Gone Tomorrow

optimistic about her chances. All in all, she didn’t think things were going to end well.”
    “So?”
    “She had business to attend to. She was almost there. She never intended to shoot herself.”
    “But what about the list? The behaviors?”
    “Same difference,” I said. “She was on the way to where she expected someone else to end her life, maybe some other way, either literally or figuratively.”

Chapter 14
    Jacob Mark said , “It doesn’t explain the coat.” But I thought he was wrong. I thought it explained the coat pretty well. And it explained the fact that she parked downtown and rode up on the subway. I figured she was looking to come upon whoever she was meeting from an unexpected angle, out of a hole in the ground, armed, dressed all in black, ready for some conflict in the dark. Maybe the winter parka was the only black coat she owned.
    And it explained everything else, too. The dread, the sense of doom. Maybe the mumbling had been her way of rehearsing pleas, or exculpations, or arguments, or maybe even threats. Maybe repeating them over and over again had made them more convincing to her. More plausible. More reassuring.
    Jake said, “She can’t have been on her way to deliver something, because she didn’t have anything with her.”
    “She might have had something,” I said. “In her head. You told me she had a great memory. Units, dates, time lines, whatever they needed.”
    He paused, and tried to find a reason to disagree.
    He failed.
    “Classified information,” he said. “Army secrets. Jesus, I can’t believe it.”
    “She was under pressure, Jake.”
    “What kind of secrets does a personnel department have anyway, that are worth getting killed for?”
    I didn’t answer. Because I had no idea. In my day HRC had been called PERSCOM. Personnel Command, not Human Resources Command. I had served thirteen years without ever thinking about it. Not even once. Paperwork and records. All the interesting information had been somewhere else.
    Jake moved in his seat. He ran his fingers through his unwashed hair and clamped his palms on his ears and moved his head through a complete oval, like he was easing stiffness in his neck, or acting out some kind of inner turmoil that was bringing him full circle, back to his most basic question.
    He said, “So why? Why did she just up and kill herself before she got where she was going?”
    I paused a beat. Café noises went on all around us. The squeak of sneakers on linoleum, the clink and scrape of crockery, the sound of TV news from sets high on the walls, the ding of the short-order bell.
    “She was breaking the law,” I said. “She was in breach of all kinds of trusts and professional obligations. And she must have suspected some kind of surveillance. Maybe she had even been warned. So she was tense, right from the moment she got in her car. All the way up she was watching for red lights in her mirror. Every cop at every toll was a potential danger. Every guy she saw in a suit could have been a federal agent. And on the train, any one of us could have been getting ready to bust her.”
    Jake didn’t reply.
    I said, “And then I approached her.”
    “And?”
    “She flipped. She thought I was about to arrest her. Right then and there, the game was over. She was at the end of the road. She was damned if she did, and damned if she didn’t. She couldn’t go forward, couldn’t go back. She was trapped. Whatever threats they were using against her were going to come to pass, and she was going to jail.”
    “Why would she think you were going to arrest her?”
    “She must have thought I was a cop.”
    “Why would she think you were a cop?”
    I’m a cop , I had said. I can help you. We can talk .
    “She was paranoid,” I said. “Understandably.”
    “You don’t look like a cop. You look like a bum. She would more likely have thought you were hustling her for spare change.”
    “Maybe she thought I was undercover.”
    “She was a records clerk, according to you. She wouldn’t have known what undercover cops look like.”
    “Jake, I’m sorry, but I told her I was a cop.”
    “Why?”
    “I thought she was a bomber. I was just trying to get through the next three seconds without her pushing the button. I was ready to say anything.”
    He asked, “What exactly did you say?” So I told him, and he said, “Jesus, that even sounds like Internal Affairs bullshit.”
    I think you tipped her over the edge .
    “I’m