What Happened to the Bennetts(54)

My mind reeled. It could only mean Milo was working with the FBI. They must have made a deal with him, using him to get evidence to convict Big George. Milo had flipped and become their informant.

The revelation took my breath away. The FBI had been lying when they said they were looking for Milo. They knew exactly where he was. He wasn’t in Mexico at all. They probably had surveillance on him. He could be wearing a wire. The government wasn’t protecting us, they were protecting him.

Allison’s killer.

I wondered if Dom knew. I trusted him, but I couldn’t be sure. Maybe I had just been reaching for a friend. Maybe he set me up so I wouldn’t suspect anything. He was a lot like me, a family man, a fellow runner, about my age. Maybe our friendship was as phony as my marriage.

The worst thing was if Milo was cooperating with the FBI, he would never be punished for killing Allison. God knew if he would get any time in jail. They couldn’t let him walk, could they? They couldn’t without asking us, could they? What about Allison? What about justice?

My thoughts raced. I didn’t know the law. The law was with the government. It was me against them, with their power and might, their treachery and corruption.

I was sick of feeling helpless.

I had to do something.





Chapter Thirty



I stood behind the couch across from the TV, waiting for Allison’s funeral to begin. I couldn’t bring myself to sit on the couch with Lucinda, and she sat next to Ethan, who had decided to watch. I hadn’t said a word to Lucinda this morning, and we had avoided each other while we showered and changed. Of course I hadn’t told her the FBI lied to us about Milo. This wasn’t the time, and I had to think.

The TV flickered on, and the funeral started. The screen showed strangers in suits gathered around a glistening walnut casket, which rested on a bier of white roses. The camera must have been mounted in a tree, since the angle was high and the view distant.

Lucinda sniffled, and Ethan emitted a moan. I swallowed hard, but the remoteness of the scene muted its impact. I would have cried my eyes out at my daughter’s funeral, but I wouldn’t at this TV production.

I eyed the FBI agents pretending to mourn my daughter, wondering if any of them knew Milo was their informant. They had no business being at Allison’s funeral. They were protecting the scum who killed her.

At the head of the fake mourners stood a priest I didn’t know. He began to pray, but I could barely listen to a word. Lucinda started to cry and Ethan, too. The FBI agents bowed their heads, and my gaze found Dom and Wiki. They were to the right of the priest, where I should have been. Again I wondered how much they knew.

The service ended, and Dom stepped to a table that held a vase of white roses and an open laptop. He pressed a key, and Lucinda’s memorial video began to play. The notes of the Sarah McLachlan song sounded tinny through the microphone. The photos of Allison were too far away to see.

The music wafted over me, and I felt oddly remote. This was the day Lucinda and I buried our daughter, our firstborn child, and it should have been a burden we bore together. But no longer. She and Ethan cried, and I put my hand on Ethan’s shoulder.

I returned my attention to Allison’s casket and made a vow to get her justice.

I was her father.

I would be, as long as I lived.

And even after.





Chapter Thirty-One



After the funeral, I stayed downstairs, sipping a glass of water and looking out the kitchen window. I found myself scanning the trees for cameras, then I glanced around the kitchen, newly distrustful. I wondered if the FBI had bugged the house or loaded spyware. I eyeballed the ceiling fixture, then my laptop.

I heard Lucinda coming down the stairs, and she entered the kitchen, her eyes teary and bloodshot, her dress wrinkled. I set down the glass and started to leave, but she stopped me, taking my arm.

“Jason, we have to talk.”

“No we don’t—” I began, then stopped myself, in case the kitchen was bugged. I raised a hand, and Lucinda fell silent. I motioned to the front door. “I need some air, don’t you? I’ll show you the marsh. I have a spot there.”

“Okay,” Lucinda answered, puzzled. She followed me to the door, and we stepped outside. If Special Agent Reilly was monitoring the cameras, he would see we weren’t doing anything out of the ordinary. We had just buried our daughter, and it would make sense that we would want time alone. I led the way down the steps and to the path that led through the scrub to the marsh, and finally to the water’s edge.

Lucinda looked around, puzzled. “What are we doing out here? What’s going on?”

“I needed air.” I stepped away, not wanting to stand close to her. “What is it you want?”

“Why are you acting so—”

“What do you want?”

“I know you’re hurt, and I’m so sorry, I was going to tell you about Paul.”

My gut twisted. “I was better off not knowing about Paul. But now that I do, I don’t know how to stay with you. I don’t see how we go forward.”

“But we have to.” Lucinda’s blue eyes pleaded with me. “We love each other, and we’re in the program—”

“That’s not a reason. I have a decision to make.” I didn’t see how we went forward, but I didn’t see how we didn’t go forward, either. All I could think of was the day I told her I was dropping out of law school. “You think Paul Hart’s better than I am, because he’s a lawyer? You’re wrong. You have it upside down.”