Page 105 of The Lie Maker

Cayden waited for the beep, then said, in a hesitant and unthreatening tone, “Yes, hello, Ms.Wilshire? I see that you’ve written some stories about Judge Bentley and that doctor? Dr.Sloan? I have information that might be of interest to you. I can’t... I really can’t give you my name, but I’d be willing to meet with you in person to tell you what I know. And this might not be convenient, but I’m usually at the Marriott Long Wharf for a drink around seven, seven thirty, if you had a chance to come by later. You don’t have to worry about finding me. I saw your picture on your Twitter account, so I’ll be able to spot you. Anyway, I’ll understand if you can’t make it, but I think you’ll be interested in what I have to say.”

Lana kicked off her shoes and changed into a pair of silk pajamas. It wasn’t even dark out yet, but it had felt like a very long day, and she was glad for it to be over. She had no night assignments and couldn’t be happier.

She collapsed onto the couch, grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. Normally, she would have gone straight to CNN to see what was going on in the world, but she was on overload from all the developments in Jack’s situation and needed something that would not further agitate her.

Jack’s go-to was Law & Order. For Lana, it was Parks and Recreation.

She called up an episode at random and hit play. But she found it hard to focus on any of the characters’ antics. She kept wondering how it was going for Jack, whether his trip to New Hampshire would be productive.

She decided she needed help to relax. Instead of opening the fridge for a bottle of wine, she opened one of the kitchen drawers and brought out a clear, snack-sized bag with what looked like jujube candies but were, in fact, cannabis-laced edibles. She didn’t care much to smoke it—she didn’t want to stink up her apartment—but digesting a little pot was nice for a change.

She was about to pop two into her mouth when her eyes landed on her phone that was recharging. She disconnected it from the cable, intending to take it back to the couch in case Jack texted or phoned. But first she checked for any voice mail messages that might have been left for her at the paper, something she did often.

Lana had one message.

She listened to it once, saved it, then listened to it again.

Someone with a tip on the deaths of the retired judge and the doctor? She’d made a deal with Knight to sit on the story until there were some more solid developments, but this anonymous tip, if it proved to be anything, would change the terms of that deal. If this person was willing to talk to Lana, who else might he talk to? The Globe? One of the local TV stations? This was not something she wanted to get beat on.

The Marriott was a short walk from her place. She looked at her phone for the time. Christ, it was already half past seven. She tossed the edibles back into the drawer and went to her bedroom to get changed back into her work clothes.

She went back to the kitchen to scoop up her phone and decided to give that message one more listen. Once she had signed in to the paper’s voice mail system, she discovered she had a new one.

“Shit,” she said aloud. It was probably the tipster canceling. Cold feet.

But the message was from someone else.

“Hey, Lana, you don’t really know me, but this is Earl Givins? Jack’s father? Well, stepfather? But listen, something has come up and it’s really, really important that you get back to me.” He provided a number. Said it once and repeated it. Lana wrote it down on a slip of paper.

She wondered what could be so urgent, but whatever it was, it couldn’t be more important than talking to someone with information on those two drownings. She didn’t have time to talk to him now, but chose to send him a quick text:

Hi Earl. Lana here. Off to a meeting at the Long Wharf. Will call you after.

And sent it.

She saw it was now 7:45 p.m. Time to get a move on.

Lana was at the Marriott in ten minutes. She spent more time waiting for, and riding down in, the elevator of her building than she did walking briskly to the hotel. By the time she got to the bar, she was out of breath.

She scanned the patrons, looking for a man having a drink alone. There were about a dozen people there. Three couples, and one party of six. Nobody on his own. Maybe her caller was part of a twosome, or in the larger group, who were all talking loudly and laughing and had probably had a few rounds already. None of the three men sitting with women looked her way. It struck Lana as unlikely that you’d arrange a surreptitious meeting with a reporter when you were hanging out with your friends.

She went up to the bar and perched herself on the edge of a stool.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asked.

Lana waved him away. “Waiting for someone.”

The bartender took the dismissal without offense. Lana kept her eye on the entrance.

Her phone rang. She got it out of her purse, saw that it was Earl. She’d already told him she’d get back to him later, and turned down the call. As she tossed the phone back into her purse, she noticed that someone who’d just entered the bar was scanning the patrons. A tall man, dark hair, rugged features. When his eyes landed on Lana, he smiled awkwardly and approached.

“I recognize you from your Twitter pic,” he said. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“You got my attention.”

“Listen, do you mind if we just skip the drinks?”

Lana shrugged. “I don’t know. What were you—”

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