Tears stung my eyes. I felt a betrayal that went deep, cutting profoundly to the core.
I feel betrayed, I heard a voice say out of nowhere, and I realized it was a memory surfacing. It was Lucinda, and we were in our apartment in Carlisle. I had just finished my first year at Dickinson Law. I had been in the Law Review office all day, checking cites and doing legal scutwork. I had come home and told her I was dropping out.
Why do you feel betrayed? I asked her. I’d expected she would be unhappy, but not like this.
You can’t drop out. You’re doing great. You just made Law Review.
I can’t afford to stay. It’s no way to start a life, a hundred thousand dollars more in debt.
The big firms will recruit you. You’ll make it back in no time.
I won’t be able to pay off the loans for ages. It keeps me up every night. I hate debt.
You sound like your father.
That’s not why, I shot back, but she was right. They were my father’s words coming out of my own mouth. He hated debt. He didn’t trust banks. He knew dairymen who had been foreclosed on. He squirreled away cash in the house.
Let me ask my father, Jason. He’d be happy to help.
I can support my own family.
If you could, you wouldn’t drop out.
I blinked, pained. This isn’t who you wanted me to be, is it? You wanted me to be a lawyer, and you’d be the wife of a lawyer.
Lucinda wiped a tear away. That was our plan.
Plans change, honey.
Not this one. Not without a fight.
I’m still me. I promise you, I’ll take care of you. I took her in my arms, but Lucinda didn’t lean against me the way she always did.
I could almost feel her now, even as I stood at the door, looking out into the darkness. It struck me that I hadn’t asked her why she’d had an affair, maybe because I knew, at some level. It all went back to that stifling afternoon, to an apartment in Carlisle.
That’s the way marriage was, I realized in that moment. There was a thing you always worried about, barely a crack, running down the middle between the two of you, and you hope it will go away, but it can widen like a tectonic plate, break open beneath your feet, and swallow you whole.
Suddenly headlights appeared in the driveway, and a black Tahoe pulled in and parked beside the van. It must be the replacement agent that Dom had told me about, since he, Wiki, and the rest of The Babysitters Club were going to Allison’s funeral tomorrow. The agent’s name was Matt Reilly, and he was from the investigative team. I was going to pick his brain tomorrow, but I was in no mood tonight.
I stepped out of view. Luckily, the downstairs lights were off.
Special Agent Reilly emerged from the driver’s seat, talking on the phone. He looked about my age and dressed FBI-casual, in a white polo and khaki pants. He fetched a duffel from the Tahoe while he kept talking.
I was too far away to hear what he was saying.
But when he walked past our front door, I read his lips.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I stood stunned, replaying what Special Agent Reilly had said:
Milo is a psycho. You couldn’t pay me enough to run him, but if he delivers Big George, he’s worth it.
It was beyond belief.
I watched as Special Agent Reilly crossed the driveway and walked to the agents’ apartment. I waited for the sound of his footsteps on the stairway, a muted thumping that disappeared after a moment. The night returned to its heavy silence, the air weighed with humidity.
I exhaled. I hadn’t realized I had been holding my breath. I went over the words again, visualizing his lips moving. I was sure I read them correctly. The driveway was well-lit.
Milo is a psycho. You couldn’t pay me enough to run him, but if he delivers Big George, he’s worth it.
My mind reeled. It could only mean Milo was working with the FBI. They must have made a deal with him, using him to get evidence to convict Big George. Milo had flipped and become their informant.
The revelation took my breath away. The FBI had been lying when they said they were looking for Milo. They knew exactly where he was. He wasn’t in Mexico at all. They probably had surveillance on him. He could be wearing a wire. The government wasn’t protecting us, they were protecting him.
Allison’s killer.
I wondered if Dom knew. I trusted him, but I couldn’t be sure. Maybe I had just been reaching for a friend. Maybe he set me up so I wouldn’t suspect anything. He was a lot like me, a family man, a fellow runner, about my age. Maybe our friendship was as phony as my marriage.
The worst thing was if Milo was cooperating with the FBI, he would never be punished for killing Allison. God knew if he would get any time in jail. They couldn’t let him walk, could they? They couldn’t without asking us, could they? What about Allison? What about justice?
My thoughts raced. I didn’t know the law. The law was with the government. It was me against them, with their power and might, their treachery and corruption.
I was sick of feeling helpless.
I had to do something.
Chapter Thirty
I stood behind the couch across from the TV, waiting for Allison’s funeral to begin. I couldn’t bring myself to sit on the couch with Lucinda, and she sat next to Ethan, who had decided to watch. I hadn’t said a word to Lucinda this morning, and we had avoided each other while we showered and changed. Of course I hadn’t told her the FBI lied to us about Milo. This wasn’t the time, and I had to think.
The TV flickered on, and the funeral started. The screen showed strangers in suits gathered around a glistening walnut casket, which rested on a bier of white roses. The camera must have been mounted in a tree, since the angle was high and the view distant.
Lucinda sniffled, and Ethan emitted a moan. I swallowed hard, but the remoteness of the scene muted its impact. I would have cried my eyes out at my daughter’s funeral, but I wouldn’t at this TV production.
I eyed the FBI agents pretending to mourn my daughter, wondering if any of them knew Milo was their informant. They had no business being at Allison’s funeral. They were protecting the scum who killed her.
At the head of the fake mourners stood a priest I didn’t know. He began to pray, but I could barely listen to a word. Lucinda started to cry and Ethan, too. The FBI agents bowed their heads, and my gaze found Dom and Wiki. They were to the right of the priest, where I should have been. Again I wondered how much they knew.
The service ended, and Dom stepped to a table that held a vase of white roses and an open laptop. He pressed a key, and Lucinda’s memorial video began to play. The notes of the Sarah McLachlan song sounded tinny through the microphone. The photos of Allison were too far away to see.
The music wafted over me, and I felt oddly remote. This was the day Lucinda and I buried our daughter, our firstborn child, and it should have been a burden we bore together. But no longer. She and Ethan cried, and I put my hand on Ethan’s shoulder.
I returned my attention to Allison’s casket and made a vow to get her justice.
I was her father.
I would be, as long as I lived.
And even after.
Chapter Thirty-One
After the funeral, I stayed downstairs, sipping a glass of water and looking out the kitchen window. I found myself scanning the trees for cameras, then I glanced around the kitchen, newly distrustful. I wondered if the FBI had bugged the house or loaded spyware. I eyeballed the ceiling fixture, then my laptop.