back up onto the sill. Once out,he sets the window back into place as if he never were there. He makes itthrough the backyard, over the fence, into the neighbor’s yard. He walks to hiscar and begins to drive without hitting his headlights.
He looks at his watch. It is exactly two minutes beforemidnight, before Wednesday. He wonders when she will be found. Sometimetomorrow morning, because her trial will resume and she will not show. Someonewill rush to her door. Maybe the federal agent whom Allisoncalled-McCoy-panicking.
He picks up his cell phone and hits a speed button. “Done,”he says, and hangs up.
He has to get home now. Final exams start in a couple ofweeks and he’s fallen behind.
ONE DAY EARLIER…
Ram Haroon already jogged today, so he is annoyed that hehas to don the outfit and run again, at the ungodly hour of eleven at night. Heis surprised to find that he’s not alone out here, that a few other lunaticsare running in the cool air. There is a path that winds around a park near theuniversity, a one-mile loop that begins-and ends-at a marker with a couple ofbenches and a drinking fountain made of stone.
A runner is kneeling near the fountain, tying a shoe. Ramcan hardly make the runner out in the darkness but there’s no doubt. The runnerstands and stretches, then starts down the path, presumably for another mile,though Ram is sure that his contact will veer off to a nearby car.
Left in the runner’s wake, on the grass, is an envelope. Ramdoes not immediately rush over to it, because as long as no other runnerapproaches, there is no need to act with such swiftness. After a moment ofstretching, he makes his way over to the drinking fountain and takes a sip ofthe icy water. He bends down to tie a shoe that is not untied, and slips theenvelope off the grass and into the pocket of his sweatpants.
He is in his student dormitory thirty minutes later. Studenthousing might not have been the wisest choice, because the courts in Americahave allowed law enforcement more freedom to search school-subsidizedfacilities, on the theory that students have a diminished expectation ofprivacy in government-provided housing. But it made sense, in the end. First,because he lacks the money for a nicer place in the city, but more importantly,because he wants to fit in. He wants nothing out of the ordinary. Besides,there’s nothing for them to find in this room.
Except this envelope. He opens it and reads:
Sorry for the short notice. We have had a tremendous break.The FBI is pressing her for information about Operation Public Trust. They wanther to provide information that she very much does not want to provide. She istough but not when it comes to her family. She is at the breaking point. Noneed to give too many details. The FBI has put her in a corner. I believe sheis contemplating this herself. She will do anything to protect her family. I amsure of this. But we cannot assume she will save us the trouble and take herown life.
Do it Tuesday night. The FBI is coming back to her onWednesday. MUST BE TUESDAY NIGHT. I have included two scripts. She should makethese two phone calls. I leave it to you whether you can force her to do this.Your decision. If you can get her to cooperate, you will convince the wholeworld that she did this to herself. I think she will make these callswillingly, because she will want to say these things, anyway. I leave that toyou.
I assume you have the trophy now. It might make sense foryou to leave it at her house. People would see her guilt.
This has always been your idea, not mine. I still believe itis too risky. But if you insist on doing this, now is the time.
I must warn you, if there is the slightest hint that thishas not worked out to our satisfaction, WE will be the ones who walk away.
Ram Haroon rereads the note, then looks at the other sheetof paper. It is a script of what Allison Pagone is supposed to say. The firstphone call will be to Mateo, her ex-husband. Don’t say a word to the FBI andwords to that effect.
The second phone call will be to an FBI agent named JaneMcCoy. Haroon does not know all the details, but he can gather enough from the script: Your plan didn’t work. Live with that. Vague without more context, but Haroonunderstands well enough. The FBI is trying to make the ex-husband talk to savethe ex-wife, and the ex-wife, by taking her own life, removes the FBI’sleverage.
Excellent. Better than a suicide note, especially the callto the agent, McCoy-blaming her for placing Allison in this corner. A plausibleexplanation for why Allison Pagone would choose to take her own life.
Yes. This is the perfect cross of the final t, the finaljagged piece of a difficult puzzle. It must be a part of this plan.
And he has no doubt that he will be able to persuade AllisonPagone to go along.
ONE DAY EARLIER…
I’ve never known anyone like you,” he told her, and shewanted to say the same thing to him. He came up behind her, cupped a handaround her throat, ran the other hand lazily up the side of her body, caressedher stomach. She felt a chill, a welcome chill, closed her eyes and let him unbuttonher blouse, bring his lips to the back of her neck, bring his hands to herbreasts.
“There are things you don’t know, Allison,” he told herlater.
And The Look. The single defining moment, at that cocktailparty only days before his death. The expression of utter wanting on his face,fixating on her, imagining unspeakable acts, as he stood among others at theparty, unable to move his eyes off her-
“Shit,” Allison says, looking down at her hand. Thewineglass has shattered in her grip. She looks at the pieces before taking noteof the two shards stuck into her palm. Searing pain as she pulls the glass out,unable to look, wincing, cursing herself. She walks, palm up, to the sink andruns cold water over her hand. It’s everywhere, blood on her nightshirt, thefloor, but it’s all she can do to wrap a towel around her hand. Then she losesher balance and falls to the floor hard.
“Get a grip, Allison,” she mumbles. She sits up, rests herhead against the cabinet below the sink, and holds her breath.
Bring Sam to me just one more time. Defy logic, the laws ofnature, and bring him back to me just this once.
She hears her alarm clock going off upstairs. Itautomatically resets, and she forgot to deactivate it, for the second day in arow. Her mind has been like that recently, uncannily sharp and focused on theminutiae of her case, even the big picture, but inattentive to many of thegeneral details of everyday living.
She didn’t sleep. Only about four hours over the last twodays. She’s been in the kitchen since midnight, nursing a glass of wine andstaring into the emptiness of her backyard. She watched the sky lighten,watched the first rays of the day skitter across the yard, furious at howcasually everything was passing her by.
She gets back to her feet and heads outside. She walksthrough the living room, opens the back door, and the house alarm goes off,blending with the sounds of the clock alarm upstairs.
She finds the alarm pad, deactivates it, and fights a boutof nausea. She heads outside and is unprepared for the cold air but takes itin, embraces the discomfort, wraps her arms around herself and watches the daybegin.
“You should see this,” she says. “It’s beautiful.”
Maybe he can see it. Maybe he’s looking down on her, smilingwith that assurance, winking at her, blowing her a kiss. She is religious, butit’s been a while. Mat was never much for church so she fell out of practice.She feels hypocritical but she finds herself pleading.
Just let me hear your voice. Just once.
Tell me you forgive me.
