The doorbell chimed inside when he pressed the button by the side of the door. After a few seconds a woman not much younger than his own wife answered the door. She put a hand up to her face to shield her eyes from the glare of the low sun.
She looked better than he had expected, though her face still bore the tell-tale signs of grief. Her hair was blond and cut short, shaped to her face. Her eyes were the palest blue he had ever seen.
‘Melanie,’ he said. ‘I’m Alex Cahill.’
Her hand dropped to her side. Cahill had no real expectation of how she would react to his presence. Her expression was neutral but she stepped back and told him to come in.
He waited on a couch in the living room while Melanie Stark made coffee in the nearby kitchen. She handed him a mug and sat in a chair by the window, watching him drink.
He felt self-conscious because she did not have a drink so he took two quick sips and set the mug down on the floor at his feet.
‘You must have seen the news reports?’ he said.
She nodded. ‘They didn’t mention Tim,’ she replied.
‘I know. But they will.’
This time her face was more animated.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I spoke with the FBI chief in Denver. He’s going to make sure that Tim’s part in all of this is put front and centre.’
‘I’m not sure what you mean, Alex.’
‘I mean that he was a hero. He set in motion a chain reaction that broke an international drugs ring. He saved who knows how many lives.’
She stood and looked out of the window.
‘You mean his death set that in motion?’
‘I suppose that’s right, yes. I’m sorry.’
She sniffed with her back turned to him.
‘But that’s the job. We put ourselves in harm’s way every day. That’s what we signed up for. Tim knew it.’
‘Doesn’t make it any easier.’
Cahill reached into his pocket and took out the wallet. He ran his hand over the smooth surface.
Melanie Stark looked round at him, watching him turn the wallet over in his hands.
‘What’s that?’ she asked.
‘It’s why I came here.’
Cahill got up and walked to her, placing the wallet in her hand. Her skin felt dry and rough. He saw up close that she had no make-up on and had probably given up on looking after herself since Tim’s death. He hoped what he had given her would speed the healing process. It was all he could do.
She looked at the wallet, the skin between her eyes creasing into a frown.
‘Open it,’ he said.
She put her fingers at the edge of the wallet and pulled it open.
A hand fluttered to her mouth. Cahill wondered if she might faint, but she held it together.
On one flap of the wallet, her husband’s photograph was set in an official FBI identification card behind a clear, plastic sleeve.
On the other flap was the gold shield of a special agent.
A single tear splashed on the plastic sleeve holding the photograph.
‘Tim …’ She crumpled. Fell into his arms and sobbed.
Cahill held her up, feeling her tears soak his chest.
Her sob turned into something more. All the raw emotion of the last week pouring out as the dam burst.
And all the time she held the wallet tight, her fingers splayed against the image of her husband’s face.
When the tide subsided, he heard her say something, but it was muffled as her face was still pressed into his chest.
He asked her what it was.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
I did it for you, Tim
, he thought.
You were one of the best
.