“What kind of favors?”
“Come on,” the kid said. “You know.”
“Where you from?” Kristy asked. “Your accent.”
“Ukraine. But it was still USSR then.”
“Ah,” Kristy said. “Do you also work for Mr. Dmitrov?”
The kid looked surprised but said, “He got us here. So I do favors for him, too. You know him?”
“I know him,” she said. So Jacob was right. “Have you seen Mrs. Ford? Is she somewhere safe?” Kristy asked.
“Mr. Ford said she left him.”
“Yeah,” Kristy said, “but I’m asking if she’s safe.”
“Yo,” the kid said, “I don’t do favors like that.”
“What’s your name?” The kid hesitated, so she said, “What do your homies call you?”
“Pool Boy,” he said.
“You stay in the Silver Suites?”
“I manage it.” When Kristy seemed dubious, he said, “Mr. Ford owns it. I get to stay for free if I fix shit.”
“Okay,” Kristy said. “Mr. Ford. He inside?”
“Guess so.”
“You sure he didn’t leave?”
“Pretty sure.”
“You hear something?” Kristy asked.
“Naw,” Pool Boy said. “But you get close enough, there’s a smell.”
Kristy looked back at the former Safeway. It was huge and filled with old body parts. It wasn’t necessarily true that it was Ford’s body making the smell.
“Did he leave you keys?”
Pool Boy reached into his pocket, took out a key ring, jingled them. There was one for the Benz, one for the house, one for LifeCore. “Told me if you didn’t show up, I could take the car.”
“You been inside?”
“Naw, ma’am.”
“Be real honest with me,” Kristy said, “because if you left DNA in there, you’re going to have a problem.”
“Might have looked around, seen if there was anything worth moving, you know. Found some weird shit.”
“Touch anything?”
“Naw, I got out quick.” He pointed over his shoulder. “My niece used the bathroom.”
“You let your niece in?”
He shrugged. “If she was with me,” he said, “I could talk my way out of it.” Not a bad idea, actually. “I took a laptop.”
“One?”
“Two.”
“Two?”
“Okay,” he said, “like five.”
Jesus fucking Christ. She counted out $10,000, folded the bills up, handed them over. “Dump the laptops,” she said. “And I need the keys. I want you and your niece to go on a long vacation, okay?”
Pool Boy pocketed the cash, handed over the keys, but then said, “What about your DNA?”
“It’s okay,” she said, “I’m an FBI agent.”
KRISTY WALKED THROUGH A MAZE OF EMPTY CUBICLES—MAYBE THIRTY OF them—family photos, coffee cups still in place. It was like the staff of LifeCore had been raptured. Computer screens still glowed blue in the dim fluorescent light of the old Safeway. Phones periodically rang, even though it was the middle of the night. The dead, they don’t keep a clock, Kristy supposed. Copy machines and printers clicked and hissed and sighed. Somewhere, a fax spewed out pages. Sweaters hung off the backs of chairs.
The stench was overwhelming.
