mills around a moment, as if tochoose a seat in the rather populated site, then decides to take the seat wherehis contact was sitting only moments ago.
It is a chair in the corner of the lounge area, really twopanels forming an L. Haroon takes off his coat and sits on it, then sets hisbackpack on the other chair and makes a point of sifting through its contents,while his other hand reaches under the cushion and quickly finds the note. Hedoes not immediately read it, naturally. With one casual maneuver, he drops thenote-a piece of stationery folded in half-into the pack.
Haroon kills twenty minutes until his class on socialism inthe twentieth century is to begin. As he reads the textbook for the class, hereaches into his bag, removes the note, and drops it into the textbook.
The doctor. Ram Haroon smiles. His contact is keeping thereference vague, but Haroon knows. He can do his homework, too. Doctor NeilLomas is his name, and he is good. Unsteady, but good. Nervous about nothing,but good. He can be as neurotic and dependent as he wants to be, as long as hedelivers the formula.
But all in all, good news here. His contact has gone togreat lengths to assure Haroon that things are proceeding appropriately. Heexpects to hear such things, of course; they want Haroon to feel safe andsecure. They want this job to go through as much as Haroon’s people do. YetHaroon realizes that his partners are sharing the risk, in their minds probablytaking greater chances than he is. Haroon, after all, is doing this for acause, something he is willing to place himself in harm’s way to achieve. Hispartners are Americans, doing this for money. A jail cell or notoriety would befar more horrifying to them than to Ram Haroon. So he must assume that theseassurances are sincere, that his partners truly believe the coast to be clear.They will hope for the best, which is to say they will hope that Allison Pagonedoes not know what they fear she knows. They will hope for a trial thatproceeds without incident, and then they can move forward with their plan. Whatthey do not realize is that Haroon could never agree to let Allison Pagonelive. If she were convicted, she could make a deal at any time, tradeinformation for leniency or even clemency. The only way to guarantee AllisonPagone’s silence, he recognizes, is to silence her.
ONE DAY EARLIER…
Allison closes the door in the small, sparsely furnishedroom in the public library. This is an unexpected place to meet but, in a way,that’s the point. This library is about three miles to the south of Allison’shome, which makes it a bit closer to Mansbury College, from which Jessica hadto travel to meet her.
Allison turns from the door. Jessica is wearing an oversizedsweatshirt and jeans, her hair back in a ponytail. Her expression is acombination of concern and antagonism; Jess has never been able to reconcilethe two over the last few months. She resents her mother but she loves her,too, and she is desperately concerned about this criminal prosecution.
Allison hasn’t seen Jessica for several weeks, so despitethe urgency of this meeting, she cannot help but first take measure of herdaughter. She is truly a beauty, a natural one, not relying on makeup or anextravagant hairstyle or anorexic dieting. She has a strong, intelligent face,a complexion reflecting her father’s Latino heritage and her mother’s paleskin, wide dark eyes, a full mouth. Allison has always felt that Jessica couldhave her selection of guys, though she no longer enjoys that notion.
There’s a guy, but you wouldn’t approve.
It’s someone at work, Mother, okay?
“Is everything okay?” Jessica asks, touching her mother’sarm. Oh, that look on her face. Jess is trying to hold everything together,something she has recently found not to be easy at all.
“It’s going to be fine, Jess. I’m sorry to be so insistentlike this. And I don’t have long to talk. We-we probably shouldn’t talk verymuch about this.”
They shouldn’t talk, Allison means, because Jessica will bea witness at trial. Anything that the two of them say could be discovered bythe prosecution.
“You went straight from campus to my house that night,”Allison says. “You were studying on campus, then you came home to get away fromthe noise. You got to my house at eight-thirty. You studied, fell asleep, thenI came home sometime before two in the morning.”
Jessica frowns. This, almost verbatim, is what she told thepolice. “Did something happen?” she asks.
“I think it might be better,” Allison says, “if you simplytestify that you got to my house at eight-thirty. There’s no real reason toelaborate on what you were doing before that. It’s not relevant.”
“It’s not relevant,” Jessica responds warily, “but you’repulling me out of class in the middle of the day to have me meet you here.”
Allison drops her head.
“Did something happen, Mother?”
“Jess.” Allison raises a hand, looks her daughter in theeye. “I want you to remember what you told the police. You went into somedetail about the fact that you were at the student center studying, then youwent back to your dorm room, then you came to my house.”
“That’s right.”
“There’s no need to volunteer that information, but have itready.” Allison sighs. “The best thing would be not to talk about it at all.Just to say, ‘I got to my mother’s house at eight-thirty.’ The less said on thesubject, the better.”
There is a small circular table with two chairs in the room,and Jessica carefully settles into one of them. She tucks a stray hair behindher ear and stares at the table, runs her hand over the surface slowly, as ifshe were cleaning it with a cloth.
“Talk to Paul Riley about this,” Allison pleads. “Whateverhe thinks you should do, trust him. You always have the right to invoke theFifth Amendment, too.”
The mention of taking the Fifth, Allison realizes, isexplosive, and has the effect she feared. In what passes for only an instant,Jessica is in tears, covering her face with her hands.
Allison rushes to Jessica, folds her into her arms. Theintimacy is welcome to Allison, circumstances notwithstanding. She cannotremember the last time she held her daughter.
“This is my fault,” she whispers to Jessica. “Nothing isgoing to happen to you. Nothing is going to happen to me. Nothing is going tohappen to your father. Believe that, Jess. Believe it. This is all going to beover soon, and you can get on with your life.”
Her daughter sobs uncontrollably, a complete melt-down.Allison did not want this, but this was important enough. The subject had to beraised. She has to be sure.
“This is my fault,” she repeats, resting her chin on herdaughter’s head, caressing her hair. “I won’t let anything happen to you oryour father.”
ONE DAY EARLIER…
Larry Evans scribbles on his notepad. “And why do you thinkit was so successful?” he asks. “April Showers?”
“Oh.” Allison looks over Larry’s head at the shoppers in thegrocery store. “I think women readers liked a
