Page 88 of Lies He Told Me

“I feelthat.”

Yeah, do ya, sport? Wanna trade places?

Something catches my eye in a display near theregister — a Fighting Illini Swiss Army knife. “I’ll take this, too,” I say.

While inside the store, I do a search on David’s phone for my next stop, confirming that it’s only three blocks away.Okay. Let’s go.

In the parking lot, I pull the sweatshirt over my head, don the cap and sunglasses, and slip the knife into my pocket. I start down the street for my next destination. Again, I feel exposed, walking on the sidewalk along a busy thoroughfare, but at least I’ve changed my look. I hold my cell phone to my ear, even though I’m not using it — it’s not even powered on — as an excuse to lower my head as if in concentration.

I reach my destination a few minutes later. The lobby inside is empty. A man in a yellow shirt is smiling at me as I enter.

“Hi,” I say. “I need to rent a car.”

While they process my information, I step out and call Camille on David’s phone. She doesn’t answer at first — unrecognizable number — but picks up the second time I call.

“Camille, it’s Marcie,” I say. “Take the kids and run.”

NINETY-THREE

FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, I get into the rental car, a blue Dodge SUV. I feel instant relief, now inside a car and dressed differently. I search on David’s phone for an internet café, expecting several in a campus town. The nearest one is only two miles away, a place called Screens & Beans.

I’d be heading backward, in the general direction of Prinell Bank. But it’s by far the closest café, and I wouldn’t be tangled up on the campus itself, where it seems like it would be hard to make a quick exit.

Screens & Beans it is.

I find the internet café easily enough and parallel park my rented SUV. My head down, I briskly walk in.

I’m hit with the overpowering aroma of ground coffee. The place is divided into thirds — on the left, seating where customers can enjoy their drinks; in the middle, the coffee bar; and to my right, rows of computers available for rental by the hour.

A ponytailed cashier who does not seem to be enthusiasticabout his job takes my credit card and assigns me to a spot in the “connect” room, as he calls it.

Nobody pays me any attention as I walk in, their eyes all glued to the screens in front of them, just like my kids when they’re on their phones.

My kids. I have to do this fast and get back to them.

I sit down and start up the computer. I reach into my purse and remove the thumb drive David left for me in the safe-deposit box.

The computer recognizes the thumb drive. The menu pops up. I’m expecting documents, maybe photographs. Instead, a single icon appears, one I don’t recognize.

An audio file, best I can tell. An audio recording.

I double-click on the file. A long rectangular box appears, in the middle of which is a small triangle, a Play icon. I click on the icon, and the sound comes on.

Static at first, and very loud, loud enough to elicit a reaction from the man sitting next to me. I quickly adjust the volume in the corner of the screen. I wish I had earbuds or headphones, but I don’t. I put my ear up close to the speaker at the top of the screen so I can listen with the volume down.

Still static, nothing but white noise.

And then a voice. A man’s voice I recognize.

Bent over my computer station, my ear up to the speaker, looking like a crazy person, I listen to the whole thing.

Then I replay it, take one more listen to the whole recording.

I sit back in the chair. Okay. Now I know.

Now I have a plan.

NINETY-FOUR

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