"I didn't want you there," said Wayne Read. "I wanted me and my wife there. Being married to me wouldn't be easy for any woman, and it's particularly hard for my wife. So this is costing me, Quentin."
"Madeleine left me."
"Oh." Wayne looked nonplussed for a moment. Then he put his head down on his desk. "I'm trying really really hard, Quentin."
"Go ahead and say it. You told me so."
"Quentin, I'm not happy to be right. I wanted you to be right."
"Yeah, well, she's gone. And I need your help."
"I assume she's got a lawyer. Do you know who yet? Because I'm not a divorce lawyer and—"
"Wayne, you're not getting it. She's gone. Not just leaving-me gone, I mean gone. I've filed a missing persons report in Virginia. I got a phone message from a man claiming to be her father, and he says they've also got the police looking for her up there."
Wayne's demeanor changed. A little bit more serious. A little bit suspicious, too, though he was trying to conceal it. Well, Quentin didn't blame him.
Quentin gave him the whole story he had told his parents.
"Well, somebody's bound to have seen her leave the house. She'll turn up somewhere."
"I doubt it."
"Why?" Again the suspicion.
"Because I never met this Ray Cryer but he left me a phone message implying that we knew each other. He had the code that let him switch off my answering service and leave a taped message on my machine in Herndon—and only Madeleine had those codes. Well, besides you and my parents."
"So she's not missing."
"Let's just say that this guy who calls himself Ray Cryer knows more about her disappearance than I do."
"Then let's find her," said Wayne. "Between the investigators we can hire and the police, we'll find her."
"No we won't. Nobody will ever find her."
Wayne thought for a while, tapping his pencil. "Quentin, are you telling me the truth?"
"Everything I've told you is true."
"That's not exactly what I asked." Then, as Quentin was about to speak, Wayne raised his hand to stop him. "Wait a minute, Quentin. Don't get mad at me, but I have to tell you. If you have committed some crime, and you wish me to be involved with your defense in any way, don't confess that crime to me. If you confess a crime to me, then my advice to you will be to turn yourself in and make a full confession, and I will not represent you in your defense. Do you understand me?"
"Relax, Wayne," said Quentin. "I didn't kill her. As far as I know she's as alive as she ever was."
Wayne relaxed a little.
"And I do want to begin a search. But not some little penny-ante search. It's going to have to cover every city where I have residences, which is a long list, as you well know. But she might have gone to any of those places and I have to at least go through the motions of a serious search. Don't I?"
"Go through the motions?"
"I told you. We won't find her."
Wayne shook his head. "I really hate paradoxes, Quentin. Do you know where she is or don't you?"
"I know she's nowhere."
"If she's buried in the basement of that house, Quentin, the police are going to find her."
"She's not buried anywhere because she's not dead. She's also not alive. She never existed."
"That must have been an interesting wedding, Quentin."
"The real search is for her true identity, Wayne. I want to be able to prove that the Madeleine Cryer I married has no birth certificate in any of the fifty states. That she never went to school anywhere, that she never had a job. The other investigations are because I have to look like a worried husband searching for his vanished wife. But my attorney has to know that what I'm really searching for is the identity of the person who deceived me. Or someone who might know the truth about her."
Wayne leaned back in his chair. "Now, that's interesting. I wonder where the investigator should start."
"There's almost nowhere he can start, Wayne. Like you said, I was a fool. The whole time we were engaged, back in Virginia, she claimed she was staying with friends, moving from house to house. We talked on her cellular phone. I never had a phone number for any of those friends. Never met one. Never heard a single name. She said she was in a job somewhere in the bureaucracy, but I don't know what it was, and frankly I don't believe she ever had such a job, though of course I'll pay to have the federal personnel files searched to see if she worked for them."
"What about this Ray Cryer?"
"Whoever he is, I doubt he'll be real helpful to us—if he talks to our people at all."
"But we can investigate him and his background," said Wayne. "Either he really is her father or he's faking, and either way, checking up on him will help us."
"And the house, Wayne. The deeds. And I mean going back generations. She knows that house. That wasn't a fake. She knows it in the dark. She's connected to it somehow."
"We'll do it, Quentin. In the meantime, you won't mind if I strike her name off your insurance policies and out of your will?"
"Write it up and I'll sign everything."
"The police are going to be so suspicious of you."
"Of course they are. You are, and I pay you handsomely and listen to your wise and intensely personal advice. Think how much less likely they are to think I'm telling the whole story."
"Though of course you are telling the whole story." The irony in Wayne's voice was palpable.
"I've told you the whole story I'm going to tell the police and the whole story I told my parents and the story I'm going to tell everybody else forever, and every bit of it is true."
"But there are some bits you sort of left out?"
"Maybe."
"Are you going to tell me?"
"I want to. If I dare."
"Attorney-client privilege protects everything you tell me. I've already given you my don't-confess-a-crime-to-me warning. Please remember that I mean it."
"But what if the thing I tell you convinces you I'm out of my mind?"
"I'm already convinced."
"I'm not joking, Wayne. I've been questioning my own sanity, and unless you're crazy, you will too."
"Crazy people have as much right to a lawyer as sane people."
"But what if you thought it would be in my best interests to be committed to a mental hospital? To be declared incompetent?"
"I have no standing for that," said Wayne. "Your parents could try it, or your wife, or your children if you had any. Your heirs, perhaps."
"My in-laws?"
"They're running a different scam right now," said Wayne. "The point is, your attorney couldn't try to commit you on his own account. I'd be disbarred if I tried. My job would be to stop them."
"But if you—when you don't believe me, will you still work as hard for me as before? Or will you start handing my work over to underlings until you finally spin me off to some other lawyer?"
"Quentin, now you're bothering me. What is this, some alien abduction thing?"
"I wish." He took a deep breath. "Get out your recorder."
"I'll remember what you tell me."
"I want it in my own voice."
"Quentin, attorney-client privilege only protects you in court, not from public attacks on your reputation. Of course I'll do all I can to protect any tape you make here, but the best protection is for the tape never to exist."
"Tape it."
"Your call." Shaking his head, Wayne got out his recorder. And Quentin told him what really happened, starting with his sighting of a woman who looked like Lizzy at the Elden Street Giant food store in Herndon. From there he skipped to the events at Madeleine's family mansion. The midnight snack. The reason she gave him not to take a shower. The exquisite food at breakfast. The other people at the table. The walk on the bluff. And then the treasure box, Grandmother saying "Find me," Madeleine fleeing into the graveyard. No footprints but his own. The names on the headstones. The dark, cold, empty house, the dust and filth, the bed that only he slept in, the bureau that held only his own clothing. The words that appeared on the door. The talking rat. And then Lizzy, dead Lizzy come back to talk to him, to explain what she understood. And the long walk back to civilization.