Countryside. Apple. Riordan. Yellow.
Countryside Grocery Store. Corner of Apple and Riordan.Delivery entrance in back. Yellow post.
Ram Haroon is vaguely aware of this grocery chain in theMidwest, and he knows Riordan Avenue. But he doesn’t know Apple Street. He hasto stop and ask for directions. He would prefer not to make a point of askinganyone, but he’s out of options. Riordan Avenue extends from the lake to thesuburbs. Apple Street could intersect anywhere along that route. The store isprobably close to Allison Pagone’s home but he simply doesn’t know. He thoughtof going on the internet to find all the Countryside locations, or even to useMapQuest, but that leaves a trail. Sloppy. There is not even a single piece ofpaper with this information, because he has memorized it.
Countryside. Apple. Riordan. Yellow.
But now, having avoided all paper trails, he is forced toask a convenience-store clerk for the information. Not ideal, especially whenit turns out he’s only a couple of blocks away from his destination.
So he finds it, finally. There is a small bank across thestreet from it. He chooses to park in that empty lot, in a position where he isfacing the grocery store. He takes a while, a good five minutes, and looks overthe store. The lights are out. The parking lot is empty. It’s half past eleven,and the store has presumably long been closed.
After another five minutes have passed, he pops the trunkand gets out of the car. Inside the trunk, in a gym bag, are a smallhand-shovel and two plastic freezer bags. He puts on his brown gardeninggloves, which will serve a dual purpose here.
Delivery entrance. Yellow.
Haroon goes to the back of the store, the delivery entranceas promised. Large double doors, a metal ramp running up to an elevated dock,level with the back doors. The rear of the building is spacious and well lit,two characteristics that he would prefer were otherwise. An old wire fence runsalong the border of the property, propped up by several posts.
One of them, not far from the ramp, is the only one paintedyellow.
He walks over to that spot and feels around with his handsto no avail. He places his shovel cautiously into the ground and digs softlyuntil he hits something solid.
And then he smiles.
ONE DAY EARLIER…
Ram Haroon sits at the counter of the diner and rotates thecoffee cup on its saucer. He steals a look at his watch, sees that it’s eighton the dot. By now, most of the families have left the restaurant, most of thelittle kiddies. There are some couples lining the booths, mostly older folks,one pair of teenagers on a cheap date.
He gets up and heads to the men’s room at the back. It’s abigger room than he would have thought. There are two urinals and two stallswith red doors. One of them is occupied. He sees the gym shoes. Normally, onewould expect to see pants bunched up at the ankles while someone sits in abathroom stall. Which means his contact is good, but not that good.
A men’s room, he thinks to himself. Of all places.
Haroon enters the neighboring stall, puts down the toiletseat, and sits on it. There is probably no point in going through the motionsof dropping his pants. It seems a little odd, in fact, given the familiaritywith his neighbor.
He hears paper unwrapping in the neighboring stall. A momentlater, a single piece of stationery creeps along the floor into his stall. Hepicks it up and reads it.
Countryside Grocery Store. Corner of Apple Drive andRiordan. Back. Delivery entrance. You will see a yellow post against the fence.Look right there. You are not keeping this so write it down.
Ram doesn’t write it down; instead he commits it to memory.
Countryside Grocery Store. Apple and Riordan. Yellow post inback.
Countryside. Apple. Riordan. Yellow.
Ram takes the message and, with his pen, writes a singleword on it and hands it back under the stall.
When?
The answer comes back in less than a minute.
Get it now. It will need to happen soon. Wait for my call.
Ram Haroon gets to his feet and flushes an unused toilet. Hewalks back to the counter of the restaurant, where his dinner awaits him. Hekeeps his eyes on the Cobb salad before him.
Countryside. Apple. Riordan. Yellow. He says the words overand over in his head, paying no attention to anyone who might happen to pass byon the way out of the restaurant.
ONE DAY EARLIER…
This shouldn’t be happening.
“This shouldn’t be happening,” Allison says, removing herfingernail from her mouth. The nails are reduced to nubs now. She’s never hadlong nails, not since she began writing, but now they have been chewed intononexistence. “I’m sitting there all day, listening to my lawyer plot strategy,and the whole time, I’m thinking, ‘This shouldn’t be happening.’ ”
Mat Pagone drops his briefcase in the living room. He hascome in with Allison, after picking her up at her lawyer’s office and drivingher home-to what was once his home, too.
Allison watches her ex-husband disappear into the kitchen.
What do you mean?
What do you mean, this shouldn’t be happening?
Mat returns with two glasses of wine from a bottle alreadyopened. “Drink,” he says. “Your head still hurt?”
She accepts the glass. “Only when I think. Did you callJessica?”
“She’s studying, Ally. You know she has that paper. Sheturned her cell phone off, is all. She’s fine.”
“She had to testify in a murder trial against her ownmother. She is not fine. ”
She doesn’t see Mat “off-camera” much these days. He hasplayed the dutiful-supporter part, picking her up for court and taking herhome, but that’s a public appearance. Up close and personal, he looks tired.Worry and regret have cast a shadow across his face. His career is in tatters,his reputation probably shot. He is lucky but probably can’t see that. He nevercould.
“What I meant before,” she says finally, “is I should havepleaded guilty. I should have spared Jessica having to testify.”
“Pleading is giving up,” Mat says. “That’s not you. Thatwould have torn up Jess just as much. She thinks you’re innocent, Ally.”
“She thinks I’m innocent. Wonderful.” Allison rubs her face.
“That’s a good thing, I would think. You prefer she thinksyou killed Sam?”
“Mat.” Allison looks at him directly. “She can’t think I’minnocent. Because she’s going to blame herself, either way, when I’mconvicted.”
“You aren’t going to be-”
“I am. I am and you know it. Jessica needs to understandthat I was convicted because I’m guilty. Not because of her. She has to believeI’m guilty.”
