Brad Meltzer - Dead Even

“What does the medical examiner have to do with this burglary?”

“Well, if we can get him to dig up Arnold Doniger’s body, he’ll tell us if we have to also charge your client with murder.”

Jared leaned forward in his seat. “Who’s Arnold Doniger?” Without getting an answer, Jared heard a click. His wife had hung up.

“What’d he say?” Conrad asked.

“I think he wet his pants right there,” Sara said.

“I can’t believe you hung up on him like that.”

“He deserves it on this one. He calls me up, acting like he’s Joe Law, expecting me to grovel at his feet just because he pulls a couple heartstrings. I hate it when he uses Pop and my career against me – he knows it makes me crazy.”

“Those’re your Achilles’ heels. Any good opponent would exploit them.”

“Well, I don’t want an opponent. I want a husband.”

“If you love him so much, how come you’re not willing to give, Sara?”

Sara looked up at Conrad. She was tempted to tell him about Sunken Cheeks. And that she was only fighting this hard to protect her husband. But instead, she lied, “Because he’s the man on the other side. Giving him a hard time is my goal.”

Conrad watched her carefully. “Do you want to try that one again?” he asked.

Fidgeting with some paper clips, Sara didn’t reply.

“Have it your way,” he said. “I’m done asking.”

Ten minutes later, Guff returned to the office and handed Sara a few pieces of paper. “Here’s the copy of your order to exhume. Judge Cohen signed it, and they’re digging him up tonight. The autopsy’s scheduled first thing tomorrow morning.”

“That’s great,” Sara said as she put the papers in her briefcase. “And thanks again for getting the signature.”

“Don’t thank me. Conrad was the one who knew the judge.”

“Then thank you,” Sara said, nodding her head to Conrad.

“For you, my friend, the world.”

At ten P.M., Jared grabbed his suit jacket from behind the door and stepped into the hallway. Although there were dozens of young associates still working throughout the firm, almost all of the support staff had gone home. As a result, the hallways were deserted. Walking toward the elevators, Jared was still digesting Sara’s news. When he’d gotten off the phone with her, he searched Lexis’s computer databases for information about Arnold Doniger. All he could find was a New York Times announcement of his engagement to Claire Binder, a Radcliffe grad and antiques expert twelve years his junior, and a short obituary from the previous Saturday. Why didn’t Rafferty tell him?

While he was waiting for the elevator to arrive, Jared thought about the newfound confidence in Sara’s voice and what that meant for the case. His palms abruptly filled with sweat, causing him to drop his briefcase. As he bent over to pick it up, the elevator arrived. Inside were Rafferty and Kozlow.

Forcing a smile, Jared said, “What are you…”

Before Jared could finish his sentence, he felt Kozlow’s fist rip into his stomach, sending him crashing to the ground. As Jared gasped for air, Kozlow dragged him into the elevator. When the doors shut, Rafferty pressed the emergency stop button. The blaring emergency alarm screamed. Not giving Jared a chance to breathe, Kozlow kicked him two more times in the stomach. He then picked up Jared’s briefcase and opened it, dumping all the papers on Jared’s now-heaving body.

As the paper littered the elevator floor and the alarm continued to wail, Kozlow kicked him again. He then put his foot on the back of Jared’s head and forced Jared’s face into the floor. “Oh, we’re having fun now, aren’t we?” Kozlow asked. Trying to pick his head up, Jared didn’t answer. He started to spit blood. “I asked you a question!” Kozlow shouted. “Are we having fun, or not?” With a quick push, he once again pressed Jared’s face into the floor. Jared felt like he was going to black out. “Answer me!” Kozlow shouted. “Answer me or I’ll kick your head in!”

“Enough, Tony,” Rafferty said, pulling Kozlow away from Jared.

“Don’t touch me!” Kozlow yelled at Rafferty. “I know what I’m doing.”

“I’m sure you do,” Rafferty said. “But I need to talk to him. Now catch your breath and calm down.” As Kozlow stepped back, Rafferty leaned down toward Jared’s face. “You told me not to worry,” he whispered. “Isn’t that what you’ve been telling me?”

“I’m sorry,” Jared moaned, saliva running down his chin. “I didn’t know she had-”

“Don’t feed me any more bullshit. I’m full. We need to find out what Sara knows. Get her notes, read her mind, do whatever you want, but find out what the hell is going on. This cannot turn into a murder trial.”

Rafferty stood up and shut off the emergency alarm. In a few moments, the elevator arrived at the first floor of the building. Jared remained on the floor as Rafferty climbed over him and left the elevator. When Kozlow followed, he ground his boot into Jared’s right hand. “Pick yourself up,” Kozlow warned, pressing his heel against Jared’s fingers.

“I mean it,” Rafferty added as the doors slid shut. “Tomorrow morning I want some answers.”

Jared arrived home at a quarter to eleven. He waited impatiently on the sofa until Sara walked in at eleven-thirty. The moment the door slammed shut, Jared was out of his seat, approaching his wife.

“Tell me what happened,” he said before she had even unbuttoned her coat.

“I can’t,” Sara said. “Now drop it or change the subject.”

“What’s the story with Arnold Doniger? Why is he-”

“Jared, are you listening to what I’m saying?” Sara asked, glaring. “Please stop asking me about it.”

“Just tell me if you’re going to do an autopsy, so I’ll know what I’m doing tomorrow.”

Sara walked into the bedroom and started to undress.

“Please,” Jared said. “I have to know.”

She understood what he was doing, but she wasn’t going to budge. Pretending not to listen, she hung her suit jacket and skirt in her closet. After taking a T-shirt from her dresser, she made her way to the bathroom. Jared followed her, standing in the doorway as she washed her face.

“Sara, don’t ignore me like this. I need your help. I don’t know what else to do.”

He was begging now, and the tone caught her off guard. Not just because of the way it tugged at her emotions, but because she could tell it was true. Jared was drowning. He needed her help. And with a few pieces of information, she could take his pain away. No, she told herself. Don’t let him do that to you. Keeping her eyes shut, she rinsed off the soap. Then, in one quick movement, she buried her face in a towel. Don’t look at him, she told herself. It’s the only way he can get to you.

“Please, Sara. You’re my wife.” As Jared said the words, Sara heard the smallest of cracks in his voice. He wasn’t just begging anymore. He was crying. She lifted her face from the towel; she couldn’t help herself. As she looked up, she saw pain in his eyes. No, not just pain. Fear. “Please,” he repeated.

Sara felt her mouth go dry. Her heart sank. She never wanted to do this to him. But she had to. “I’m sorry, Jared. I can’t.” Dropping her gaze to the floor, she tried to squeeze past him, but Jared put his arms around her.

“Sara…”

She pulled away. “Please… it’s hard enough.”

Jared stood in the doorway of the bathroom, watching his wife get into bed. As she shut off the light on her nightstand, he didn’t move. Finally, from the dark, she spoke. “Good night.”

For two and a half hours, Jared lay motionless in bed, pretending to be asleep. Lying with his back to Sara, his eyes long adjusted to the dark, he stared at the pale beige radiator in the corner of the room. He thought about the day they had moved into the apartment and the day he had suggested repainting the radiator to match their wine-and-beige-colored comforter. Sara had told him that no one in New York would be caught dead color-coordinating a radiator and had refused to participate in such a “useless” project. But Jared pressed on and painted it, his sense of order outweighing his wife’s commitment to her city’s constant chaos. And now, as he tried to keep himself awake, he once again stared at the radiator and wondered why they had spent so much time fighting over something so inconsequential.