Page 110 of The Lie Maker

“Who the fuck is Gwen Kaminsky?”

Fifty-Eight

“Dad, Daddy, can you hear me? Come on, Dad, talk to me.”

“...uhhhh... uhhh...”

“Daddy, I want to see you more than anything in the world. I do. But they won’t let me in. I tried and they kicked me out, the bastards. You have to know that if I could be there, I would. If only they’d let you out, if they’d let you come home...”

“...uhhh...”

“Everything that’s happened to you, it’s never been fair, it’s never been right. And for it all to end like this... Please, just say something. There’s never been a day, not one, since you had to leave us that I haven’t thought about you, that I haven’t wanted to see you. I love you so much.”

“.... .... ....”

“Daddy, if you can hear me, just know that I’ll make this right. I will. I swear, I will make this right. Christ, are you even hearing any of this? Have they got the phone to your ear? Do you even know it’s me? Daddy? It’s Gwen. It’s Gwendoline, your good little witch, Daddy, and I love you so much.”

Fifty-Nine

“Shit,” Earl said when he saw Lana’s message that she would get back to him later. “Shit shit shit.”

He didn’t bother with the elevator and took the stairs to get down to lobby level, and then took another flight to reach the underground garage. He jumped into his rental car, feeling a pang of regret, at that moment, that he had allowed Cayden to take the Porsche from him. It was, to be sure, an older model and not in mint condition, but right now he needed something that could really move.

It took three tries, but the engine finally turned over, and he sped up the ramp in record time, the car rattling and squeaking as it bounced out onto the street. He didn’t know when Lana’s meeting was, and he didn’t know for sure it was with the menacing Cayden, but Earl had to assume it was, and he was going to have to break every traffic law on the Massachusetts books getting to the Long Wharf as quickly as he could.

Earl didn’t know what business the man might have with his stepson’s girlfriend, but he couldn’t imagine it was anything good. Cayden, Earl had quickly learned, was not the kind of person you said no to. If he wanted information from Lana, it was a safe bet that he was going to get it out of her.

Helping Cayden, searching Jack’s place, and, lastly, planting that listening device in his apartment had been weighing heavily on Earl. He’d tried to justify it to himself by thinking it had nothing to do with Jack, and everything to do with Michael Donohue, and did Earl owe him anything? Earl’s betrayal of Jack was nothing compared to what his father had done, leaving the kid behind when he was only nine years old.

But shit, now Jack’s girlfriend was involved.

Earl had never met Lana Wilshire, but if she was important to Jack, that was all that mattered. There were some lines even Earl didn’t feel comfortable crossing. He didn’t want anything bad happening to his stepson’s girlfriend. He needed to warn her.

As he sped down Boston’s streets, heading for the Long Wharf, he tried calling her one more time, his eyes darting back and forth between the road and his phone. Just as he was about to tap the screen he heard a horn, glanced up, saw that he had just run a red.

“Jesus,” he said to himself, no idea how close he might have come to hitting another car, or putting himself in the path of one.

He tapped the screen, put the phone to his ear.

The phone rang once, twice. And then, nothing. She’d declined it.

“Goddamn it.”

Earl decided if he couldn’t get Lana to answer, he’d try Jack. Warn him, and then he could call Lana. She’d be less likely to turn down a call from her boyfriend.

Still dividing his attention between the phone and the road, he brought up Jack’s number, entered it, and put the phone to his ear.

It rang. And rang. And rang.

“Fuck!” Earl shouted.

Finally: “Hi. You’ve reached Jack Givins. Please leave a message.”

“Jack! It’s me. Look, I don’t have time to explain, but you have to call Lana. This Cayden guy’s looking for her and he’s bad news. Fucking bad news! Tell her not to meet with him, to hide out for a while. I’ll explain later.”

He hit the red button and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat.

The little car’s engine whined in protest as Earl sped south on Congress, then made a left onto State Street, heading east, which would take him straight to the Long Wharf. The only problem was, State was a one-way street going west, and Earl was driving straight into oncoming traffic. He put on his flashers, laid on the horn, stuck his hand out the window, and waved madly as vehicles dodged out of his path.

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