David Ellis - In the Company of Liars

No one seems to take notice of her as she plucks granola, a jar of jalapeсo-stuffed olives off the shelves.

No one seems to take notice, that is, except for one man. A man in a heavy coat, a flannel shirt, a baseball cap. Not a bad-looking guy, a big frame. He smiles at her and holds up his hands cautiously. She realizes that she is standing alone in this particular aisle with the man.

“I’m not a vulture, Mrs. Pagone,” he says, showing her his palms and maintaining a respectful distance. “I’m a journalist but not one ofthose kind. I have a proposition for you, and all I ask-all I ask is that when you’re done shopping, you let me buy you a cup of coffee in the cafй in the corner.” He waves his hands. “That’s it. I think you’ll be very happy you did. And their coffee’s surprisingly good.”

Allison looks down at her cart. “Iam done shopping,” she says.

“One cup of coffee. I’m going over there now, you can forget you ever met me if you want. But I think you’ll be glad you heard me out. I think I can be of some assistance. Iknow I can be.”

Allison chews on her lip. The man passes her without another word.

She takes her time, going through another couple of aisles. She peeks at the corner cafй and sees the man sitting, reading a newspaper, joking with the woman who served him.

She pushes her cart over to the area and parks. “Okay,” she says. “Five minutes.”

The man pushes a cup of steaming coffee in front of her.

“I know I’m not the first journalist to approach you, Mrs. Pagone.”

“You’re about the twentieth. I had to change my phone number.”

He extends his hand. “My name’s Larry Evans,” he says.

Allison leaves Paul Riley’s office downtown and takes the elevator to the lobby, then transfers over to the parking elevator and takes it down to the bottom level. When the doors open, she sees Mat Pagone’s Mercedes double-parked nearby.

“How are you, Ally?” Mat asks, as Allison jumps into the passenger seat.

She opens her mouth, allowing for the possibility of about three hundred different answers to that question. “Well,” she says, “looks likeyou’re in the clear.”

Mat nods slowly. “I’m not sure how I feel about this.”

“Oh.” She laughs quietly. “Well, it doesn’t really matter how you feel about it. Maybe you should have thought about how you ‘felt about it’ before you paid off those senators. And made Sam an unwilling participant.”

Mat blinks his eyes in surprise, wets his lips. Never, she assumes, has he had the facts put to him so harshly.

“It’s done,” she says. “No one can lay a finger on you now.”

“I-” Mat touches his forehead. “Thank you doesn’t seem enough.”

She is being hard on him, she can see. This is how you hurt a man like Mateo Pagone. He is, in many ways, utterly broken now. But that seems to drive Allison away from sympathy. Because Mat Pagone is the luckiest man in the world right now.

“I’ll need your help, of course,” she says. “You think you can handle that?”

Mat turns to her. “Allison,” he says softly, “you really think so little of me?”

She pauses a moment, looks at him, then leaves the car.

Idon’t approve.” Paul Riley paces the conference room near his office. “I’d advise you not to go this way, Allison. This is insane. It’s not too late to change your mind.”

“I’m not changing my mind.”

Paul sighs, runs a hand over his mouth.

“I have no choice,” she adds.

“Plead it out, Allison. Let me call Ogren. Let’s get in a room and hammer this out.”

“No. For the reason you said, Paul.”

“I know what I said. But you’re playing a serious game here. With grownups. Allison.” He opens his hands. “Motion to reconsider.”

Allison stands and stretches. It’s nice to be free again, however free that may be.

“I’m going to do it,” she says.

“Against my advice.”

“Against your advice.” Allison walks over and touches Paul’s arm. “I can make this work,” she assures him.

The gate opens, and Allison walks out of the detention center. Paul Riley is waiting for her, leaning against his car, his arms crossed.

Allison breathes in the fresh air, however cold it may be. A weekend in a holding cell does wonders for appreciation.

“They agreed?” she asks, referring to the prosecution.

“They agreed,” he says. “One million dollars bond, and you can’t go outside a five-mile radius of your house.”

“I can live with that.” She walks around to Paul’s side of the car. “Mat put it up?”

“Mat put it up.” Her ex-husband put up a hundred thousand dollars in bond, one-tenth of the million, as the law requires. He knows she’s good for it. And she’s not going to flee, regardless.

They drive in silence. With Paul’s blessing, not his approval, Allison rolls down the window and lets the frigid air lick her face. The sun is setting, coloring the clouds a pale orange. The city isn’t known for its sunsets, but she finds it beautiful. One weekend is all she needs to know that she does not want to do even harder time in a maximum-security prison.

Allison is beyond exhaustion. She hardly slept the entire weekend, any momentary drifts into unconsciousness clouded by the image of Sam lying still and bludgeoned on the floor of his living room.

In the relative solitude of Paul’s car, Allison closes her eyes and thinks of Sam. The smell of his hair, the touch of his lips, the warmth of his smile. It is all so staggering. She does not look forward to what will come next because she will have, for the first time since his murder, the chance to mourn, and that will be harder than everything else she must do.

They drive to an underground garage, where Paul gives his name to an attendant and shows his driver’s license. They head down the ramp, park, and take the elevators up. When the doors open, they are met by a young man, who escorts them down a long hallway.

The office door is closed. As the young man reaches for the knob, Paul whispers into Allison’s ear. “Remember, I do the talking.”

When they walk in, a man and a woman, seated on a couch, get to their feet.

“Hello, Agent McCoy,” Allison says. “Agent Harrick.”

“It’s Jane. Nice being out?” McCoy asks.

“Very. Thank you.” She looks at Paul. She has already violated his command. She is sure that he isn’t surprised by this.

Harrick moves the two chairs by the desk so they face the couch. It looks like a talk show in the office.

“We have a deal?” McCoy asks.

“We haven’t seen the final documents,” Paul says.

“You have. We’ll have the signatures tomorrow.”

“It seems like my client is taking all the risks,” Paul says. “And getting very little in return.”

McCoy recoils. “ ‘Very little in return’? I think absolute, complete immunity for her ex-husband is quite a lot, Counselor.”

“More than just immunity,” Allison says. “He doesn’t even have to talk to you about it.”

“That’s right, Mrs. Pagone, which means, in effect, that we can’t investigate this bribery at all.” McCoy frowns. “We’re not exactly happy about that. There are three state senators who are going to walk away from this. Your husband-your ex-husband-doled out thirty grand to them, and they’re going to walk.”

“You can still go after them in other ways.”

“With what?” McCoy asks. “Sam Dillon is dead, Mrs. Pagone. And your husband doesn’t have to so much as smile at us. The senators aren’t dumb enough to talk. We can’t prove anything.”