fingers around the worn
leather binding, “I’m holding the book in my hand.”
Dead silence greeted her on the other line
then she heard something clatter in the background as if a chair
had toppled over. She allowed herself a small smile, wondering if
they had started tracking her phone to locate her, like they did in
the movies.
Then she heard someone let out a long
breath. “Ms. Walker, please call me Simon, and do exactly as she
say. Don’t move away from your phone, stay on the line and tell me
again what you hold in your hand.”
Despite everything, she laughed. “Simon,”
she said, “call me Liz. I am in the possession of Mr. Fuentes’
notebook.”
“ If this is the case,” he
answered, “I will be your best friend for the rest of your
life.”
* * * * *
Exactly sixteen minutes later, she opened
the door for Simon Parker and a SWAT team.
They swarmed her place without regard for
her personal space, without showing her a search warrant, without
even sparing her a glance, except for one wiry man dressed in dark
slacks and a crisp gray shirt with rolled-up cuffs.
It had been easy spotting Simon, who was the
only one not wearing black or carrying a gun and because he greeted
her with the words, “The book.”
“ Why the National Guard?”
she replied, but gave him what he asked for.
He carefully leafed through it, and it was
as if a weight dropped from his shoulders, the sharp furrows on his
forehead suddenly smooth. He barked out a genuine-sounding
laugh—which lasted about three seconds—then he yelled at someone
named Drake and dropped the book inside a plastic bag.
The SWAT team filed out of her shop and
apartment in the same efficient way they had streamed into it.
“ Very well,” Simon said,
“and now we have time to chat.”
“ You’re not going to arrest
me?” she asked, only half joking.
Simon shrugged. “Let’s not get ahead of
ourselves here,” he said, taking her by the elbow, throwing a
glance around. “Anywhere where we can sit?”
She nodded to the staircase. “Upstairs,” she
said, and began climbing the stairs.
He followed, his footsteps sounding hollow.
Deep unease settled over her and it wasn’t easy to shake off the
notion she was somehow guilty as sin.
“ Sorry for the mess,” she
said. “I think I’d like to have a tea, if you don’t mind. Want some
too?” she vanished into the kitchen, heart racing.
When she came back, she settled down on the
bed with a hot mug in her hand while Simon sat at her desk, his
face again inscrutable and no trace was left from his previous joy.
She must have imagined it.
“ What happened here,” he
asked. “A fight?”
She followed his gaze, noting the torn-up
bed, the ropes, torn clothes on the floor.
Ben trusted this hard man whose features
weren’t unpleasant, far from it, but everything about Simon Parker
screamed that he saw the world in black and white, good and bad,
guilty and innocent. She somehow doubted that he allowed for gray
areas.
“ Why would Ben ask me to
tell you everything,” she asked quietly.
“ I have no idea, Liz,” he
replied. “I didn’t even know you knew him. But why don’t you start
at the beginning and stop with when you gave me the
call?”
“ Off the
record?”
“ Sure,” he said, kicking
off his shoes as if to show her he wasn’t on duty.
“ How long have you known
Ben?” she asked, wondering how many had fallen for this shoes-off-see-I’m-off-duty trick.
“ I’ve known Ben since I
married into his family.”
When she stared at him for too long, her
mind still trying to compute his remark, he said, “Ben was the best
man at my wedding. I’m married to his sister and he is my
daughter’s godfather.
“ Whatever you have to tell
me,” he said, leaning forward, “it will stay in this
room.”
“ Ben told me to trust
you.”
“ Then why don’t
you?”
And in a leap of faith, she did just
that.
* * * * *
An hour and a half later, she got up from
the bed
leather binding, “I’m holding the book in my hand.”
Dead silence greeted her on the other line
then she heard something clatter in the background as if a chair
had toppled over. She allowed herself a small smile, wondering if
they had started tracking her phone to locate her, like they did in
the movies.
Then she heard someone let out a long
breath. “Ms. Walker, please call me Simon, and do exactly as she
say. Don’t move away from your phone, stay on the line and tell me
again what you hold in your hand.”
Despite everything, she laughed. “Simon,”
she said, “call me Liz. I am in the possession of Mr. Fuentes’
notebook.”
“ If this is the case,” he
answered, “I will be your best friend for the rest of your
life.”
* * * * *
Exactly sixteen minutes later, she opened
the door for Simon Parker and a SWAT team.
They swarmed her place without regard for
her personal space, without showing her a search warrant, without
even sparing her a glance, except for one wiry man dressed in dark
slacks and a crisp gray shirt with rolled-up cuffs.
It had been easy spotting Simon, who was the
only one not wearing black or carrying a gun and because he greeted
her with the words, “The book.”
“ Why the National Guard?”
she replied, but gave him what he asked for.
He carefully leafed through it, and it was
as if a weight dropped from his shoulders, the sharp furrows on his
forehead suddenly smooth. He barked out a genuine-sounding
laugh—which lasted about three seconds—then he yelled at someone
named Drake and dropped the book inside a plastic bag.
The SWAT team filed out of her shop and
apartment in the same efficient way they had streamed into it.
“ Very well,” Simon said,
“and now we have time to chat.”
“ You’re not going to arrest
me?” she asked, only half joking.
Simon shrugged. “Let’s not get ahead of
ourselves here,” he said, taking her by the elbow, throwing a
glance around. “Anywhere where we can sit?”
She nodded to the staircase. “Upstairs,” she
said, and began climbing the stairs.
He followed, his footsteps sounding hollow.
Deep unease settled over her and it wasn’t easy to shake off the
notion she was somehow guilty as sin.
“ Sorry for the mess,” she
said. “I think I’d like to have a tea, if you don’t mind. Want some
too?” she vanished into the kitchen, heart racing.
When she came back, she settled down on the
bed with a hot mug in her hand while Simon sat at her desk, his
face again inscrutable and no trace was left from his previous joy.
She must have imagined it.
“ What happened here,” he
asked. “A fight?”
She followed his gaze, noting the torn-up
bed, the ropes, torn clothes on the floor.
Ben trusted this hard man whose features
weren’t unpleasant, far from it, but everything about Simon Parker
screamed that he saw the world in black and white, good and bad,
guilty and innocent. She somehow doubted that he allowed for gray
areas.
“ Why would Ben ask me to
tell you everything,” she asked quietly.
“ I have no idea, Liz,” he
replied. “I didn’t even know you knew him. But why don’t you start
at the beginning and stop with when you gave me the
call?”
“ Off the
record?”
“ Sure,” he said, kicking
off his shoes as if to show her he wasn’t on duty.
“ How long have you known
Ben?” she asked, wondering how many had fallen for this shoes-off-see-I’m-off-duty trick.
“ I’ve known Ben since I
married into his family.”
When she stared at him for too long, her
mind still trying to compute his remark, he said, “Ben was the best
man at my wedding. I’m married to his sister and he is my
daughter’s godfather.
“ Whatever you have to tell
me,” he said, leaning forward, “it will stay in this
room.”
“ Ben told me to trust
you.”
“ Then why don’t
you?”
And in a leap of faith, she did just
that.
* * * * *
An hour and a half later, she got up from
the bed
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