The Anniversary (25 page)

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The paintings were god-awful. Sickly pastels on cheap cardboard, 21

the worst sort of tourist crap. Sunsets over the Hudson River. The 22

Empire State Building. Two fat children with lurid smiles skating 23

in Central Park. As luck would have it, he’d positioned himself 24

in front of one of the worst. But this was where he needed to 25

stand to get a clear view of her door.

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“You like that one? I can make you a deal.” The painter — you 27

couldn’t call him an artist — was fat with a bright red face. He 28

had dirty fingernails and bloodshot eyes. He smelled of gin and 29

tobacco.

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“I’ll have to think about it.” He flashed a smile at the painter, 31

then quickly turned away. Careful as he’d been with his disguise, 32

there was no need to tempt fate. He was pretty sure the painter 33

was alcoholic, hardly a credible witness. Still, it was always possi-34

ble that the man would remember him. Regretfully, he decided S 35

not to return to this spot. He’d have to find another place from R 36

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which to observe her building. Luckily it was cold today, hover-2

ing around forty. No one would think it strange that he wore a 3

heavy coat, gloves, and hat.

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He decided to cross the street, move in for a closer view.

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But just as he stepped down off the curb, he saw her coming 6

toward him. For an instant he froze, unable to move, an animal 7

caught in headlights. His brain seemed to float. He couldn’t 8

breathe.
How could she be here?

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A wild confusion rolled over him as he dove back into the 10

crowd. It was like some strange, impossible dream with every-11

thing out of place. This was Melanie’s apartment building. Man-12

hattan. Central Park South. For a brief hopeful moment, he 13

thought he must be mistaken. He’d seen someone who resembled 14

Laura, not Laura herself. The optimism lasted another few sec-15

onds, until he looked again.

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As she stood on the corner hailing a cab, there was no mistak-17

ing her. She wore that same look of lost confusion he’d seen 18

when she was alone. Of course, she wasn’t alone right now; 19

crowds surged around her. But despite the throngs of passersby, 20

he felt her isolation. The marked unhappiness on her face pro-21

voked a stab of joy. She
should
be unhappy. She
should
be alone.

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This is what she deserved. Still, his pleasure in her suffering was 23

dampened by a growing fear. What was she doing at Melanie’s?

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How had she come to be here?

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A yellow cab screeched to a stop. Laura climbed inside. An in-26

stant later the cab wheeled right, and then she was out of sight.

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He stared after her for another few moments, then walked up 28

Fifth Avenue. His legs wobbled beneath him. His heart rolled in 29

his chest. Around him, everything was swirling. His mind was a 30

sea of questions.

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Turning into Central Park, he walked aimlessly. He ambled 32

past a set of swings, a zoo, a shallow pool. Everywhere, people 33

smiled. He wished that they were dead. A woman with a small 34

white dog gave him a pleasant nod. The smile faded from her red 35 S

lips as he stared at her stonily. Over and over the same question 36 R

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screamed in his brain.
How had Laura come to be in Melanie’s
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apartment?

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He walked and walked, thinking hard, trying to sort it out. Try-3

ing to adjust his plans in light of this development. So Laura and 4

Melanie had found each other. That much was obvious. He was 5

pretty sure that Laura’s visit was linked to the letters and watch.

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But how much did they know? What had they figured out?

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For a moment, he had the disturbing thought that he’d under-8

estimated them. He’d known both women were smart, of course, 9

but he’d never expected this. The thought of them together, talk-10

ing, filled him with a burning rage. They had no business meet-11

ing. This wasn’t what he’d planned. Well, at least he knew what 12

was going on. For that much, he was grateful. At least he’d dis-13

covered the connection. An amazing stroke of luck. He savored 14

this last thought for a time, relishing their ignorance. Gradually, 15

like a shift in the wind, his confidence flowed back.

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He made his way down a sheltered path beneath a canopy of 17

leaves. As he breathed in the scent of fresh, damp earth, his 18

thoughts moved to Diane. Ironic how this springtime smell 19

would always make him think of death, would always remind him 20

of how he’d left her, sprawled and still and white.

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Again he thought of Melanie and Laura, their private assigna-22

tion. Perhaps his presence here today wasn’t a coincidence.
Write
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with blood: and you will discover that blood is spirit.
What he’d seen 24

today, he told himself, was a timely call to action.

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It was almost eight o’clock, and the dining room was abuzz.

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Clarence was the hot new downtown restaurant. You came to see 29

and be seen. This is what Melanie told herself as she dutifully 30

scanned the menu. Still, with each passing minute, her irritation 31

mounted. The list of entrées was ridiculous, each dish more pre-32

posterous than the last. Beef cheeks glacé?
You’ve got to be kidding.

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Salmon profiteroles?

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Across the blue-lacquered table, Paul put on reading glasses.

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Brow furrowed, he studied the menu as if it were a client’s 2

prospectus. He looked so humorless sitting there, she had to nee-3

dle him.

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“Think they’d make me a burger?”

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Paul looked at her, annoyed.

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“Geez. I’m just joking.” Then she felt a little bad. Paul had 7

been excited about tonight. He loved checking out new restau-8

rants.

