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‘What's going on?' she said.

‘It was so perfect,' he said. ‘So perfect. Just give people what they want, right? Me, I wanted my wife, and I wanted you. So you made it possible for me to have both. All in one package.'

‘Oh God, no,' she said. Timothy noticed that she said it with a sad smile, as if she really were Katherine, and could not believe that her husband was doubting her again.

‘You can stop now, Tricia,' he said. ‘Just stop.'

‘I'm getting a little sick of this,' Tricia said. The smile was still there, but it was brittle, on the cusp of anger.

With his left hand he took a swig of wine. ‘What was the plan, Tricia? That I would marry you?'

‘You
are
going to marry me. I'm your wife.'

‘That's what this is all about, right? Money.'

‘Timothy, I'm your wife. I'm Katherine.'

‘Stop already!' He slammed his wine glass down on the table. The stem shattered and glass tinkled onto the patio. A puddle of
chardonnay spread over the table, slowly, like honey. Tricia tried to pull back, but he continued gripping her leg, hard, pinning her to the chair. The wine poured off the edge of the table, into her lap, and onto his hand.

‘Timothy. Get a grip on yourself.'

‘Oh, I have a grip,' he said, squeezing her leg. ‘You all want to screw with me. First the Kid wants to send me to jail, and now you want my money. Do you want it so badly that you would sink to this? You must be insane.'

‘Let go of me!'

He did not. His hand squeezed her thigh, and she tried kicking her leg away from him, but his grip was relentless. He knew that he was bruising her.

‘Tell me something,
Katherine
. Answer one question for me. Answer correctly and you win a prize. And if you don't answer, you'll lose.'

‘Timothy …'

‘Are you ready …
Katherine
? Here's the question. Tell me about the time I cheated on you. Tell me,
Katherine
, how you found out. Tell me what happened.'

Tricia shook her head.

‘Do you know,
Katherine
? It wasn't in her diary, was it? Tricky, right?'

‘Timothy, listen to me.'

‘Think think think,' he said, quickly, like a ratchet releasing one sawtoothed gear at a time. ‘Think think think. You always manage to come up with convincing answers. But this one's impossible. You can't even guess, can you?'

She shook her head in disgust.

‘Go ahead, Katherine. Or Tricia. Or whoever. Pretend to be angry at me. That doesn't help. I'm not buying it. Listen, all you need to do is answer one question. One simple question. When did I cheat on you? How did you find out? Tell me what happened and then I'll believe you.'

She tried to grab his hand and remove it from her wet leg. He kept hold. She said, through clenched teeth, ‘I am your wife, Katherine, you stupid son of a bitch. I am your wife. Believe me.'

‘I don't. I don't believe you. Because you don't even know the story! It wasn't in the diary, so you don't know.'

‘I am your wife!' With her left hand, she swung and slapped Timothy across the cheek. He was surprised, didn't see it coming; her finger brushed the jelly of his eyeball. He pulled back, released her leg, clenched his hand over his eye socket.

‘Oh God, I'm sorry,' she said. ‘Are you okay?' She stood up, and the back of her legs shoved her chair so that the wicker seat fell backward onto the flagstone patio.

He stood up too, his left hand still gripping his eye. With his right hand he grabbed Tricia's blouse, and pulled her close to him. He put his face an inch from hers and held her tight, so she could not escape.

‘Tell me the story,' he whispered. ‘I cheated on you. I admit it. I fucked another woman. God, I fucked her good. You must know all about it, since you're my wife. So tell me. Tell me how I cheated on you. Can you?'

Her eyes looked pleading. ‘Timothy, I love you,' she said.

‘I fucked her, Katherine. Tell me all about it. Tell me how you found out I fucked her.'

‘Timothy …' Her voice was soft, full of pain, as if his words were tearing her heart.

‘You can't tell me, because you don't know.'

She repeated softly, ‘Timothy, I love you.'

‘Tell me!' he spat. ‘I fucked another woman. Tell me who. Tell me where.'

She was about to cry. Her lip quivered. She opened her mouth, but only soft breath came out. She looked shocked, hurt, lost. For the first time, he realized with satisfaction, she did not know what to say.

“Tell me!”

‘Palm Beach,' she whispered.

