Page 11 of Nine Lives

The agent laughed. “It wasn’t, was it? Look, just don’t touch the letter again before the agent arrives. Can you do that for me?”

“Sure,” Ethan said.

After ending the call Ethan went and looked at the list, still sitting next to his laptop. He’d forgotten that he’d used the back of the letter to write down the lyrics for his new song, and now he was a little embarrassed that he’d be handing it over to federal agents. Not that they’d care. Who knew, maybe someone in the FBI would see those lyrics and realize what a genius he was and introduce him to his song-producer cousin. Ethan laughed in the empty apartment. Then, just for the sake of posterity, he took out his phone and photographed the back of the list.

4

Friday, September 16, 3:50 p.m.

The second person from the list that Jessica succeeded in finding was Arthur Kruse. She reached him on his cell phone while he was at work at the hospital, and when she asked about the list, it took him a moment to realize what it was she was talking about.

“Oh, right,” he finally said.

“So you did receive a list yesterday in the mail?”

“Uh-huh.”

She asked him the same questions she’d asked Ethan and got essentially the same responses. He didn’t know anyone on the list. Nothing unusual had happened recently in his life. As far as he knew, he had no enemies.

“I’m also going to need access to that letter, and the envelope if you still have it,” Jessica said. “Can you be at home in about half an hour?”

“I can’t really,” Arthur said. “I’m in the middle of my shift, and—”

“It’s important.”

“Sure,” he said, knowing that between Gina and Maggie they’d be okay for the next hour or so. He didn’t live far from the hospital, and he could be back in no time.

“And one more thing,” Jessica said. “This is a long shot, I know, but do you know someone by the name of Gary Winslow?”

Arthur thought, then said, “It doesn’t ring a bell.”

“How old are you?”

“I’m forty-five.”

“Your father’s not named Arthur Kruse, or Art Kruse, as well, is he?”

“He was,” said Arthur. “Art Kruse.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Is he dead?”

“Actually, no. I shouldn’t have said ‘was,’ but I haven’t seen him or spoken with him in over ten years.”

“So his name is Art.”

“It’s Arthur but he goes by Art.”

“So I don’t suppose you remember if he knew anyone by the name of Gary Winslow?”

“I’m not sure I could name a single one of my father’s friends. Didn’t you say your name was Winslow?”

“Uh-huh. Gary’s my father and I remember that he had a friend named Art Kruse, or I think I do, and somehow the name stuck with me. They were college friends, I think.”

“My father went to Princeton.”

“Okay. So they weren’t college friends,” Jessica said.

“Your father went to...?”

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