Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
My stomach had been in knots since the previous evening. I’d sat in the late-night coffee shop where we’d first met for an hour, and when it became obvious he wasn’t going to show, I’d called.
No answer. It went straight to voicemail.
I’d come home, poured myself a stiff drink, and tried again.
Nothing.
No messages. No emails.
I’d kept trying, and by the time midnight came, I saw reason and gave up.
I didn’t sleep much.
When I woke up the next morning, I started again. I wasn’t about to go into work; that would have been stupid in the circumstances.
Maybe even deadly.
Still nothing.
What are you playing at, Jonathon?
Midday arrived, and still no word. That was when I started to panic.
I hunted for the number for the Boston Herald, and after a few tries, I got through to the editor. Giving the receptionist my name might have gotten me through faster, but I wasn’t taking any chances.
The fewer people who knew of my involvement, the better.
“Can I help you?”
“You are Jonathon Wilmer’s editor, aren’t you?” He’d mentioned the name a couple of times.
There was silence for a moment. “Look, if you’re after information, I’ve already spoken with the police. And to be honest, it’s too soon. We’re still in shock here.”
Shock?
“I think you’ve made a mistake. I’m just trying to reach him. We’d arranged a meeting for last night, and he didn’t show. He isn’t answering his phone or replying to texts and emails. And it’s very important that I speak with him. Urgent, even. Is he there?”
Yet another bout of silence, only this time, goose bumps carpeted my arms.
“You haven’t heard, have you?”
Oh crap.
“Heard what?”
The guy’s voice softened. “He’s dead.”
Oh my God.
“When did he die?” I racked my brains for the last time we’d spoken. That had to be Monday at the coffee shop.
“Last night. When he got home, he walked in on two guys trying to steal from him. They shot him.” A pause. “Can I ask your name?”
“That’s not important,” I managed to croak. I couldn’t hear any more. I disconnected the call, my hands shaking as I went into full-blown panic mode.
This is not good.
Who was I kidding? This was a shitstorm of epic proportions.
My hands were still shaking as I poured myself a large vodka. But before I’d taken one sip, I set the glass down.
No. I need to keep a clear head.
That might be the only thing keeping me alive.
I scrolled through my contacts and clicked on a number. Before he had a chance to get a word out, I blurted, “I need your help.”
“What’s wrong?” I could hear the concern in his voice.
I took a deep breath.
“I need you to help me disappear.”