His lawyers told him what that meant. Boon drank his coffee. Walt would have ordered pie. Ruth said he would have sat right there and ordered a piece of whatever was fresh and been very quiet about being pleased. She looked at Boon.
He was like that. The quiet pleased kind. Sounds like a good man. Boon said he was careful, patient. He believed that doing the right thing slowly was still doing the right thing and he was willing to prove it.
She looked at Boon steadily. You're not so different from him in your way. Boon looked at his coffee cup. I've done things Walt Callahan probably never considered. Maybe, Ruth said.
But you're here and you stayed when you had every reason not to. She picked up the coffee pot. Walt would have said staying counted for more than people gave it credit for. When staying was hard, he meant not when it was easy. She moved down the counter to top off other cups, came back.
The investigation, Boon said. How long? Voss told Marsh it would be thorough. Ruth said her word, thorough. A pause.
She said Walt's documentation was going to be central to establishing the pattern across time. That without the box, the individual incidents might look like isolated decisions. With it, they look like what they were. Boon thought about Walt sitting somewhere in this town 12, 13 years ago, building something careful and specific for a person he'd never know. Trusting the work would reach the right hands eventually.
Not knowing when, not knowing how, just trusting and continuing. He thought about what kind of faith that required, not the faith that asked for signs, the faith that did the work regardless. Marsh called me Friday, Ruth said. She sat down the coffee pot, looked out the window at Main Street, about the road. Boon looked at her.
She said they've identified an inconsistency in the original accident reconstruction. Something in the physical evidence that wasn't adequately explained in 2015. She looked at her hands on the counter. She said it's too early to draw conclusions, but they're looking. The diner was quiet around them.
The two regular men at the counter eating their breakfasts. The woman in the postal uniform already gone. The morning light threw the windows at a low December angle. He knew someone would look, Ruth said. Eventually, he believed that she straightened up.