I had a name I could give to MacLeish, along with Jackal’s photographs, to make this—all of it, Ellen, the pool, everything—go away. They’d put the Lady away, and Lou and I would be free and clear to do anything we wanted. I’d take the money I earned from Carrigan, money I had no intention of turning over to the goddamn Lady or anyone else, not now, and we’d start over. The two of us, together. Go somewhere until the media furor over Ellen’s and Klein’s deaths blew over. Maybe, I thought, thinking back to the black-and-white movie, the women in the car, maybe the Mediterranean.

Maybe Lou really would never talk to me again after I did what I now knew I was going to do. But I had to try.

Sleep was still a long time coming. I took a shower, washing the traces of Carrigan and chlorine off me. I fixed myself a drink—something to help me sleep. I hoped I’d be lucky, that I’d dream of pleasant things, of Carrigan’s money, or even of his touch, if it came to that. Of Spain, or anywhere else, any landscape that wasn’t the hollow black of the canyons at midnight. Lou’s green eyes on a beach, smiling at me, seeing the reason for what I’d done, proud of it. The blue of the water setting her hair even more ablaze, fingers reaching for me. A new and different life. One free of black-eyed corpses.

I hoped I’d be lucky. I knew I wouldn’t be.

Chapter 27

Jackal had emailed me the photographs first thing in the morning and I’d been right: the best shots he’d taken were the ones of Carrigan holding me, my face buried in the crook of his shoulder. There was an intensity to our intimacy: from a bird’s eye view, we really did look like lovers. In the first frames, too many of the photographs centered on my face. We’d have to get rid of those.

I went back through the last few shots, and they were all there, Carrigan unmistakably in the throes of coitus, my own face a big blank, as though I were wearing a mask, or like nothing was happening at all. Even, in that bunch, a few in which Jackal had gone tight on my face, and all there was to see was nothingness. I shivered. Was that always what I looked like having sex? Or only when I was doing it for money?

I stood up, made myself a drink. Before I’d even sat back down, I’d dialed Carrigan’s number. He picked up on the fourth ring, his voice irritated. “Ron, can’t this wait?”

“Please, I really need to talk to you.” I paused, trying not to enjoy it yet. “I really need your help.”