Chapter LXIV

Mattia Reggio's conversation with Ellar Michaud was drawing to a close. Reggio hadn't learned much from it, other than that Michaud gave him the creeps and he'd be glad to quit his company. Before he did so, though, he was going to ask him one last question: namely, why Michaud, or a car registered to him, had followed Colleen Clark from Cumberland County Jail. As preparation, Reggio's right hand now lay on his right thigh, the pad of his thumb touching the grip of his revolver. Reggio's heart was beating fast and the gum was gone from his mouth. He couldn't even remember getting rid of it.

"I want to thank you for your time, Mr. Michaud," said Reggio, "even if I think you've learned more from me than I've learned from you. With that in mind, and before I go—"

A cool gust of air brushed the back of his head. Reggio hadn't even heard the door open behind him. What he had taken for a kitchen closet must have been another entrance. A hand came to rest on his left shoulder, and a gun barrel nudged his skull, just hard enough to let him know it was there.

Dumb. He was so fucking dumb.

"Put your hands flat on the table and keep your head down," Michaud instructed.

Reggio did as he was told.

"Look," he said, "there's been some kind of misunderstanding."

Footsteps descended from above, and another woman joined the first, although Reggio could see only plain brown shoes, tan tights, and the hem of a worn beige dress.

"He wears it on his right side," said Michaud.

Reggio's gun was taken from him.

"If you're carrying another weapon, better tell us now," said Michaud.

"I only ever needed one," said Reggio. "For peace of mind."

"How's that working out for you?"

"Like I said, we have a misunderstanding."

Reggio saw metal flash by his right eye as a carving knife was driven through the back of his right hand, impaling it on the table. Reggio screamed.

"Consider that," said Michaud, "a first step toward enlightenment."