“What about the guns at the Halls?”
“Pessie wasn’t shot, was she?”
“No,” I say. “Well, I don’t think so.”
“No autopsy, right?”
“Right. But my cop and the husband both saw her and neither mentioned a gunshot wound or anything like that.”
“Okay, let’s keep the stockpiling in our back pocket. One thing at a time. Actually, now that we have all this new information, why don’t you go back at the husband. Get his reaction to her hanging out with these people.”
“Okay,” I say.
“Let’s regroup around noon.”
I head to the toilet and then turn on the shower. I breathe in the steam and close my eyes beneath the water, but the sharp fright of being shot at in my dream won’t dull. I’ve made myself a target again. I’ve pushed into another ugly little world that doesn’t want me.
When I get out of the shower, I take a pill to try to ease the terror that the water didn’t wash away. On my phone is a text message from Iris.
I love you, too. everything ok up there?? Call me
I call immediately. I hadn’t been letting myself think too much about what it might mean if Iris really closed herself off from me, let alone if she moved to Asia. She is all I have in New York. Iris and the Trib. And only one of them gives a shit about me.
“Hi,” she says. “Where are you?”
“I’m at dumpy motel near Poughkeepsie.”
“Awesome. The Trib really lays out the red carpet for you guys, huh?” I hear a bus backfire. Iris is probably walking toward the subway from our apartment. She’s kind of living the dream. A working girl in New York City. A good-looking, gainfully employed boyfriend. She wouldn’t have dared dream it a year ago. Or maybe she did dream it. I look in the mirror beside the TV. I’m sitting on a motel bed wearing a towel. The motel room is being paid for by a newspaper. I am here reporting a story about the overlooked death of a young mother. I have a source in the police department. On paper, this is my dream. Maybe someday living my dream won’t make me feel sick.
“I’m lucky I got them to agree to cover an overnight at all,” I say.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call yesterday. I just needed to, like, feel bad for a minute.”
“I’m really sorry I ditched you guys. I’m…”
“It’s okay,” she says. “I’m glad you’re working. What did Saul say?”
My conversation with Saul in front of The Doom Room feels far away. “Aviva’s mom died when she was in Florida with us,” I say.
“Wow. She’s motherless, too.”
“Yeah,” I say.
“And her phone is still off?”
“Yeah. I think I found her house, though. I went by last night but it was all dark.”
“Holy shit. Are you sure it’s hers?”
“Not a hundred percent,” I say. “But I talked to a girl who said Sam sometimes lived with his sister in New Paltz, and this was the New Paltz address the library found when they ran his name.”
“Have you found Sam?”
“No,” I say. “The girl I talked to used to be his roommate but she said she hasn’t heard from him in a while.”
“Do you think they’re together?”
“Him and Aviva?” That hadn’t occurred to me. “Maybe.”
“Will you be home tonight?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “Larry said I had a hundred and fifty for a hotel, but I only spent half that so I’m hoping maybe I can squeeze another day out of him.”
“I’m about to go underground,” she says. “Keep me updated, okay?”
“I will,” I say. “I’m really glad you still love me.”
She laughs. “You should be.”
We hang up and I feel marginally calmer. Calm enough, I decide, to try Aviva again. I go RECENT CALLS on my phone and press “Mom.” The call goes straight to a voice mail message saying this mailbox is full. So much for the calm. Something feels wrong. What if this Sam guy is dangerous? What if he’s done something to her?
I pull on new socks and underwear and then the same bra and jeans and purple sweater I was wearing yesterday. My hair is already dry-a perk, I suppose, of having almost none of it. At just after nine, Nechemaya calls. I tell him who the plate belongs to.
“You need to be careful,” I say. “It sounds like Sam was dating this man’s son. Secretly. Conrad Hall is…”
“I know who Conrad Hall is,” he says.
“You do?”
“We are not naïve, Rebekah. We know our enemies.”
“I’m going to call the chief now and confront him about getting the plate and doing nothing. Can I use your name?”
“Yes,” he says. “He knows my name. I made no secret when I called.”
“What about for the newspaper?”
He is silent a moment. “All right.”
“Thank you,” I say. “And listen, I don’t want to tell you what to do, but there’s a cop in Roseville I think you should call. He’s a good guy…”
“I am through with the Roseville police. We have a connection with the district attorney. We will be meeting him tomorrow.”
I scribble “call DA” in my notebook and then dial Van Keller’s cell.
“Officer Keller? It’s Rebekah. Can you talk?”
“I just left the station,” he says, breathing hard.
“Did you talk to your chief?”
“Hold on.” I hear a car door slam. “He denied getting the plate from your man. I told him I’d run it to Connie Hall and he ripped me a new one. Bunch of shit about chain of command.”
“Does he know we’ve been talking?”
“No. I didn’t tell him, anyway. And I swore Dawn and Christine to secrecy.”
“I tried to get my guy from the community-the one that gave him the plate-to call you but he says he’s going to the district attorney.”
“I don’t blame him.”
We agree to stay in touch and before I have time to think too hard about the conversation I’m about to have, I dial Roseville PD. Dawn answers and I ask for the chief.
“Him and Van just got in a big fight,” she says, her voice low. “I swear I didn’t tell him you were here though. Cross my heart.”
“I believe you,” I say.
Dawn puts me on hold and about twenty seconds later Chief Gregory picks up.
“Chief.”
“Hi, Chief Gregory, this is Rebekah Roberts from the New York Tribune. We spoke the other day…”
“I know who you are.”
“Oh. Great. Okay, well, I’ve been told by a member of Pessie Goldin’s community that one of her neighbors saw an unfamiliar pickup truck at her home the day she was found dead. He said he passed the license plate to you but never heard back.”
Nothing.
“Can you confirm you received a license plate number?”
“No.”
“Are you saying you didn’t receive it?”
“I’m not saying anything.”
“Well,” I say, “I’ve been given the plate number and my desk tells me it belongs to a man named Conrad Hall. Can you confirm that?”
“Nope.”
“Is it true that Conrad Hall is your stepbrother?”
There is a pause, and then the call ends. Chief Gregory has hung up on me.
I go into the bathroom to brush my teeth and as I am spitting into the sink I feel a kind of whoosh and suck in my ear. The ringing is gone. “Huh,” I say out loud, looking at myself in the mirror. The water sounds loud, like it’s pouring into my brain instead of the sink. For a moment I am dizzy. I close my eyes and shake my head, knocking my jaw around, opening my mouth extra wide, and hearing the pop of cartilage in my ear. The relief is powerful. Two months of tinnitus, gone, just like that.
I take out my notebook and dial Levi, who picks up after several rings.
“Yes?”
“Levi,” I say, “hi. This is Rebekah. From the Tribune.”
“Hello.”
“How are you?”
“Things have been difficult with Pessie’s family since your article came out. They are very angry.”