Corrie listened to this sudden rush of words with surprise. Jesse Gower clearly did have a brain. She had an unexpected urge to ask him about his novel, but that subject hadn’t gone over so well the last time. Instead, she pointed idly at the shuttered old toolshed, its windows nailed over with ancient boards. “And what do you call that?”

“Nothing,” Gower said abruptly. He shut down so quickly Corrie sensed that she’d accidentally said something wrong. Changing the subject, she went on: “That pocket watch you mentioned. Can you tell me more about it?”

“It was a gold flyback chronometer.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s what in horology is known as a ‘complication’—something a timepiece can do other than just tell the hours and minutes. Among other things, chronometers can count seconds very accurately. Basically, a flyback chronometer is one where the second hand resets automatically, without the need to push a button.”

“Horology? Sounds like something a pimp might study.”

For the first time, Jesse smiled. “Like I told you, my dad knew something about watches and watch repair. He usually got crappy Timexes to work on. But once he got an old Patek Philippe to clean and regulate. I remember him letting me see the inside of it. There was an entire little world in there—levers, springs, rotors, even jewels. I’ve never seen my dad so excited. It was the only time he got to work on one of the Holy Trinity.”

“The what?”

“The three oldest and greatest Swiss watchmakers. Patek Philippe, Vacheron Constantin, Audemars Piguet. Each of their watches containing hundreds of pieces, made with the most meticulous care. And all hidden from view, working quietly and perfectly together.”

As he spoke, a shine had come into Jesse’s eyes.

“What about Rolexes?” Corrie asked. “I thought they were the best.”

“They have some iconic designs. But they’re basically tool watches. They aren’t made with the same fanatical care, and they don’t have things like perpetual calendars or … ” He stopped talking, apparently noticing how Corrie was staring at him.

“Go on,” she urged.

He shrugged. “Why bother? I could never afford a watch like that in a million years. Not even if I sold—” And here he went silent again.

Corrie decided to let her silence match his own for a minute. Here was a man who spent all his time alone with his thoughts. He wasn’t used to sharing them with others.

“You said your great-grandfather only cared about two possessions,” she said casually after a while. “What was the other one?”

He looked at her a minute, as if balancing an innate suspiciousness with an urge for companionship. “An old drawing,” he said at last.

“Why was it so precious to him?”

“Who knows? It was another one of those things passed down in the family, like some holy book or something. My mom wore a cameo her whole life, even though it turned out to be a fake. People grow fond of things.” He hesitated. “Besides, it’s long gone.”

Corrie could feel him withdrawing, closing up. At the same time, her mind was working, putting together some of the things Gower had just said. Even though it turned out to be a fake...

She looked around, her gaze stopping at the toolshed. There was something defensive in the way Gower had responded to her question about it. And the padlock on that shed looked suspiciously new, compared to everything else around the place.

“That toolshed—would it be possible to take a look inside?”

“Why?” Gower asked, his voice rising in pitch. “That’s the second time you’ve mentioned the shed.”

“It’s curious-looking, I just thought—”

“You just thought. You just thought you could come out here, tease me with vague promises about that cross, and then ask more questions. What do you think is in there? A meth lab, maybe?”

“No, I—”

“All these bullshit implications about being a kindred spirit, about Kansas, pretending to be interested in watches … what you’re really trying to do is pump me for information! You fucking cops are all alike!” He was on his feet now, shouting, eyes watering. “And to think I almost bought it! Get out! Get the fuck away and don’t come back!”

Corrie realized there was nothing she could say. He had flown into a sudden, irrational rage, bipolar style. She had seen it in others before, and there was only one way to respond. And so, while Gower was still yelling, she stood up, descended the steps, and walked briskly back to her car.

34

NORA SAT BACK on her heels and contemplated the completed excavation of Gower’s old campsite at High Lonesome. She’d opened six square meters, encompassing the heart of the campsite, uncovering Gower’s firepit, his trash, a rotten tent, and an alarming number of empty bottles of Rich & Rare. It had been a strange and unpleasant day: a high screen of clouds had covered the sun, and strong gusts of wind blew tumbleweeds about the ruins, depositing a thin blanket of dust over everything, including her hair and eyes.

The excavation, on the other hand, had gone beautifully and much faster than she’d expected. She was glad of that. While Weingrau hadn’t objected to her taking more time off from the Institute, she seemed a little less enthusiastic about Nora’s absence than previously. Adelsky had done an excellent job at the Tsankawi excavation, but without her he had inevitably fallen somewhat behind. And she felt uneasy about all the time and attention Connor Digby was getting back at the Institute, where he had temporarily taken over some of her administrative duties and seemed to be doing a fairly competent job.