In the Company of Liars (28 page)

A
llison has shopped at a different Countryside Grocery Store before, where she and Mat used to live, but this is her first time setting foot in one for years. She likes the anonymity, from the outset, not knowing the butcher and deli clerks, not having to look at the expressions on their faces when she approaches.

No one seems to take notice of her as she plucks granola, a jar of jalapeño-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 of
those
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 café 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. “I
am
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. I
know
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 café 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.

A
llison 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 like
you'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.

I
don'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.

T
he 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.”

“Then leak your investigation,” Allison suggests. “Name them. Give someone some ammo to run against them. That'll hurt them more than a jail term.”

“It's not our problem, obviously,” Paul says, trying to reassert himself.

“So”—McCoy opens her hands—“we have a deal?”

“We'll give you an affirmative response after everything's signed,” Paul says. “The agreement, the affidavits, everything.”

“That will be tomorrow,” McCoy promises. “This is warp-speed for Washington.”

Paul laughs.

“We have a deal,” Allison says.

A look of relief washes over Jane McCoy's face. She puts her hand out to her partner, who hands her a photograph. “Have you ever seen this man?”

Allison looks at the picture. “No,” she says.

“You will soon, I'd expect. He will introduce himself to you.”

“This is Larry Evans, I assume?” Allison asks.

“Yes.” McCoy smiles. “That's the name he'll use, I expect.”

“And what is Larry Evans going to do?” Paul asks.

McCoy shrugs. “He's not going to hurt you,” she says to Allison, anticipating the obvious concern. “He's going to watch you. He might try to strike up a friendship. We're not sure, exactly. We assume he'll approach you but we don't know how. The point is—”

“The point is,” Paul says, “you can't guarantee that he won't try to hurt her.”

“No, I can't. I can't guarantee that.” McCoy stops on that point.
She's being straightforward, at least,
Allison thinks to herself. “But this much I can say to you: He has no reason to hurt you. You're a celebrity now. It would be a big deal. He'd have to be desperate to do that. And you can put him at ease about that. You can make him feel safe.”

“How does she do that?” Paul asks. “Make him feel safe?”

“She—” McCoy turns from Paul to Allison. “Mrs. Pagone, let him know that the only thing you know about is the bribery. That's what the ‘ethical dilemma' was. That's what Sam was talking about to you on the phone. Or this thing about Sam dumping you, which the cops seem to be buying. Whichever. It could be either of those, as long as it's not the thing
he's
worried about.”

She remembers her conversations with Sam, remembers the quiver in his voice immediately. Something was different, wrong.

Sam sighed through the phone. “It's something I'm going to have to—I guess you could say I'm having an ethical dilemma.”

And the next call, a week later, the Wednesday before his death, the day before the cocktail party his firm threw. Her caller identification told her that he was calling from the city.

“I—I can't explain what's going on, Allison.”

“This is that ‘ethical dilemma' you were talking about?” she asked.

“I really—I can't talk to you about it.”

“Something's going on,” she said.

“Yes. You're right. And when the time comes, I'll tell you. Not now.”

“I'm worried about you,” she told him.

W
hat
is
the thing Larry Evans is worried about?” Allison asks. “What is this all about? What was the ‘ethical dilemma' Sam was talking about?”

“I don't think Sam Dillon knew anything,” McCoy answers. “I don't see how he
could
have known. I think Sam Dillon was talking about the bribes.”

Allison doesn't comment, but she agrees with that assessment.

“Okay,” Allison says, “but what is Larry Evans worried about? What was he afraid that Sam knew about?”

“That, I can't tell you, Mrs. Pagone. And if you think about it, it's in your best interest that you not know. It removes any possibility that you could slip up.”

Allison has to concede the logic. It's something big, she knows that much—big enough that the federal government will guarantee immunity for Mat Pagone if she helps them. Whatever it is, it can't be what Sam was referring to over the phone. If a crime of that proportion—whatever it is—were going on, it wouldn't cause Sam any ‘dilemma' whatsoever. He would report it. Sam was talking about the bribes, about his unconfirmed suspicions about Mat and his prize client, Flanagan-Maxx. Now,
that
would be an ethical dilemma.

But Larry Evans didn't know about bribes or House Bill 1551 or the prescription drug Divalpro. All he knew was that, some way, somehow, Sam Dillon appeared to have some damaging information that threatened Evans.

