gave me a concerned look. "I'm here because you missed three sessions, and you wouldn't have done that unless things had taken a turn for the worse. I think your hallucinations have changed again, and they've scared the hell out of you."
I gripped the wheel tighter but didn't speak. Somewhere, the NSA was listening.
"Why don't you tell me?" she said. "What could be the harm?"
"This isn't the time. Or the place."
The UNC theater was up ahead on the left. To our right the Forest Amphitheater lay in the trees below the road. I made a hard right and coasted down a dark hill on a street that ran between two rows of stately homes, a single-entrance neighborhood that housed tenured professors and affluent young professionals.
Fielding had lived in a small, two-story house set well back from the street.
Perfect for him and the Chinese wife he hoped to bring to America.
"Where are we?" Rachel asked.
"Fielding's house is right up here."
I looked in the direction of the house but saw only darkness. I'd expected to find the place ablaze with light, as my own had been after I lost Karen and Zooey. I had a moment of panic, a premonition that I'd driven into one of those 1970s conspiracy films where you walk up to a familiar house and find it vacant. Or worse, with an entirely new family living there.
A porch light clicked on thirty yards from the street. Lu Li must have been watching from a darkened window. I turned my head and scanned the street for suspicious vehicles. I frequently spotted the NSA surveillance cars assigned to tail me. Either the security teams didn't care if we saw them or, more likely, they wanted us to know we were being watched. Tonight I saw nothing suspicious, but I did sense that something wasn't as it should be. Perhaps there were watchers who did not want to be seen. I turned into Fielding's driveway and pulled up to the closed garage door.
"A Nobel laureate lives here?" Rachel asked, gesturing at the modest house.
"Lived," I corrected. "Stay here. I'm going to the door alone."
"For God's sake," she snapped. "This is ridiculous. Just admit this is all a charade, and let's go get some coffee and talk about it."
I grabbed her arm and looked hard into her eyes. "Listen to me, damn it. It's probably okay, but this is the way we're going to do it. I'll whistle when it's all right for you to come up."
I walked up to the front door of my dead friend's house, my hands in plain sight, my mind on the .38 in my pocket.
CHAPTER 5
Geli Bauer listened intently as Corelli reported from the Fielding house.
"They're going inside now. Tennant went up first. The shrink is hanging back.
Now she's going up. Wait ... I think the doc is carrying."
"Which doc?"
"Oh. Tennant. He's got a gun in his pocket. Right front."
"You see the butt?"
"No, but it looks like a revolver."
What the hell does Tennant think he's up to? The cell connection crackled.
"What do you want me to do?" asked Corelli.
"Sit tight and make sure the mikes are working."
"The widow just answered the door. She's pulling them inside."
"Keep me posted."
Geli killed the connection to Corelli. If Tennant was carrying a gun, he was afraid for his life. He must believe Fielding had been murdered. But why? The drug that had killed Fielding caused a fatal bleed in the brain—a true stroke.
Without an autopsy, murder couldn't be proved. And there would be no autopsy.
Tennant must know more than Godin thought he did. If the FedEx letter he'd received had been sent by Fielding, it might have contained some sort of evidence.
She touched her headset mike and said, "Skow. Home." Her computer dialed John Skow's house in Raleigh.
"What is it now?" Skow said after two rings.
"Tennant and Weiss hardly spoke on the way to Fielding's house."
"So?"
"It wasn't natural. They're avoiding conversation."
"Tennant knows he's under surveillance. You've always wanted them all to know that."
"Yes, but Tennant's never been evasive like this. He's up to
I gripped the wheel tighter but didn't speak. Somewhere, the NSA was listening.
"Why don't you tell me?" she said. "What could be the harm?"
"This isn't the time. Or the place."
The UNC theater was up ahead on the left. To our right the Forest Amphitheater lay in the trees below the road. I made a hard right and coasted down a dark hill on a street that ran between two rows of stately homes, a single-entrance neighborhood that housed tenured professors and affluent young professionals.
Fielding had lived in a small, two-story house set well back from the street.
Perfect for him and the Chinese wife he hoped to bring to America.
"Where are we?" Rachel asked.
"Fielding's house is right up here."
I looked in the direction of the house but saw only darkness. I'd expected to find the place ablaze with light, as my own had been after I lost Karen and Zooey. I had a moment of panic, a premonition that I'd driven into one of those 1970s conspiracy films where you walk up to a familiar house and find it vacant. Or worse, with an entirely new family living there.
A porch light clicked on thirty yards from the street. Lu Li must have been watching from a darkened window. I turned my head and scanned the street for suspicious vehicles. I frequently spotted the NSA surveillance cars assigned to tail me. Either the security teams didn't care if we saw them or, more likely, they wanted us to know we were being watched. Tonight I saw nothing suspicious, but I did sense that something wasn't as it should be. Perhaps there were watchers who did not want to be seen. I turned into Fielding's driveway and pulled up to the closed garage door.
"A Nobel laureate lives here?" Rachel asked, gesturing at the modest house.
"Lived," I corrected. "Stay here. I'm going to the door alone."
"For God's sake," she snapped. "This is ridiculous. Just admit this is all a charade, and let's go get some coffee and talk about it."
I grabbed her arm and looked hard into her eyes. "Listen to me, damn it. It's probably okay, but this is the way we're going to do it. I'll whistle when it's all right for you to come up."
I walked up to the front door of my dead friend's house, my hands in plain sight, my mind on the .38 in my pocket.
CHAPTER 5
Geli Bauer listened intently as Corelli reported from the Fielding house.
"They're going inside now. Tennant went up first. The shrink is hanging back.
Now she's going up. Wait ... I think the doc is carrying."
"Which doc?"
"Oh. Tennant. He's got a gun in his pocket. Right front."
"You see the butt?"
"No, but it looks like a revolver."
What the hell does Tennant think he's up to? The cell connection crackled.
"What do you want me to do?" asked Corelli.
"Sit tight and make sure the mikes are working."
"The widow just answered the door. She's pulling them inside."
"Keep me posted."
Geli killed the connection to Corelli. If Tennant was carrying a gun, he was afraid for his life. He must believe Fielding had been murdered. But why? The drug that had killed Fielding caused a fatal bleed in the brain—a true stroke.
Without an autopsy, murder couldn't be proved. And there would be no autopsy.
Tennant must know more than Godin thought he did. If the FedEx letter he'd received had been sent by Fielding, it might have contained some sort of evidence.
She touched her headset mike and said, "Skow. Home." Her computer dialed John Skow's house in Raleigh.
"What is it now?" Skow said after two rings.
"Tennant and Weiss hardly spoke on the way to Fielding's house."
"So?"
"It wasn't natural. They're avoiding conversation."
"Tennant knows he's under surveillance. You've always wanted them all to know that."
"Yes, but Tennant's never been evasive like this. He's up to
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