The Book of Fate - Brad Meltzer [120]
“Hello?” a woman answered.
“Hi, this is Lisbeth Dodson from Below the Fold—I’m looking for Violet.”
There was a second or two of dead silence. Lisbeth just waited. New sources always needed an extra moment to decide.
“Hiya, honey—hold on one second,” the woman said. In the background, Lisbeth heard a bell chime and the sudden wisp of wind buzzing the phone. Whatever store Violet was in, she just left for privacy. Which meant she was willing to talk.
“This isn’t . . . you’re not recording this, right?” Violet finally asked.
Lisbeth glanced at the digital recorder that always sat on her desk. But she didn’t reach for it. “No recordings.”
“And you won’t give my name out? Because if my husband . . .”
“We’re off the record. No one’ll ever know who you are. I promise you that.”
Once again, the line was drowned in silence. Lisbeth knew better than to push.
“I just want you to know, I’m no snitch,” Violet said, her voice cracking. Based on Violet’s inflection and speed, Lisbeth wrote mid-30s? in her notepad. “Understand, okay? I don’t want this. He just . . . seeing his name in print again . . . and so happy . . . people don’t realize—there’s a whole ’nother side of him . . . and what he did that night . . .”
“What night?” Lisbeth asked. “What was the date?”
“I don’t think he’s a bad person—I really don’t—but when he gets angry . . . he just . . . he gets angry with the best of ’em. And when he’s real angry . . . You know how men get, right?”
“Of course,” Lisbeth agreed. “Now, why don’t you just tell me what happened that night.”
72
I don’t wanna talk about it,” I insist.
“She was recording the whole time?” Rogo asks, still in shock as his voice crackles through the cell phone.
“Rogo, can we please not—?”
“Maybe it’s not how it looked. I mean, she gave you her car and her phone, right? Maybe you misread it.”
“I heard my voice on the tape! How else could that possibly be read!?” I shout, squeezing my fist around the steering wheel and jamming even harder on the gas. As I blow past the thick twisting banyan trees that shield both sides of County Road from the sun, I hear the shift in Rogo’s voice. At first, he was surprised. Now he’s just hurt, with a dab of confused. When it comes to judging someone’s character, he’s usually a master.
“I told you she’d burn us—didn’t I call it?” Dreidel hisses in the background. His voice is barely a whisper, which means someone’s there with them.
“Did she say why?” Rogo adds. “I mean, I know Lisbeth’s a reporter, but—”
“Enough already, okay? How many times do I need to say it? I don’t wanna talk about it!”
“Where are you now anyway?” Rogo asks.
“No offense, but I shouldn’t say. Y’know, just in case someone’s listening.”
“Wes, you’re full of manure—where the hell are you?” Rogo insists.
“On US-1.”
“You’re lying—that was too fast.”
“I’m not lying.”
“Too fast again. C’mon, Pinocchio—I know the little stutter and stammer when you’re fibbing. Just tell me where you are.”
“You have to understand, Rogo, he—”
“He? He? The royal He,” he moaned, more angry than ever. “Son of Betsy Ross, Wes! You’re going to see Manning?”
“He’s expecting me. Schedule says I have to be there at four.”
“Schedule? The man’s been lying to you for eight years about the single greatest tragedy in your life. Doesn’t that—?” He lowers his voice, forcing himself to calm down. “Doesn’t that let you say F-you to the schedule for once?”
“He’s going to Manning?” Dreidel asks in the background.
“Rogo, you don’t understand—”
“I do understand. Lisbeth made you sad . . . The Three got you scared . . . and as always, you’re running for your favorite presidential pacifier.”
“Actually, I’m trying to do the one thing we should’ve done the first moment I saw Boyle alive: go to the source and find out what the hell actually happened that day.”
Rogo’s silent, which tells me he’s seething. “Wes, let me ask you something,” he finally says. “That first night you saw Boyle, why didn’t you go to Manning and tell him the truth? Because you were in shock? Because it seemed that Boyle was somehow invited to