I watched Nash understand why I was asking.
“Boone.”
“Did you touch Dante’s statement?”
“No.”
“Did you know it was gone?”
“No.”
“Did you know about the flagging before this morning? Did Dutch say anything to you, that June, about the fork?”
Nash looked at me like I’d hit him with something.
“You think—” He stopped. Then he started again in a quieter tone. “You think Dutch died coming back for me, and I buried the proof.”
“I don’t know what happened.”
“You know me.”
“Five years ago, I’d have said the same thing about Dante.”
He nodded slowly.
“Yes, I had access,” he said. “The key was on my ring the whole time. I had the opportunity and nobody would have looked twice as I moved in and out of these buildings.” He stepped close to me. “But I never read Dante’s statement, and I didn’t touch it. The first I heard of ribbon in that fork was today. You can add me, for whatever it’s worth, to your list.”
“Nash—”
“Put me on your list, Boone.”
He walked to the door, and then he stopped, but he didn’t say anything. He started moving again and left the building.
Dante found me in the loft. “He answered your questions.”
“He gave me everything I asked for.”
“And he thinks—”
I moved toward the door. Nash was somewhere across the yard, and I was already drafting the method of repair. Go find him. Fix the thing I broke.
“Don’t,” Dante said.
“I need to—”
“Not yet.” He stood between me and the door. “Right now, anything you say to him is for you. Give it a day, and you’ll figure out what to say for him.”
“I had to ask,” I said.
“I know. You did.”
“Then why does it feel like I kicked him in the teeth?”
“Because you did that too.” Dante shrugged. “Both things happened, Boone.”
“Both things.”
“For what it’s worth,” Dante said, “this morning at the map, I wondered about him. For thirty seconds, maybe. He had the fork, he had Dutch, and he had five years of not talking about either one.” He glanced back over his shoulder at the door. “Then I remembered who I was wondering about, and I quit.”