Near Baltimore, August 2002
In two days her daughter would be drifting away to another world, probably forever, by heading off to college. Helen knew firsthand how dramatically that experience could change a young life. How was she spending these precious final hours with Anna? By shopping for clothes at the mall. Dreary and all-too-predictable, she supposed. Much like the rest of her life.
Look at her now. A farm wife in her late forties, going soft in the middle and gray on top. Who would have expected it? Certainly not Clark Baucom, who’d be pushing eighty by now yet was probably still imbibing ambrosial brandies that cost half as much as her weekly grocery bill. Maybe he was even still seducing women half his age.
“What do you think of these?” Anna emerged from the dressing room in something horrible.
“No. Out of the question.”
“I knew you’d say that.”
“Then why’d you ask?”
Anna turned and went back inside. Two more items to try before they moved on to the next stop in retail hell. Speaking of things that cost half as much as the groceries, the toll of this little excursion was already making her wonder which of her five credit cards she’d be able to use without exceeding the limit. She also needed to call Tarrant, to remind him to check the hinky ventilation fan in the second chicken house. A malfunction on a scorcher like today and they’d have thirty thousand reeking corpses and another black mark on their balance sheet with Washam. It was like working for a loan shark.
Anna emerged again.
“Much better.”
A tasteful design, a decent fit, and best of all it was 30 percent off. But Anna’s attention was elsewhere. Something had caught her eye from across the shop floor, so Helen turned to look as well. And that’s when she saw him. Dark suit, arms folded, and those unforgettable eyes. Kevin Gilley, older but no less menacing, stood only fifty feet away, and he was staring at them.
Helen involuntarily put a hand to her mouth in horror. He raised his hand as if to wave, and then dropped it to his side. He did not approach them, but he did not look away.
“Why’s that man staring at us?” Anna asked from over her shoulder. “Do you know him?”
“I used to,” she said, her voice robotic. “I want you to remember his face, Anna, okay? Take a good, long look.”
“Why?”
“Just do it, all right?”
“Okay. I think he’s leaving. Don’t you want to say hi?”
“No.”
“Who was he?”
“Someone I used to work with, a long time ago. I wouldn’t worry about him.”
“I wasn’t worried.”
“Good.”
Helen was about to say more when the shopgirl who’d been waiting on them came forward. In her hands were two other items that they’d already set aside for purchase.
“Will you be adding that blouse?” she asked.
“Oh. Yes.” She was flustered, caught between two worlds like in one of those science fiction films, where half of your psyche gets left behind by a botched teleport. “Put them on my Hecht’s card. No, wait. Here, use the MasterCard.”
Anna went back to the dressing room to change. The salesgirl waited until she was out of earshot, and then whispered to Helen, “That man gave me something for you.”
Helen did a double take as the girl held out a folded slip of paper.
“What do you mean?” she said, recoiling.
“This note. He told me to give it to you, but first he made me promise not to read it.” She was smiling conspiratorially, seemingly tickled to be playing courier for a pair of aging lovebirds who probably weren’t even married to each other.
“Give me that,” Helen hissed, angrily snatching it away. The girl, crestfallen, retreated to the safety of the register and began ringing up their purchases with a pouting lower lip.
For a moment all Helen could do was stare at the folded paper while all the old horrors returned. The photo of Anneliese, the knife against her throat, the eyes that were blue-green lozenges, cool and lifeless. She unfolded the paper and began to read.
How pleasant to see you again, Helen. Just a note to let you know that, although I haven’t forgotten, I still fully expect you to continue to forget even if my name begins appearing in the news from time to time, as it may soon do. Your agreement is still binding, and I will hold you to it even if our old employer won’t.
P.S.—Your daughter is quite the young beauty. She will go far. Provided, of course, that her mother’s curiosity isn’t unduly reckless.—Yours always, Robert
“Mom, are we buying this one or not?”
It was Anna, tugging at her shoulder. Helen stuffed the note in her purse. She was trying not to shake. She took a deep breath before speaking.
“Yes, we’re buying that, so take it on over.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. But that man you just saw, the one I used to know?”
“Yes.”
“If you ever see him again, I want you to tell me, all right?”
“Okay.”
“Anywhere. At home, at school, with Willard—anywhere—and I want you to let me know right away.”
Anna looked away, a little unsettled, but Helen wanted her full attention.
“I’m serious. Do you understand?”
“Okay. But who was he?”
“It’s not important.” Then, sensing the ridiculousness of her answer after everything she’d just said, Helen sought to come up with a way of identifying him without uttering his name, lest Anna blurt it out someday and put herself in danger.
“I’m sorry. It is important, but you don’t need to know his name. Just his face. He once knew a friend of mine, a woman I worked with. They’re the reason you’re named Anneliese. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Helen turned toward the sales counter to complete their purchase. All the while, as the register beeped and clicked to record the rising total, she was already composing the first lines of a letter she would write that evening, an emergency message to two of her oldest colleagues. A plan of action took shape in her head. They would write, they would stay in touch. They would reactivate their network, and they would again protect one another—and Anna as well.
She had failed Anneliese Kurz. She would not fail her daughter.