The Intern(38)

“Jeez, it’s just a tape recorder,” he said. “You think I could ever hurt you? Not that I can say the same for some of my associates. Sit down. I’ll get you some water.”

He led her to the sofa, bringing her a glass. As she drank, he held up the tape recorder.

“You’re a grown-up now, Kathy. I need you to listen to this, and then I’m going to be very frank with you. We have to stop pretending that things aren’t what they are. For your own sake.”

He pressed Play. It was her voice on the tape, the words spliced together for maximum culpability.

“Brad’s on his way to dinner with the task force guys.… They’re going to Villa Carlotta.… He drives a blue Volvo with a Red Sox sticker on the back.”



She looked at Ray in shock. He just shrugged, like, What did you expect? All those years. All that tuition money. She believed he truly thought of her as a daughter. But that wasn’t his only motive.

“If it was up to me,” he said, “I’d let you walk away, but the people above my head will never do that. You’re too valuable an asset. You need to accept that, or the consequences will be severe. I’m sorry, Kathy, that’s just the world we live in. You belong to them now.”





15


Present day

When Kathryn told people that teaching at Harvard Law was an escape for her, she meant it more literally than they would ever know. She was desperate to make a run for it. But there were eyes on her at all times. At home. At the office. Every place in between. The best-laid escape plans would fail if you were being watched. She’d learned that from hard experience, having tried to run before. It was a disaster, the worst thing that happened to her in her entire cursed life. Because they were watching. They found out. They retaliated. She lost Matthew and would have ended her own life if not for—well, there were other people she loved, who gave her reason to live. People who needed her protection. This time when she ran, she was determined to make it, for their sakes. But achieving that would require something that she lacked. Privacy. She needed a private space in order to make the complicated arrangements necessary to disappear without a trace. A place where her captors couldn’t follow her. A place they wouldn’t object to, where they would allow her to spend time.

The academic dean at Harvard Law was an old friend from law review days. He’d been begging her for years to teach a course. Working as an adjunct professor wouldn’t normally have been an attractive proposition for Kathryn. It was a lot of work for pittance pay, and she had no need to burnish her résumé by hyping her connection to Harvard. But it did come with one important perk—office space. There were four shared offices set aside for adjuncts that could be reserved on a rotating basis, for any day on which you taught a class or held office hours. During the period that the office was reserved, it was yours exclusively. It had a door that locked with a key, a desktop computer with internet access, and a landline telephone. Private space. Above reproach. Enhancing her reputation served their interests. She went to Ray with the idea. He approved it right away. And not a moment too soon. Her problems weren’t just getting worse—they were converging.

On the day that Kathryn invited Madison Rivera to apply for the internship in her chambers, two bad things happened. First, she got a phone call with terrible news, though it was not unexpected. It came in from an unidentified number whose caller ID was blocked, just as she’d instructed.

Sylvia sounded even weaker than the last time they’d talked.

“I’m worried about you, Mom,” she said. “You don’t sound good.”

“I beat it before. I’ll beat it again.”

“You need help. A home health aide. Or a nanny. Or both.”

“That’s a terrible idea, and you know it.”

“I’d vet them carefully.”

“No strangers, Kathy. It’s not worth the risk.”

“What happens if you collapse? Your platelet levels—”

“Don’t you dare use that doctor’s report against me.”

“I’m not using anything against you. I’m just worried about you. About her.”

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll talk to my neighbor Denise. She’s good people. I trust her in a pinch. You spend your energy getting out, understand? I want to see you again while I’m still aboveground.”

The knock on the office door made her jump. Instinctively, she knew it was more bad news.

“Sorry, I have to go,” she whispered, and hung up. “Come in!”

Her throat went dry when she saw who it was. Andrew Martin had been a hotshot prosecutor in Boston, with that killer combination of Ken-doll looks and naked ambition. Juries loved him. He was assigned to all the big cases. But then a few months ago, he surprised everyone by transferring to the Public Integrity Section in Washington, DOJ’s equivalent of Internal Affairs. Not long after, Ray received a tip that Martin had joined a new DOJ investigation into law enforcement corruption in Boston. They were adding prosecutors and agents at a rapid clip, looking into everything. They were even planning to reopen the cold-case murder of Brad McCarthy. Ray dropped in for a visit, supposedly to reassure her, but she knew better. He was getting his ducks in a row. It’ll be all right, he’d said with a warning look, as long as nobody talks.