeze. I could hear a bird singing from nearby and picked out a little vireo standing by one of the diner’s window boxes, which made me feel better about the world. I left Angel and Louis to get some air and intimidate passersby while I went to find Beth Witham. All three of us entering the Kopper Kettle together might have resembled a team of kidnappers.

Witham wasn’t hard to spot, being the sole server on the floor and the only person under sixty working that day. She was built like a long-distance runner, so she probably wasn’t secretly bingeing on those raspberry muffins in the back room. Her red T-shirt displayed tight, hard muscles on her arms, and she wore her dark hair tucked under a cap. She was a few years older than Colleen Clark, with the harried look of someone who was holding down more than one job. I knew that look. I saw it a lot in Maine. She wore no rings, but a tiny bluebird was tattooed on the skin between the thumb and forefinger of her right hand.

“The bluebird of happiness?” I said, when she arrived to take my order.

“I couldn’t get the real one to visit,” she said, “so I acquired a counterfeit. What would you like?”

“Just coffee, please.”

I placed a business card on the table, but she didn’t pick it up. Judging by the hardening of her expression, that bluebird was ready to take flight.

“I thought someone might find their way to me,” she said. “Which side are you on?”

“Justice, as distinct from the law. I considered having a special suit made, with an optional cloak, but I didn’t want to come off as showy.”

“Save the charm,” she said. “This isn’t a seller’s market.”

“I work for Moxie Castin. He’s representing Colleen Clark.”

“Did she do it?”

“No.”

“But you would say that, wouldn’t you?”

Had I been more musical, I could have set that exchange to a tune and claimed royalties.

“Not if it wasn’t true. That pitch is for lawyers alone.”

She took the card and tucked it into the pocket of her apron.

“We close at two. I usually stay around to help clean up, but I’ll see if I can take a pass today. I have to be at the Target at Topsham Fair Mall by three to start my second job, and I’ll need to take a twenty-minute nap in the car before then or else I’ll drop during my shift.”

“I’ll try not to take up too much of your time.”

“You won’t have to try, because I won’t let you. There’s a Panera close by, if you want to wait. It should be quiet soon enough.”

“I’ll see you there. And thank you.”

“You haven’t heard what I have to say yet.”

“You could have told me to take a hike,” I said, “and then I wouldn’t have heard anything but birdsong.”

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