CHAPTER FORTY ONE
Zero stood under the shade of a thin tree with his hands clasped in front of him. It was a pleasant day; warm, only a few wispy feathers of cirrus clouds hanging in the spring sky. He wore a simple black shirt and black trousers, appropriate cemetery attire, with his head bowed slightly and his gaze directed at a grave marker about twenty-five yards away.
Shawn Cartwright’s funeral had been hours ago, earlier that morning, but he hadn’t attended. None of them had; they weren’t supposed to have any public affiliation with him. So they held a small ceremony of their own, him and Strickland and Maria and Bixby. Emilia Sanders was there too, but only because Todd was taking her to the airport directly afterward.
“He was a good man,” Bixby murmured solemnly.
Maria scoffed
