She nearly fished through her kitchen garbage in order to look at the list again, but what would that accomplish? Instead, she called her favorite spa to see if she could get a pedicure appointment later in the morning.
2
SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 17, 8:21 A.M.
He’d left his bedroom window open, and it was cold in the room when he woke up. Despite that, Arthur was under his heavy duvet and was perfectly warm. He lay for a moment, drifting up into consciousness, enjoying the feel of the cold air and his own body heat under the covers, and the way the curtain was flapping in the breeze. Light flickered across half of the high ceiling and he was transfixed by it. Then, as happened every morning, thoughts flooded in: Richard’s death, a strange letter, the FBI agents. He was fully awake.
In the shower, he thought back on those few minutes of quiet bliss he’d had in bed that morning. It was happening more frequently these days, this lapse of time between waking up and then remembering that he’d lost Richard, and that he’d never be able to see him or talk to him again. He was conflicted. He loved these moments of time when he was able to just enjoy the fact that he was still alive, but he was also terrified that Richard was slipping away from him, becoming a half-remembered ghost of his past.
He forced himself to stop thinking about it and planned out his day instead. Saturdays were the hardest day of the week. He didn’t have work, and he didn’t have church, and the day stretched out before him like an endless, empty corridor. There was raking to do, and that would take up some of the day, and he’d been meaning to go see an exhibit at the Mead Art Museum, something called “A Collection of Medieval Devotional Objects,” right up his alley. Between those two things, and eating, of course, plus maybe a movie after dinner, he’d manage to get through this Saturday.
3
SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 17, 11:13 A.M.
Why nine?” Jessica said to Aaron as he sidled up to her cubicle.
“Huh?”
“Why nine people on the list, and why not ten? Isn’t ten standard practice for these sorts of things? What’s wrong?”
She noticed that Aaron was not so much listening to her as he was waiting to say something to her. She spun her chair the rest of the way around so that he was standing directly in front of her, both hands in his pants pockets.
“There’s been another death.”
“Who? Where?”
“Matthew Beaumont in Dartford, Massachusetts. He was shot while on his morning run.”
“It’s the same Matthew Beaumont—”
“Who got the letter? Yes. He works … worked in Boston. That was where his letter was collected from, yesterday.”
“Jesus,” Jessica said.
“You said it.”
“How was he killed? You said shot? At what time?”
“I don’t know what time he was shot, exactly, but I know that the body was discovered about ten in the morning. A local officer was able to identify him even though he wasn’t carrying any identification, and since we’d flagged the name …”
“So whoever is doing this is a few hours from that location.”
“Which could be almost anywhere,” Aaron said.
“I know. It’s just … that’s two in two days.”
“I think there was a part of me that still wondered whether there was just some massive cosmic coincidence at work. Nine random people wind up on a list, and one of those people is murdered. And then nothing more would happen. No more deaths, and we’d forget all about it.”
“It’s the second plane,” Jessica said.
“What do you mean?”
“On 9/11, I remember watching the news after the first plane hit, and the world just thought it was a terrible accident. Then the second plane hit, and everything changed.”
“Right, I remember that. This is the second plane, and now we need to get protection for everyone on that list. You included.”
Jessica nodded. “I wish we could find everyone. I’ve been trying all morning. Do you know how many Alison Hornes there are in this country?”
“How do you know the Alison Horne you are looking for is even in this country?”
“I don’t, obviously. But we need to find her. And we need to go to Dartford, Massachusetts.”
Aaron took a hand out of his pocket and put it on the partition that separated the cubicles. “I’m assuming by ‘we’ you mean someone in the FBI. You know you can’t be on this case.”
Jessica knew that, and even though she was shaking her head, said, “I can at least keep looking for the people we haven’t found, right?”