Tell No One

“I know that.”

“But there are times for … insulation.”

“Insulation?”

“Who I hire, for example. I never tell you names. I never tell them names either.”

“Those are details.”

“Yes.”

“What is it, Larry?”

He stopped pacing. “Eight years ago, you’ll recall that we hired two men to perform a certain task.”

The color drained from Griffin’s face. He swallowed. “And they performed admirably.”

“Yes. Well, perhaps.”

“I don’t understand.”

“They performed their task. Or, at least, part of it. The threat was apparently eliminated.”

Even though the house was swept for listening devices on a weekly basis, the two men never used names. A Scope rule. Larry Gandle often wondered if the rule was for the sake of caution or because it helped depersonalize what they were occasionally forced to do. He suspected the latter.

Griffin finally collapsed into a chair, almost as though someone had pushed him. His voice was soft. “Why are you bringing this up now?”

“I know how painful this must be for you.”

Griffin did not reply.

“I paid the two men well,” Larry continued.

“As I’d have expected.”

“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “Well, after the incident, they were supposed to lay low for a while. As a precaution.”

“Go on.”

“We never heard from them again.”

“They’d already collected their money, correct?”

“Yes.”

“So what’s surprising about that? Perhaps they fled with their newfound wealth. Perhaps they moved across the country or changed identities.”

“That,” Larry said, “was what we’d always assumed.”

“But?”

“Their bodies were found last week. They’re dead.”

“I still don’t see the problem. They were violent men. They probably met a violent end.”

“The bodies were old.”

“Old?”

“They’ve been dead at least five years. And they were found buried by the lake where … where the incident took place.”

Griffin opened his mouth, closed it, tried again. “I don’t understand.”

“Frankly, neither do I.”

Too much. It was all too much. Griffin had been fighting off the tears all night, what with the gala being in Brandon’s honor and all. Now the tragedy of Brandon’s murder was suddenly resurfacing. It was all he could do not to break down.

Griffin looked up at his confidant. “This can’t come back.”

“I know, Griff.”

“We have to find out what happened. I mean everything.”

“I’ve kept tabs on the men in her life. Especially her husband. Just in case. Now I’ve put all our resources on it.”

“Good,” Griffin said. “Whatever it takes, this gets buried. I don’t care who gets buried with it.”

“I understand.”

“And, Larry?”

Gandle waited.

“I know the name of one man you hire.” He meant Eric Wu. Griffin Scope wiped his eyes and started back toward his guests. “Use him.”

8

Shauna and Linda rent a three-bedroom apartment on Riverside Drive and 116 Street, not far from Columbia University. I’d managed to find a spot within a block, an act that usually accompanies a parting sea or stone tablet.

Shauna buzzed me up. Linda was still out at her formal. Mark was asleep. I tiptoed into his room and kissed his forehead. Mark was still hanging on to the Pokémon craze and it showed. He had Pikachu sheets, and a stuffed Squirtle doll lay nestled in his arms. People criticize the trend, but it reminded me of my own childhood obsession with Batman and Captain America. I watched him a few more seconds. Cliché to say, yes, but it is indeed the little things.

Shauna stood in the doorway and waited. When we finally moved back into the den, I said, “Mind if I have a drink?”

Shauna shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

I poured myself two fingers of bourbon. “You’ll join me.”

She shook her head.

We settled onto the couch. “What time is Linda supposed to be home?” I asked.

“Got me,” Shauna said slowly. I didn’t like the way she did it.

“Damn,” I said.

“It’s temporary, Beck. I love Linda, you know that.”

“Damn,” I said again.

Last year, Linda and Shauna had separated for two months. It hadn’t been good, especially for Mark.

“I’m not moving out or anything,” Shauna said.

“So what’s wrong, then?”

“Same ol’ same ol’. I have this glamorous high-profile job. I’m surrounded by beautiful, interesting people all the time. Nothing new, right? We all know this. Anyway, Linda thinks I have a wandering eye.”

“You do,” I said.

“Yeah, sure, but that’s nothing new, is it?”

I didn’t reply.

“At the end of the day, Linda is the one I go home to.”

“And you never take any detours on the way?”

“If I did, they’d be irrelevant. You know that. I don’t do well locked in a cage, Beck. I need the stage.”

“Nice mix of metaphors,” I said.

“At least it rhymed.”

I drank in silence for a few moments.

“Beck?”

“What?”

“Your turn now.”

“Meaning?”

She shot me a look and waited.

I thought about the “Tell no one” warning at the end of the email. If the message were indeed from Elizabeth—my mind still had trouble even entertaining such a notion—she would know that I’d tell Shauna. Linda—maybe not. But Shauna? I tell her everything. It would be a given.

“There’s a chance,” I said, “that Elizabeth is still alive.”

Shauna didn’t break stride. “She ran off with Elvis, right?” When she saw my face, she stopped and said, “Explain.”

I did. I told her about the email. I told her about the street cam. And I told her about seeing Elizabeth on the computer monitor. Shauna kept her eyes on me the whole time. She didn’t nod or interrupt. When I finished, she carefully extracted a cigarette from its carton and put it in her mouth. Shauna gave up smoking years ago, but she still liked to fiddle with them. She examined the cancer stick, turning it over in her hand as though she’d never seen one before. I could see the gears churning.