‘What?'

‘Palm Beach. You were visiting Mack Gladwell.' She started talking faster, rattling off her words. ‘You screwed some woman, and then she called me while you were flying home. She told me you had sex. I kicked you out of the house for a week.'

He shook his head.

‘You stayed at the Hyatt. Does that make you happy? Making me say it out loud? She knew about the mole on your thigh. I should have left you then.'

‘No … it's not possible …'

‘I should have left you, but I couldn't. Because I love you.'

‘No …' he said.

‘Why don't you believe? Why can't you believe that … it's me? Why can't you accept this? It's a gift.' Her voice lowered to a whisper. ‘A gift. We've been given a gift. Accept it.'

She kissed him, then stepped back and looked at his face. His eye was red and tearing; the cut on his chin had opened and started to bleed.

‘Accept it,' she whispered again. ‘It's a gift.'

He kissed her passionately, and he pulled her tightly to him, and he realized that it
was
Katherine, that it had to be her, that she was back, and that he would never let go of her again.

40

They spent the afternoon in bed, first making love, and then sleeping, until the phone rang and woke him up.

He reached to the nightstand and picked up the receiver, checking the clock. It was four o'clock in the afternoon.

‘Hello?' he said.

No one spoke. He heard the sound of breathing, and then two series of clicks, like two sets of knuckles being cracked.

‘Hello?' Timothy said. ‘Who is this?'

Tricia stirred in the bed beside him and turned to look at him. ‘Who is it?' she said groggily.

The caller must have heard her voice. ‘Is that her?' the caller said. ‘Is that Tricia?' He spoke with the soft and breathy voice of an angel.

‘You know,' Timothy said, ‘that I have Caller ID. I will report you to the police.'

‘I don't think so,' the caller said, simply. ‘Remember what I told you? About what I'm going to do to you?' He waited, as if Timothy might want to volunteer an answer. When Timothy didn't, he said, ‘I'm going to kill you. You've been warned.'

The line went dead. Timothy reached over and hung up the phone.

‘Who was that?' Tricia asked.

‘Your – Tricia's ex-boyfriend, I guess. The guy that beat me up.'

‘What did he say?'

‘That he wants to kill me.'

‘Let's call the police.'

Before he could reply, the phone rang again. Tricia sat up in bed. ‘Don't answer it.'

It rang again.

‘I'm not going to live in fear,' Timothy said. He sat up in bed and snatched the phone from its cradle. ‘Now listen to me,' he said to the caller, ‘you cock-sucking son of a bitch. You know what I'm going to do to you? Huh? I'm going to kill you. I'm going to track you down, and hunt you like a dog. Then I'm going to kill you. You like that idea?'

The line was silent for a moment and then someone spoke. ‘Uh, Mr. Van Bender?' It certainly wasn't the long-haired man in the Impala. But the voice was familiar.

‘Yes?'

‘This is Ned Neiderhoffer. Is everything okay?'

‘Detective. I'm so sorry.'

‘That how you guys in the world of high finance talk to each other? ‘Buy a hundred shares of IBM, or I'll kill you like a dog.''

Timothy sighed. ‘Actually, it's a bit more serious than that. I've received … threats.'

‘What kind of threats?'

‘You know, death. Yesterday a guy roughed me up a little in the parking garage at work, and threatened to kill me.'

‘Did you report it?'

‘No.'

‘You want me to send someone over? Maybe if you tell us who the guy is, we can pick him up and have a talk.'

The last thing Timothy wanted was more detectives coming to the house, asking him questions. Because, ultimately, he would need to explain that the long-haired man was Tricia's ex-boyfriend. Which would lead the police to ask Tricia questions. Which would be a problem, since Tricia would not be able to answer questions, since she was no longer … Tricia. Which could finally lead to uncomfortable questions like: what happened to Tricia? Oh nothing, Timothy would say. I just drugged her and then overwrote her brain.

‘No, that's okay,' Timothy said. ‘It's nothing really, probably just a prank.'

Neiderhoffer said, ‘Let me know if you change your mind.'

‘I will. Now what can I do for you?'

Neiderhoffer said, ‘I have a quick question.'

‘Shoot.'