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A waiter banged into the back of her chair. Melanie gritted her 10

teeth. With resolve, she turned to the menu again, but nothing 11

appealed to her. She found herself thinking of the pork barbecue 12

she’d loved as a kid in Nashville. Not the fern-bar version but 13

real soul food. It was a taste she’d shared with her father, much to 14

her mother’s chagrin. Their maid, Ruby, used to sneak in cartons 15

from a place near her home in North Nashville.

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Again, she read through the offerings. Duck confit? Baby lamb 17

chops?

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She closed the menu and pushed it aside. “You pick for me,”

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she said.

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Paul looked up, clearly pleased. “Are you sure?” he asked.

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“Of course. Why not?” she said.

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And after all, it was true.

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For the past two weeks, she’d barely eaten, just yogurt, carrots, 24

and juice. She’d tried to force down some oatmeal this morning 25

but choked after two mouthfuls.

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Paul was talking to the waiter now, ordering food and wine.

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His light brown hair was thinning. In five or ten years he’d be bald.

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“You’re sure that’s okay?” he asked her.

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“Absolutely,” she said.

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A waiter walked by carrying plates stacked high with elaborate 31

turrets of food. She caught a whiff of exotic scents, anise and 32

maybe mint. Paul picked up a crisp bread stick and swiped it 33

through a bowl of dip. There was something subtly annoying in 34

the sound he made as he chewed.

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He patted his mouth with a napkin. “So how was your day?” he 36 R

asked.

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Melanie sipped her water. “Fine,” she said. “Yours?”

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That was all it took. He launched into a report. How he’d 2

spent an hour on the StairMaster before going in to work. How 3

pleased Jason Fisk — a powerful partner — had been with the 4

brief he’d drafted. She grimly wondered how long it would be be-5

fore he noticed her silence. Then, abashed, she told herself that 6

she wasn’t being fair. If she wouldn’t talk, she couldn’t blame Paul 7

for taking up the slack.

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Still, the more he went on, the more he wore on her nerves.

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Food arrived at the table. Paul continued to talk. She found 10

herself thinking of Mike Jamison, wondering how he’d changed.

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She hadn’t seen him in almost five years, since Gage’s execution.

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Where Paul’s smile was quicksilver bright, Jamison’s had an edge.

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She remembered the first time she’d seen that smile, how some-14

thing in her had responded. It seemed to have layers of meaning: 15

amusement, irony, sadness.

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She’d called Jamison earlier tonight, left a message on his of-17

fice voice mail. Luckily she had the name of the firm where he’d 18

gone to work. She’d received the announcement when he left 19

the FBI and had taken down the information. When she flipped 20

through her office Rolodex, there was his name and address.

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“So how is it?” Paul’s voice pulled her back to the present, to 22

the table filled with food.

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“Fabulous,” she said. “It’s great.”

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“You’ve hardly eaten a thing.”

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Melanie looked down at her plate. There were layers of yellow, 26

green, and orange over something white. What was it that Paul 27

had ordered for her? It looked like some sort of fish. She saw that 28

she’d been cutting off pieces, arranging them in rows.

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She forced herself to take a bite, then pushed her plate toward 30

Paul. “I guess I’m just not hungry,” she said. “Why don’t you have 31

mine?”

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“Fine,” Paul said shortly. She could tell that he was angry.

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They didn’t say much for the rest of the meal. They didn’t or-34

der dessert. It was a relief when Paul put down his espresso and S 35

asked to be brought the check.

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Outside the restaurant, the night was brisk. It took some time 2

to get a cab. They waited silently, hands raised, as if they were al-3

most strangers. Paul gave her a cool kiss as he put her into the 4

taxi. He didn’t ask to come home with her, one thing she was 5

grateful for.

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The first thing she saw when she got home was the flashing red 7

light on her phone. Without waiting to remove her coat, she 8

quickly crossed the floor.

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She’d forgotten how deep his voice was, strong and self-assured.

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Just the sound of the recorded words swept her back in time, 11

back to those desperate weeks in Tennessee before the execution.

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He’d been so absorbed in his work, that’s what she remembered 13

most. It was hard to imagine him in private business, retired from 14

the FBI.

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“Melanie. God, it’s good to hear from you.” He sounded as if he 16

meant it. “Listen, if you get in tonight, give me a call at home.

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Don’t worry about the time. I’m up late.” He left a 703 number.

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Virginia,
she thought.

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It was a little before nine. Slowly, Melanie walked to a closet 20

and hung up her coat. She hadn’t expected him to call so soon.

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For reasons she didn’t quite understand, the message unsettled 22

her. There’d been a bond, an understanding, between them, at 23

least that’s how she had felt. At some level hard to articulate, 24

Mike Jamison had been important. He’d liked her. He’d believed 25

in her. Perhaps it was that simple. If she talked to him, she risked 26

finding out that what they’d shared was gone. Perhaps because 27

she’d lost so much, she clung to what was left.

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Jamison had arrived in Nashville just weeks before the execu-29

tion. At the time, he was a star profiler in the FBI’s Investigative 30

Support Unit, lead author of a landmark study on sexual preda-31

tors. It was Gage who’d requested Jamison’s presence after read-32

ing some of his work. He’d written Jamison a flattering letter, 33

asking to meet with him. The tone of the letter had been colle-34

gial, one expert speaking to another. Gage had dangled the 35 S

tempting possibility that he might finally open up, disclose the 36 R