Page 116 of Her Dark Lies
Ana’s face has lost all color. “That’s impossible. She can’t be. She...she... I saw her...”
“Gideon, go. Say that again.”
He’s clearly running, his breathing is broken. His voice comes through the speaker, tinny and frantic. “Morgan Compton is alive. She has been posing as Ami Eister. Karmen found video of her coming to your studio, and got a facial recognition match. It’s her. There’s no doubt. I’m almost there. Lock the fucking door.”
Ana has a hand around her throat, her beautiful features sharp in her delicate face. She is lost in memory, or agony, I’m not sure which.
I touch her arm. “The wedding...”
“If she’s alive, Claire, there is no wedding.”
I must have looked confused because Ana’s face softens. “My dear, if she’s actually alive, they’re still married.”
My heart sinks. My God, she’s right. If Morgan is still alive...
It is impossible. If Morgan is alive, that means I’ve met her. I’ve talked to her. I spent months stalking her ghost and when she came to me, flesh and blood, I didn’t recognize her? No, it can’t be. It can’t be!
Logic reasserts itself. “The woman posing as Ami Eister who came to my studio did not resemble Morgan. Her hair, her face...it wasn’t the same person. I am...intimately familiar with Morgan.”
Jack glances my way, an eyebrow cocked. “I’ll tell you later,” I say, and he nods, convinced.
“I agree,” Jack says. “This must be a mistake. We know she’s dead. There’s no way.”
Gideon bangs on our door. “Let me in.”
Jack does. Gideon thrusts his phone at Jack. Gideon’s pants and shirt are covered in blood.
Karmen. Oh, God, another death.
“Hit Play. She’s had some work done. And her hair must be dyed. But the underlying bone structure can’t be mistaken. Someone tried to delete the match, but Karmen had already sent it to me. Mrs. Compton, she’s dead, ma’am. Karmen’s dead. She was stabbed. I’m so sorry.”
The video finally loads fully. The footage isn’t great, and we crowd around the screen, watching. The tall black boots, a black chignon, black Jackie-O sunglasses. She strides across the street with a warrior’s grace.
She looks like Ana.
I glance at Jack’s mother, assessing. The similarities are overwhelming.
“The woman in this video is absolutely the woman who came to me and claimed she was Ami Eister. But that is not the Morgan I’ve become familiar with.”
Jack is staring at the screen, mouth ajar. As I watch, he runs a finger across the blown-up chin of the woman. He glances back at his mother, then to Gideon, then the screen again. He sees it, too. Ana does, as well.
“She’s dressed like me,” Ana says. “But that’s not me, obviously.”
“There’s more,” Gideon says.
He takes the phone and opens a file. This shows the technical comparisons. Morgan leaps out from the screen, that wide brow, those piercing eyes, that strong, pugnacious jaw, the flaming hair.
The woman next to her is...less, somehow. Quieter. The jaw doesn’t seem as strong, the eyes are hidden behind dark glasses.
“There’s no chance this is a mistake?”
“No, Jack. No. The software is highly technical, we have a tactical identification system that merges with the FBI’s NGI facial recognition database. But there are vector templates and surface texture measurements, you can see they all match... Look, it’s not wrong. It’s her.”
There is a moment, a brief, quiet moment, before Jack speaks.
“Morgan.” Jack’s face makes it seem the word tastes of ash. “But how is that possible?”
He looks at his mother wildly, and Ana shakes her head once, sharp.
