Chapter 1

February 10

After locking the rental Cadillac, Preston Sturgis rolled the felt collar of his overcoat up against the cold night breeze off the Charles River. Nothing all day. Perhaps he’d gotten away with it. After all, why not? They were identical. But he couldn’t get around the fact that the importance of the note made it almost certain it would be missed. Had it been a mistake to return it at all? If it had, wouldn’t something have happened by now?

He could argue on either side and had been doing so all day. He unlocked the gate and entered the small garden area onto which his Beacon Street apartment opened. Something landed on him with such force that his stout, middle-aged body was thrown back against the fence. Excited little squeals. Alfie, his wire-haired terrier. Sturgis’ heart settled back into normal rhythm. Of course it was Alfie, though what he was doing outside on such a cold night...His nerves had started to go when they blew up his car. It was only a warning; he’d have been in it otherwise. Okay, the message had gotten through. He was making good money and there were things he didn’t need to know. Night before last wasn’t his fault, just a mix-up. Surely they could see that.

He unwrapped the steak bone from his dinner and held it out for Alfie, who took it in his sharp teeth and bounded for the dog door to the apartment. Garden apartments they called them, which sometimes meant they were underground. Not this one though, and the yard pleasant to sit in come Boston’s summer, though that was the last thing he was thinking of this bleak February evening.

In the faint glow of a distant streetlight he could see the dog door swing back into place. Foolish mutt. Why venture outside on such a frigid night. Perhaps something had scared him; he always hid from the cleaning woman...The force of the explosion threw Sturgis to the ground, where he was pelted by chunks of wood and stone. The thought crossed his mind before he lost consciousness: they knew he’d seen it.