Andrew Gross - The Blue Zone

Maybe it was the man stepping away from a building across from the bus stop, tossing a cigarette onto the sidewalk and following a short way behind. His footsteps against the pavement, keeping pace with hers. She told herself not to look back.

Kate, you’re just being paranoid. This is New York. The East Village. It’s crowded. This happens all the time.

She caught a glimpse of him in a storefront window. Still behind her. Hands in the pockets of his black leather jacket. He had a cap drawn over his eyes.

But she wasn’t being paranoid! Not this time . Not like back in the apartment. Kate’s heart started pounding. A shiver of fear ran down her spine.

Pick up your pace , she told herself. You only live a few blocks away.

Kate crossed the avenue heading down to Seventh. Her heart was slamming off her ribs now.

She turned onto her street. She felt the presence of the person following her a few yards behind. Up ahead there was a market she sometimes shopped in. Kate headed for it, forcing herself not to look around. She virtually ran inside.

For a second she felt safe. Kate grabbed a basket and ducked down one of the aisles, praying he wouldn’t come inside. She threw a few things in she pretended she needed-milk, yogurt, whole wheat bread. But all the while she was just waiting, focused on the window. There were people here. Her heart started to calm.

She took out her purse and went to the counter. She smiled a little nervously at Ingrid, the checkout girl, pushing back a harrowing thought: What if she’s the last person to see me alive?

Kate stepped back outside. For a moment she felt relief. Thank God. No sign.

Then she froze.

He was still there! Leaning against a parked car on the other side of the street, talking into a phone. Their eyes slowly drifted together. She wasn’t imagining this.

Okay, Kate, what the hell do you do now?

Now she started to run. An indistinguishable pace at first, then faster, her eyes fixed on her building, the green canopy, just a few yards ahead.

The man picked up his pace behind her. A jolt of electricity ran down her spine. Kate’s heart throbbed wildly.

Please, God, only a few yards more.

The last feet Kate took at a full-out run. Her fingers fumbled for her key in her bag. She jammed it into the outer door. The lock turned. Kate flung open the door, expecting the man to run up on her now. She looked back along the street. The man in the cap had crossed the street a few doors down.

Kate hurled herself inside, the outside doors clicking as the lock mercifully engaged. It’s over now. Thank God! Kate pressed her back against the lobby wall. Her back was drenched in sweat. Her chest imploded with relief.

This has to end, she knew. You’ve got to go to someone, Kate.

But go to whom?

Her family? Your family’s gone, Kate. Face it, they’re gone for good.

Greg? As much as she loved him, what could they do, just pick up and leave? In his last year of school?

The police? What do you tell them, Kate? That you’ve been lying to them, holding things back. That your best friend’s in a coma with a bullet in her brain, a bullet that was meant for you?

It’s too late, too late for any of that now…

Kate stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for seven.

It was one of those old industrial types, clattering as it passed every floor.

All she wanted to do was get inside her apartment and bolt the fucking door.

The elevator rattled to a stop on seven. Kate clutched her key and threw open the heavy outer door.

Two men stood facing her.

Oh, God, no!

Her heart rose up in her chest. Kate backed away and tried to scream. But to what end? No one would hear her.

She knew what they were there to do.

Then one of the men stepped forward. “ Ms. Raab? ” His hands reached to steady her shoulders.

“Kate.”

She looked up. Tears welled in her eyes. She recognized him. She broke down in sobs, staring at his salt-and-pepper hair.

It was Phil Cavetti. The WITSEC agent.

Kate literally hurled herself at him, her whole body paralyzed by fear.

“It’s okay, Kate,” he said, and wrapped her safely in his arms.

Kate nodded, pressing her face against his jacket. “I thought I was being followed. I thought-”

“I’m sorry.” Cavetti held her closely. “That was probably my man. At the bus stop. We just wanted to be sure you were heading home.”

Kate shut her eyes and sucked in a shaky breath, a mixture of nerves and unimaginable relief. She felt her heart rate subside. She pulled away, trying to compose herself.

“Why are you here?”

“This is James Nardozzi,” Cavetti said, introducing the man with him-lean, sharp-jawed, a plain gray suit and equally plain red tie under his raincoat. “He’s with the Justice Department.”

“Yes.” Kate nodded, slightly chagrined. “I remember you from the trial.”

The lawyer smiled thinly.

“We need to ask you some questions, Kate,” the WITSEC agent said. “Can we come in?”

“Of course.” Her hands were still a little jittery. She had some trouble aligning the key with the lock and pulling back the bolt. Fergus was barking at the door. “It’s okay, boy…”

She opened the door to her apartment and flicked on the lights. Kate could never remember feeling such an overwhelming sensation of relief. Thank God they were here. It was about Tina, she assumed. She wanted to tell them anyway. She couldn’t go on holding it back like this anymore.

“Okay.” She placed her groceries on the counter. “Shoot… Poor choice of words.” She smiled.

Kate gradually felt back on her axis. “Go ahead. I know why you’re here.”

Phil Cavetti looked at her a little blankly. What he said sent her axis reeling.

“When was the last time you heard from your father, Kate?”

“My father…?”

Kate blinked back at him, wide-eyed, and shook her head. “I haven’t spoken to him since the trial. Why?”

Cavetti shot a glance to the Justice lawyer. Then he cleared his throat. “We have to show you some things, Kate.” He took out a manila envelope from under his raincoat and stepped over to the kitchen counter. His peremptory tone had Kate a little scared.

“What I’m going to show you is highly confidential,” he said, unfastening the clasp. “It may also be a bit distressing. You might want to sit down.”

“You’re making me nervous, Agent Cavetti.” Kate looked at him, lowering herself onto a stool. Her heart began to quicken.

“I understand.” He started to lay out a series of graphic eight-by-ten black-and-white photos on the counter.

Crime-scene photos.

Kate held back a start, convinced she was about to see her father there. But it wasn’t. All the shots were of a woman. Stripped down to her underwear. Tied to a chair. Some of the photos were full body and others were close-ups-her face, parts of her body, covered in wounds. They were gruesome. The woman’s head hung to the side. There were bloodstains-her shoulders, her knees. Kate winced. She could see they came from multiple gunshot wounds. She put a wary hand on Cavetti’s arm.

There were marks on both the woman’s breasts, deep discolorations. The next shot was a close-up of one breast. Kate saw now what the marks were. She’d been burned. On her breasts and nipples. Charred. Her right nipple had been entirely removed-cut off.

“I’m sorry, Kate,” Phil Cavetti said, placing a hand on her shoulder.