Here She Lies

Thomas Soiffer is also a victim of identity theft?”
    “Bingo.”
    “Who stole his identity?”
    “Dunno. Wish I did. I always liked you, Miss Milliken. I’d really like to help you out with that one, but I climbed a few fences while I’m on the leash, if you know what I mean. I just wanted to give you a headsup on the Soiffer thing in case the cops didn’t figure it out yet. They’re not the swiftest sometimes.”
    “Thank you, Clark,” I said. “Thank you very much for calling me.”
    “You got it, Miss M,” he said. “Listen, good luck with all that, okay?”
    “Thanks.”
    “Maybe when things settle down, I’ll give you another buzz. Freedom, well, I guess you know it can get lonely out here.”
    “Yes, call me,” I said, and meant it. “I’d be happy to hear from you again.”
    I went straight upstairs and found Bobby still clicking away with Julie’s wireless mouse. Lazare had pulled up a chair beside him.
    “Detective Lazare,” I said. He turned to look at me. “Do you remember Clark Hazmat? I told you abouthim yesterday morning after I ran into him in Manhattan.”
    It took a second for the detective to register my meaning. “The convict,” he said.
    “Former convict. He just called me, and I have to tell you what he said.” I described Clark’s claim about Thomas Soiffer being an identity theft victim.
    “Interesting,” Lazare said. Just: interesting. But for the first time since I’d met him I thought I saw his cool demeanor falter. If Clark was right, if it was true, it implied that Zara’s murder and my identity theft might share a common denominator in Thomas Soiffer. I pictured him on Julie’s road at night, stalking her, killing Zara instead. It made awful, perfect sense.
    Lazare straightened a leg and leaned back so he could reach into his pocket for his cell phone. While he made some calls — checking into the whereabouts of the FBI cyber specialist, the status of the search warrant, the progress of the Amber Alert — I stood behind Bobby. He had managed to open multiple Web sites, leaving their names lined up along the bottom of the screen.
    “You looked up her Stevie Award?” I asked.
    He swiveled to face me, his expression clouding. “She never won one.”
    “You’re sure?”
    “According to everything I checked.”
    “But her marketing career—”
    “It was real,” he said, “and it looks like she really was successful, or is successful. It’s hard to follow. There’s a lot of information on her, but it’s kind of random and the dates start petering out about a year ago.”
    A year ago: after Paul had left her and she’d dated a little bit, with miserable results. A year ago: when I married Bobby. A year ago. Was that when she stopped being my Julie?
    Behind Bobby, the screen saver popped on and there they were, Julie and Lexy smiling together, recognizably themselves. Nothing was different on the surface. And yet everything had changed.
    A little while later the doorbell chimed. Bobby and Lazare went downstairs together to answer it while I stayed in Julie’s office. Through the window I saw an official-looking black sedan with a fat antenna parked just over the spot where Zara had left her vanished mark. Lazare had already told us that the FBI fraud investigator wasn’t expected to arrive at the precinct for another two hours and would call first. So who was this? Could the Amber Alert have worked that fast? Three squad cars pulled up in quick succession behind the black car. And I stood there, and I waited, understanding the tidal pull in the hearts of military mothers who remain at the window, frozen in a private dread. When they came in person, wasn’t it always with the worst possible news?

Chapter 10
    Bobby appeared with a blond man whose weathered face appeared years older than his lean body. He wore black slacks, a crisply ironed white shirt and penny loafers, each with a shiny new coin. His voice was a melodious baritone. “Special Agent Rusty Smith, FBI. This the computer?”
    “That’s it,” Lazare answered, coming up behind Smith. Then, to me: “Warrant’s been approved. Agent Smith’s going to take a look in Julie’s computer before deciding whether he needs to take it.”
    “She have a laptop, too?” Smith asked.
    “Yes,” I answered, “but I don’t see it. She must have taken it.”
    Smith sat down, positioned himself in front of the screen and cupped his hand over Julie’s mouse. “Well, let’s see what