‘When your wife called you that morning, the morning before she … disappeared, did she explicitly tell you where she was?'

‘No.'

‘See, I'm looking at my notes, and you mentioned she was near the ocean. How'd you know that?'

‘I could hear it. I heard waves in the background.'

‘Okay,' Neiderhoffer said. ‘That makes sense.'

‘That's it?'

‘That's it. I'm just preparing some final paperwork and I want to make sure I have everything right. Thanks, Mr. Van Bender.'

‘No problem.'

‘Let me know if you change your mind and you want me to send some police over.'

‘Okay.'

He hung up the phone.

Tricia asked: ‘What did he want?'

‘I think he wanted to send a message,' Timothy said. ‘That he hasn't forgotten about me.'

41

The next day, Timothy walked into Osiris' office on the twenty-third floor. He greeted Natasha with a smile. ‘Hello, Natasha, how are you this morning?'

Her rotund body filled the entire space behind the reception desk. Times had certainly changed since the days when a sexy Tricia greeted visitors, and Osiris was one of the hottest funds in the financial universe. Now Osiris was being shut down, its manager was under investigation, and its receptionist smelled like blintzes. ‘Fine, Timothy. Thank you.'

‘The Kid around?' Timothy was going to act on Frank Arnheim's advice: he would feel the Kid out and see exactly where he stood regarding the upcoming CFTC testimony.

‘In his office.'

Timothy walked down the hall to the Kid's office. The door was closed. Timothy pushed it open without knocking.

The Kid was at his desk, with the phone cradled in his neck. He looked up at Timothy, surprised. ‘I have to go,' he said softly into the phone. ‘He's here.' The person on the other end of the line said something. Then the Kid smiled, as if at a funny joke. ‘Yes, okay,' he said. He nodded. ‘Me too. Bye.' He hung up.

Timothy cocked an eyebrow. ‘Hey, Kid, that sounds like love talk. You got a new girlfriend?'

The Kid shrugged. ‘Not really.'

‘You have a minute? We need to talk. Meet me in my office in five. I have to take a whiz.'

After emptying his bladder, Timothy returned to his office. The Kid was already there, sitting across the desk, waiting.

Timothy circled his desk and sat down. ‘So, how's it going today?' He tried to sound upbeat, chipper, without a care in the world. As if the thought of spending ten years in prison was the farthest thing from his mind. ‘You have a new job lined up yet? When's your final day here? Friday, right?'

The Kid nodded. ‘Yeah, Friday. I think I'm going to take some time off after Osiris. You know, just unwind for a while.'

‘Great idea,' Timothy said. ‘Me too.' For maybe a decade or so, in a medium-security facility. ‘Kid, the reason I wanted to talk to you—'

The Kid interrupted. ‘Timothy, before you start, there's something I need to tell you.'

Timothy sat back in his chair, pressed his lips closed.

‘I need to give this back to you.' The Kid held out the check for fifty thousand dollars which Timothy had given to him. ‘My lawyer says it might not be a great idea.'

‘Your lawyer? You mean Frank Arnheim?'

‘No … I have my own lawyer now. From Brobeck. I think it's probably the best thing for both of us.'

Timothy thought: Not for both of us. For you.

The Kid stretched his arm further toward Timothy, so that the check was only inches from his face. Timothy stared at it, refused to take it. The Kid lowered his arm. He placed the check on Timothy's desk, laying it like a flower on a gravestone.

Timothy looked at the check for a long moment, then back at the Kid. ‘Let me ask you something,' Timothy said. ‘What exactly are you going to say to the CFTC when you testify?'

The Kid shook his head. ‘Nothing. Just the truth.'

Timothy smiled. ‘And what is the truth, exactly?'

The Kid kept a poker face. He didn't look happy; he didn't look scared; he didn't look angry. He just looked … like a kid.

‘Is there something you don't want me to say, Timothy?'

Timothy regarded the Kid carefully. Was this a trap? Could the Kid possibly be tape recording him? He wanted to lean over the desk and pat down the Kid's suit jacket to feel for a wire. Which of course would be crazy. Or would it?

‘No,' Timothy said. ‘It's important you just tell the truth.
Always tell the truth. That's an important business lesson I've always tried to teach you.'