CHAPTER 48
Nat sat parked along the side of the road and slumped in the driver’s seat, behind the steering wheel. A pale afternoon sun shone in a faint blue sky, and old, dry leaves spun frantically across the road in a gust of wind, the last frantic dance of winter. The scene was as bucolic as ever, but she couldn’t appreciate it anymore. Not after what she’d read in Saunders’s pages. She’d begged off on dinner in favor of delivering them to the police, and both Barb and Jennifer had understood.
But Nat had lied to them. She hadn’t gone to the police. She was still sitting in the Volvo, parked at a crossroads. The road to the right led to the state police barracks. The road to the left led home. She wasn’t sure yet which one to take. Ron Saunders’s pages, a narrative based on overheard conversations and amateur sleuthing, described the conspiracy to help Williams escape exactly as Nat had figured it out. Except for one thing she’d missed.
She read the first paragraph again, but it kept coming out the same way:
On April 28, last year, I was on duty and I took Angus Holt to meet with Richard Williams in the courtesy-hold area. I thought Williams wanted to ask Holt to be his lawyer. Holt thought that, too, because he said so. We were having a rat problem at that time, so I had to put poison everywhere, including the heating ducts. I overheard Williams ask Holt to set up an escape. Williams said he had “one of his boys,” Mark Parrat, who would handle paying Holt to get Williams out before his trial. Holt asked why Williams was asking him to help, and Williams answered because the warden would let him meet with a lawyer without anybody suspecting anything, but he couldn’t go meeting with C.O.s and he didn’t know which C.O.s were “safe” to approach.
Nat rubbed her face. She couldn’t believe it. Angus hadn’t mentioned that he’d met Williams, either the day that she first went with him to the prison or any day thereafter, even more recently. But Saunders had had no reason to make it up. The rest of the pages contained details of the finances and other plans, which Saunders had overheard and recorded. So much of the narrative was right, but could this part be wrong? Angus could never have been involved with Graf and Machik. She’d seen them fight with her own eyes. And if he was really part of the conspiracy, why would Parrat have hit him with the black pickup?
Nat reread the next paragraph, which picked up the narrative:
Holt said no, but Williams kept upping the money. They agreed on three million dollars up front and a million more when Williams escaped. Holt said the construction might “present some opportunity” to get Williams out. Holt said he knew all the C.O.s and he knew which C.O. to “hire” for the job, maybe Graf. Holt also said they would need somebody higher up, too, maybe Machik. Holt said he would take care of it and get back to Williams.
Nat felt sick to her stomach. It was awful even to contemplate. Angus had dedicated his life to law that served the public interest. He would never have done such a thing, and he didn’t care about money. His apartment was as no-frills as his office, his wardrobe was nonexistent, and his biggest asset was the Beetle. She had never met anybody so uninterested in material things. Could she have been so wrong about him? She knew him. She loved him.
She read the last paragraph that pertained to Angus:
After that, Holt met two more times with Williams, but I couldn’t listen in on them the way I could on Graf and Machik. I am attaching copies of the visitor logs to show that Holt visited Williams three times, and the logs prove that Holt was there. It’s true I don’t have any proof that Holt followed through. I leave that to you guys. I do think they are covering it up, big-time, because last week I checked the log and the pages about Holt were gone. It’s a loose-leaf notebook, so there was no sign they were ripped out, but I knew they were there before, and the copies in here show that.
Nat flipped to the back of the pages, where photocopies of visitor logs had been stapled. There were three separate dates. She ran a finger along the signatures. Sure enough, it was Angus’s signature. She knew his handwriting from cards and love notes he’d stuck in her briefcase. From shopping lists, even. They were practically living together. He had his own key. He’d be home later, to spend the night after she got back from her dinner with Barb Saunders.
She set the papers down on the passenger seat and watched old leaves blow across the road, so dry they’d disintegrated into dirty brown fragments. Or it could have been her state of mind. There was no proof that Angus had stayed involved in the conspiracy. What if he had originally agreed to it, then changed his mind? Maybe he had simply pulled out in the end. Of course he wouldn’t admit to ever having been involved in the first place, because he’d be too embarrassed and ashamed.
She considered the crossroads. She could go to the left, meet Angus at home, and ask him about the pages. Give the man she loved the benefit of the doubt. She trusted him, and he’d give her the same consideration.
Or she could go to the right, drive to the cops, and turn him in. Show them the pages. They would call him in for questioning. There would be handcuffs. The interrogation room. The media. The electronic flashes. She knew what it would do to him, and to his reputation. She had been there. The accusation equaled the conviction, especially at a law school. He still didn’t have all his outreach programs reinstated. It was driving him crazy. And a betrayal like this, from her? It would break him. And break them up.
Nat looked at the crossroads and considered her choices. Left or right? Right or left?
She twisted the key in the ignition and hit the gas.