End of Enemies by Grant Blackwood

with the FBI. How are you feeling?”
    â€œOkay,” she said fuzzily. “Where’s Daddy?”
    â€œHe’s on his way. Do you feel up to talking to us?”
    â€œUh-huh.”
    â€œDo you remember anything about the accident?”
    Cynthia shook her head. “We were almost on the ground, then there was a loud boom, and I looked over, y’know, across the aisle, and there it was.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThe hole, and the ground going by really fast. There was a flash, too, and then heat.” She bit her lip and her eyes welled with tears. “Those people, they … they were just gone, their seats and everything.” She started crying. “Are they dead?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhat was it, what happened?”
    â€œA bomb.”
    Latham wasn’t sure how to proceed. He had a guess about where his questions would lead; if he were right, it would mean more pain for her. On the other hand, once her father arrived, their access to her might disappear.
    â€œCynthia, I want you to listen to me: You haven’t done anything wrong, okay? You’re not in trouble. Do you understand?”
    â€œYes. …”
    â€œWe think the bomb came from your bag.”
    She stared at him. “What? No, no … that can’t be….”
    â€œWe need to know—”
    â€œI didn’t …” She broke into tears again. “Where’s Daddy?”
    â€œCynthia, your bag was leather, right, green-checkered leather?”
    â€œY-y-yes. It was new.”
    â€œWhere did you get it?”
    â€œIt was a gift.”
    â€œFrom who?” Latham steeled himself.
    â€œFrom a friend. A man I met on vacation, in Jamaica.”
    Son of a bitch. “What was his name?”
    â€œRicardo.”
    â€œRicardo what?”
    â€œI don’t … I can’t remember. He was Italian. He’s coming to visit me in a few days.”
    â€œDescribe him for me.”
    She did so, but the image was vague. Latham was unsurprised; these people knew how to pick their targets.
    â€œI don’t get it,” she said. “What’s going on? What are you saying?”
    â€œCynthia, I’m sorry. We think it came from him.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThe bomb. We believe he may have planted it.”
    â€œNo, no, he wouldn’t. He said he loved me. He … Oh, God.”
    She curled herself into a ball and began sobbing. Latham squeezed her arm and pulled the doctor toward the door. “You have someone who can stay with her?” Latham whispered.
    â€œYou think she might hurt herself?”
    Latham shrugged. What the hell do you think, Doc ? he thought. The man of her dreams lied to her, betrayed her, then used her to kill five people. Yes, I think she might want to hurt herself.
    Latham said, “She’s going to need help, Doctor. Lots of it.”

8
    Japan
    Following Butcher’s orders, Tanner loitered about, sunbathing and drinking Alcapulcos, neither of which he minded, but he quickly grew restless. He wanted to either jump into the mystery of Ohira’s murder or be done with it.
    The previous night Camille had left him a message saying her business in Tokyo was taking longer than she anticipated, but she would be returning in a day or so. She was looking forward to dinner. In spite of himself, Tanner was, too.
    Lurking in the back of his mind, however, was a hesitancy to get involved with her or with anyone else for that matter. It was a familiar feeling, one with which he had made a shaky truce after Elle’s death. There had been other women since her, but nothing of any permanence. He’d never been a fan of the “better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all” theory. As far as he was concerned, the jury was still out.
    He’d been at Holystone a year when Elle died. Dutcher had pushed him to go see a counselor. Tanner balked, so Dutcher made it easy. “Go.