Play Dead

Edna says, “Second letter is a ‘Z.’”

Marcus thinks for a moment. “Uzi.” For Marcus this is the equivalent of a Shakespearean soliloquy.

Karen practically leaps out of her chair in delight. “That’s right! That’s right!” Then she turns to Edna. “It fits, right?”

Edna smiles and writes it down. “Perfect.”

Karen turns to slap Marcus five, but he clearly isn’t familiar with the concept, and she hits him in the shoulder. He doesn’t seem to mind at all.

I can’t overstate what an immense diplomatic and personal accomplishment this is for Karen. Were I president, I would immediately appoint her secretary of state. It makes Jimmy Carter’s achievement at Camp David seem insignificant. Compared to Edna and Marcus, Arafat and Begin were blood brothers.

It’s a mesmerizing sight, and it’s with the greatest reluctance that I pull Kevin away. I’ve arranged for another interview with Richard to discuss his former job in more detail, to try to learn what it might have to do with the murder.

The unfortunate result of my departure will be that Marcus will follow close behind in his bodyguard role, thus breaking up this threesome. I’m not sure that even Karen’s wizardry can ever re-create it.

The drive out to the prison is becoming an all too familiar one, and it’s not something I enjoy. The place always looks the same, the guards always act the same, and the depressing nature of the surroundings always makes me feel the same.

But Richard looks more upbeat each time I see him. It’s understandable; he has spent five years being ignored, a ward of the system, whom nobody cared about, other than his sister. Now there is activity, his lawyers are frequently coming to talk about his case, and just that alone brightens his day.

I tell him my feeling that Roy Chaney was hiding something, but he cannot be helpful in that regard, because he never even met Chaney. He certainly hasn’t kept up with developments at the Customs Service; there would have been no reason to. Moreover, 9/11-inspired protective measures have had an evolving impact on how the customs people do their jobs, and Richard would have no way to be familiar with many of these new procedures.

Kevin asks, “Do you know anyone who still works there that we could talk to?”

Richard thinks for a moment and then nods. “You could try Keith Franklin.”

“Who is he?” I ask.

“He works down at the pier, same level as I was. I’m pretty sure he’s still there.”

“You haven’t kept in contact with him?”

Richard shakes his head. “Not for a few years. We were good friends; he and his girlfriend went out with Stacy and me a lot. But…”

“He dropped you when this all went down?” I ask.

He shrugs. “He was supportive during the trial, and then visited me on and off for a short time after that, but then he stopped coming. I can’t say as I blame him.”

“Do you have his home address or phone number?” I ask. “I’d rather not talk to him at his office.”

“Not anymore, but you could ask Karen. She knew him pretty well; she was friendly with his sister.” He smiles. “Karen, in case you haven’t guessed, is friendly with everybody.”

“I’ve picked up on that.”

“Have you picked up anything else about her?”

The question surprises me. “Just that she designs dresses and would rather talk about you than herself.”

He nods with some sadness. “She designs dresses so well that she has a standing offer to do a show in Rome. But she won’t go, because she doesn’t want to leave me. It’s the same reason she left school.”

“Where did she go to school?”

“Yale, majoring in English literature with a 3.8 average.” He notices my surprise and then continues. “Then this happened. She’s decided that if my life is going to be wasted, she’ll join the party. She thinks she’s helping me, but it makes it worse.”

These are things about Karen that I never would have guessed. “You want me to try and talk to her?”

He shakes his head. “That won’t help.”

“What will?” I ask.

“Getting me out of here.”

I nod and tell him that we have applied for a hearing and that it could take place within a couple of weeks. He is excited by the prospect, but it is tempered by concern. “What if we don’t get the hearing?”

“Then we keep digging until we turn over more evidence, and then reapply,” I say. “Nobody’s abandoning you, Richard.”

“Thank you.”

“But it may feel like that for a while. I’m concerned for your safety, so we’re requesting that they put you into a more secure area.”

“Solitary?”

I nod. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t be asking for it if I wasn’t worried.”

“Why would anybody want to go after me? I’ve been in here five years; who could I be a threat to?”

“Richard, when we answer that question, we’ll know everything.”

* * * * *

HAVING LAURIE WAITING for me at home is as good as it gets.

Her pasta sauce is simmering on the stove while she’s in the backyard playing with Tara and Reggie. I see them before they see me, and it’s such a perfect sight that I almost want to hide and watch.