“What’s the layout?” Dane asked.
“It’s on a side street off Tremont. There are six or seven tables. Henry sits in the window on the right as you face the front. The block turns residential after the café. It’s brownstones. Quiet on Thursday mornings. Most of the foot traffic is dog walkers before eight-thirty.”
“I’d be inside already,” Dane said. “Plainclothes at a separate table forty minutes early.”
“Sightline?” Eamon asked.
“I’ll find one when I’m in the room. I’ll know when I see it.”
“And would you bring Reed?”
“Yes, placed at the corner of the block. He’d be in plainclothes with a coffee from a different place and a phone he’s pretending to read.”
“Collins?”
“Two blocks east on the cross street. Engine off. He moves on my call.”
Dane looked at Eamon. “Would you be there?”
“Thirty feet down from the entrance on the opposite side of the street. I’d have a sightline through the front window and a clean view of who walks past the café in the fifteen minutes after Henry arrives.”
“What would I be doing?” Cabot asked.
“You read the menu and order,” Dane said. “If Henry connects in any way that he chooses, you follow his lead. If he doesn’t, you finish your coffee and walk out.”
Wiley watched us. He had his eyes on both Dane and me .
He saw me clock him and didn’t look away. He sipped his coffee and let the moment pass.
“Three days from now,” Eamon said.
“Three days,” Cabot said.
“Stanley,” Wiley said. “This whole thing depends on Henry being who you think he is.”
Cabot didn’t hesitate. “I know.”
The answer landed badly for me. Certainty got people killed faster than fear did. Fear made you check the door twice. Certainty made you walk through it.
Eamon stood. “Dane, walk me out.”
Dane stood. He glanced at me on his way past and followed Eamon to the side door.
Before Eamon could leave, his phone rang. He nodded twice and spoke three words. He listened for a moment and said two more.
He hung up and returned to the kitchen.
“Was that Mt. Auburn?” Wiley asked.
“It was the federal investigator. He cleared me to share the rest of Patterson’s deposition.”
“I’m flattered,” I said. “Almost sounds like the investigator is flirting.”
Eamon didn’t bite. “Patterson had more to add about Henry,” he said. “Six months ago Henry approached him at a reception. He warned Patterson that someone was about to use his late wife’s foundation against him.”
“The reason for the warning?” I asked.
“Unclear. Patterson didn’t share the warning because he thought he had nowhere to go with it. He didn’t trust theGlobeenough, and he didn’t trust the feds either. He’d watched two newsrooms get rolled up by agents who’d sworn they were friendly. So, he waited.”