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“No,” Ed Grayson said. “He didn’t.”
“In fact, you started believing him. You realized that maybe he was innocent.”
“Maybe.”
“So help me here. You came home. What then—did you push E. J. for the truth?”
“Leave it alone, Wendy.”
“Come on. You know I can’t. Did E. J. come clean and tell you it was his uncle who took the pictures?”
“No.”
“Who then?”
“My wife, okay? She saw me covered in blood. She told me that I had to stop. She told me what happened, that it was her brother who took those pictures. She begged me to let it go. E. J. was moving past it, she said. Her brother was getting help.”
“But you weren’t going to let it slide.”
“No, I wasn’t. But I wasn’t going to make E. J. testify against his own uncle.”
“So you shot him in the kneecaps.”
“I’m not dumb enough to answer that one.”
“Doesn’t matter. We both know you did. And then, what, you called Dan to apologize? Something like that?”
He didn’t reply.
“It didn’t matter that the judge had thrown the case out,” she continued. “My show had destroyed Dan’s life. Even now—even after I’ve come forward and publicly exonerated him—people still think he’s a pedophile. Where there’s smoke, there’s fire, right? He had no chance right then. His life was over. You probably blamed yourself some too, the way you hounded him. So you wanted to make things right.”
“Let it go, Wendy.”
“And even better, you were a federal marshal. Those are the guys who handle the witness protection program, don’t they? You know how to make people disappear.”
He did not reply.
“So the solution was pretty simple now. You had to fake his death. You couldn’t really find another body or make up a fake police report like you could with your federal subjects. And without a body, you needed a reliable witness—someone who would never side with Dan Mercer. Me. You left enough evidence so the police would believe my story—the one round, his blood, the witness who saw you carry out a carpet, your car at the scene, putting the GPS on my car, even going to the shooting range—but not enough evidence so you could be convicted. You had one real bullet in the gun. That’s the first one you shot into the wall. The rest were blanks. Dan probably gave you a blood sample or just intentionally cut himself—that explains the blood left behind. Oh, and even smarter—you found a trailer park where you knew there would be no cell phone service. Your witness would have to drive off. That would give you enough time to sneak Dan out. And when they found that iPhone in his motel room, well, you freaked out for a moment, didn’t you? That’s why you came up to the park. That’s why you wanted information. You were afraid, just for a moment, that maybe you had helped a real killer run away.”
She waited for him to say anything. For a moment he just studied her face.
“That’s a whale of a tale, Wendy.”
“Now, I can’t prove any of this—”
“I know,” he said. “Because it’s nonsense.” He almost smiled now. “Or are you hoping to get me on your wire too?”
“I don’t have a wire.”
He shook his head and started toward his house. She followed him.
“Don’t you see? I don’t want to prove any of it.”
“So why are you here then?”
Tears filled her eyes. “Because I’m responsible for what happened to him. I’m the one who set him up on that television show. I’m the reason the world thinks he’s a pedophile.”
“I guess that’s true.”
“And if you killed him, that’s on me. Forever. I don’t get a do-over. It’s my fault. But if you helped him escape, maybe, just maybe, he’s okay now. Maybe he’d even understand and . . .”
She stopped. They were inside the house.
“And what?”
She had trouble getting the words out of her mouth. The tears were coming faster now.
“And what, Wendy?”
“And maybe,” she said, “he’d even forgive me.”
Ed Grayson lifted the phone then. He dialed a long telephone number. He said some kind of code into the line. He listened for a click. Then he handed the phone to her.
EPILOGUE
“MR. DAN?”
I am in a tent that doubles as the school, teaching these kids to read via a program called LitWorld. “Yes?”
“The radio. It’s for you.”
There is no phone in the village. You can only reach this part of the Cabinda Province of Angola via a radio. I had served not far from here years ago, after I graduated from Princeton and worked for the Peace Corps. You’ve heard that saying that when God closes a door, he opens another. Or something like that. So when I opened that red door, I had no idea another one would open.
Ed Grayson is the one who saved my life. He has a friend, a woman named Terese Collins, who works in a village like this on the other side of the mountain. She and Ed are the only ones who know the truth. To everyone else, Dan Mercer is indeed dead.
That isn’t really a lie.
I told you before that the life of Dan Mercer was over. But the life of Dan Mayer—not a big name change, but big enough—has begun. Funny thing. I don’t really miss my old life. Something had happened to me along the way—maybe it was a cruel foster family, maybe it was what I had done to Christa Stockwell, maybe it was the fact that I let Phil Turnball take the fall alone—that made this kind of work my calling. I guess that you’d call it atonement. That might be it. But I think it somehow works on a genetic level, like some people are born to be doctors or to like fishing or to shoot baskets with great skill.
For a long time I fought this. I married Jenna. But like I told you in the beginning, my destiny is to be alone. Now I embrace that. Because—and I know this will sound corny—when you see the smiles on these kids’ faces, you aren’t really ever alone.
I don’t look back. If the world thinks Dan Mercer is some kind of pedophile, so be it. We don’t have the Internet out here, so I can’t check on what’s going on at home. I don’t think I’d be tempted anyway. I miss Jenna and Noel and the kids, but that’s okay. I am tempted to tell her the truth. Jenna is the only one who will really, truly mourn for me.
