“Don’t, Chuck,” he said. “We’re okay.”

A moment later, Lola returned with a small plastic baggie. She passed it over to Vaill.

“This is the DVD my husband sent me after he disappeared,” she said. “It’s the last time I heard from him. It contains everything I know. I’m sorry about your wife. I’m so sorry.”

She walked McCall and Vaill to the door.

“We’re going to have this handled by our evidence-processing people. You know the drill. There’s almost sure to be more questions once we’ve gone over this,” McCall said.

“I’ll be here,” Lola said. “I’m not going anyplace for the time being.”

“It goes without saying that if you hear from your husband, please call me,” Vaill said, passing over his card.

“I can’t promise that.”

“As you wish.”

The two agents had driven more than a mile before McCall spoke.

“That was masterful, man,” he said. “Truly masterful. I know that picture was a tough thing for you to show, but you did it. And just at the right moment, too. This DVD could be the break we need.”

McCall had his phone out, dialing the field office while he was driving and talking.

Vaill was facing away from him, face turned toward the passenger window, eyes closed tightly. The blinding pain behind his eyes had come on with unrelenting force.

Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

Secrecy is tantamount to success and therefore to know a Neighbor’s true identity is to strip them of a fundamental power.

—LANCASTER R. HILL, 100 Neighbors, SAWYER RIVER BOOKS, 1939, P. 100

“I created a spreadsheet and I think the Bake-a-Thon could raise a thousand dollars,” Emily said.

Lou was back at work at the PWO when his fourteen-year-old called with the latest development in her campaign to raise money for Cap and the Stick and Move gym. Much to her mother Renee’s chagrin, and Lou’s delight, she had been training with Cap for more than eight months and was actually showing serious potential in the ring. Not surprisingly, she absolutely adored the man, and was desperate to do what she could to help pay his mounting bills and save the gym.

“That’s great, sweetie,” Lou said, cupping the phone’s receiver and speaking softly. With well less than nine hundred square feet of office space, no matter how quietly people spoke, conversations in the PWO were rarely private. With the other associate director Wayne Oliver in the next cube over, and secretary Babs Peterbee almost directly across from them, it was hard not to know one another’s business.