The concert was over, but the construction workers were still applauding. That was when Jack knew that he and his father had always been playing to an audience of more than one--although it had helped Jack, as a child, to believe that he was performing only for his father. (Jack and his dad would have to have a conversation about William's dispute with The Wurtz over the word audience--that and many other conversations.)
Jack walked away from the square, down those narrow streets. Some of his father's congregation were in the streets; they walked along with him. It was quite a wonderful feeling to know that Zurich was where Jack belonged, at least until William Burns was sleeping in the needles.
Jack was thinking that he would go back to the Hotel zum Storchen and change into something more suitable for jogging.
It was after midnight in Los Angeles--too late to call Dr. Garcia at home. But Jack didn't need to have a conversation with his psychiatrist. He would call her office and leave a message on her answering machine. "Thank you for listening to me, Dr. Garcia," Jack would tell her.
It was four-thirty in the morning in Toronto, or some ungodly hour like that. Caroline would still be sleeping, but she wouldn't mind a wake-up call from Jack--not if it was about his father, her dear William. In fact, Jack couldn't wait to tell Miss Wurtz that he had found him.