“I hid it in a safe place. It’s leverage against this Marland guy. We can get him to leave me out of the ring and give me this incriminating evidence he says he has against Dad and then we can show it to the police.”

“If we show it to the police, then your involvement in Ned’s…drug stuff is going to come out. That cannot happen.”

“So?”

“Your father and I won’t ruin your future, Julia.”

Iris’s cell phone rings and she answers. It’s Kip Evander. “Iris. He confessed.”

The words make no sense. “To what?”

“To Danielle Roberts’s murder.”

The day is simply happening too fast, too intensely. This should be a day to plan dinner, to help Grant with his homework, to check over Julia’s math, to phone the volunteers for the choir musical, to tell Kyle about her day and to hear about his over a little red wine as she finishes preparing dinner. Not all this. Her life, crashing down around her.

“That’s not possible,” she says. “He couldn’t have done it.”

“They have arrested him based on the confession. But I’m not sure they’re convinced.”

“What do you mean?”

Kip’s tone becomes cautious. “I think he’s protecting someone. I’m not sure everything in his account added up. He said he killed her with a punch. They repeatedly asked him about that, and I’m thinking maybe there’s forensic evidence that it wasn’t a punch.”

Who would he be protecting? Her gaze meets Julia’s. Ned and Julia. Maybe each parent protecting their own. Or maybe he was wrong, and he thought someone else had killed her.

Someone like Iris.

“What happens now?”

“He’ll be processed into jail. Look, even if they have doubts about some of what he said, he confessed. They’ll look to validate that confession, not discount it.”

“What do I do?”

“They’ll have a press conference shortly. The press is about to descend on you all. I’ll see if I can get him to talk to me about who he’s shielding. Also, while I’m happy to represent him if you want, I think I want to call a friend who does nothing but criminal law.”

Kyle. Kyle. She takes a deep breath. She thanks Kip and hangs up.

“Mom? What?” Julia says.

The doorbell rings. Then a fist, pounding on the door.

46

From Iris Pollitt’s “From Russia with Love” Adoption Journal

2002

“I am not sure why you wish to see me,” Boris Stepurin said. It was unusual, presumably, for Americans to show up at his office and ask to speak with him about a private matter. We were sitting in a conference room at this investment firm, the door shut, hot coffee in front of us all and Stepurin looking very uncomfortable. He was blandly handsome, dark blondish hair, blue eyes, a square jaw.