This thing must be a high priority, to receive this kind of treatment from the feds.
National security
, she assumes with a shudder. The kind of thing where the government would be willing to bend all sorts of rules to get a job accomplished. Neither she nor Paul has ever heard of the federal government promising not to prosecute, or even interrogate, a suspect in exchange for someone else—in this case, his ex-wife—doing something for them in an unrelated case. Nor is it technically enforceable, as a legal matter, but the feds would have a hard time going forward against Mateo Pagone when the attorney general of the United States and the local U.S. attorney have signed letters agreeing to this plan.

“Mrs. Pagone,” McCoy says again, “if it helps you to know this, I don't think Sam knew anything about what's going on. It wouldn't fit.”

“It has something to do with Flanagan-Maxx,” Allison guesses. “Sam was worried about this information he had just discovered about bribery. That's what the ‘ethical dilemma' was.”

“We think so, yes—”

“But they were taping his conversations. They thought maybe he was talking about this other thing, this crime you're investigating. They thought the ‘ethical dilemma' referred to whatever this is, when really he was talking about bribery.”

“Yes. Exactly,” McCoy says. “Someone—someone—” McCoy freezes. She seems to be pondering what she can reveal. “Listen, Mrs. Pagone, we are confident that what you just said is correct. Sam was seen with people at Flanagan-Maxx at a time when other people were doing things they shouldn't be doing. Okay? And they got nervous, bugged Sam's phone, and they heard him talking to you about an ‘ethical dilemma' and going to the U.S. attorney. Which made them even more nervous.”

“And so Larry Evans killed Sam,” Allison says, “just in case he did know. Before he could talk to the feds.”

McCoy sighs. She will let the empty air fill her response.

Say it
, Allison silently pleads.
Say that Larry Evans killed Sam.

But McCoy just stares at Allison.

“So,” Allison says, “you want me to lead this guy—Larry Evans—to believe that this is all related to the bribery scandal? You want me to make him think that the ‘ethical dilemma' was that Sam had found out about the bribes.”

“Yes,” says McCoy. “Which we think is true. But what's true is beside the point. What matters is what this guy Larry Evans believes.”

Allison nods. “And he needs to believe that I know nothing about his crime. Which happens to be true.”

“Make sure he believes that.” McCoy frames her hands. “If you start talking about bribery, or Sam breaking up with you—well, Larry Evans will be very relieved to hear either one of those scenarios. I don't think Sam Dillon knew what Evans was involved in. I don't think Evans thinks he did, either. He's inclined to believe that you know nothing. He's just not sure, and the people he's working with aren't sure, either. So,
make
him sure. If he believes you know nothing, he'll have no reason to hurt you. My guess is, he'll just wait around, making sure, until this is all over. Until he gets what he wants. And then you'll never see him again.”

Allison sighs. “Maybe I can satisfy him up front, and he'll just go away.”

“That would be great,” says Harrick. “But I wouldn't expect it. You've made some people nervous, Mrs. Pagone. And we understand that they're insistent that you be watched, just to be sure. No, I think Larry Evans will stick around until this thing is over.”

“When the topic of Mat or Jessica is raised,” McCoy adds, “be very defensive. Be protective. I suppose, Mrs. Pagone, that that will not be very difficult for you.”

Allison glares at McCoy.

“And you will swear,” Allison says, “that Larry Evans is the one who killed Sam.”

“Yes. We will swear to that. You saw our affidavits. Your daughter's in the clear, Mrs. Pagone. And so are you.”

“My daughter didn't kill Sam.”

“And our affidavits agree with you,” McCoy says, which is not the same thing as agreeing with Allison's statement.

Allison looks at her lawyer, Paul Riley. Paul does not seem satisfied, and she can sympathize, from his perspective. He is representing Allison, not the rest of her family. Worrying about the fate of Mat or Jessica Pagone is not in his job description. But it
is
in the job description of a mother and ex-wife. The FBI clearly understands that. Allison is not getting much for herself in this deal. Yes, the affidavits from several agents of the FBI, identifying Larry Evans as the killer of Sam Dillon, will clear Allison as well as Jessica. But they also have figured, correctly so, that Allison could beat this charge if she were so inclined. There are two people at whom Allison could point to establish reasonable doubt. They just happen to be Mat and Jessica.