Inside Outt

‘surveillance conscious,’ I think that’s the phrase he used. At first, the best he could do was learn that my husband had flown to Miami. Twice. But the next time, when I told him my husband was about to travel again, the investigator waited at the airport in Miami. This time, he saw he was flying to Costa Rica.”
    Holy shit,
Ben thought.
This could be something.
“Costa Rica.”
    “Yes.”
    “And then?”
    “The investigator hired someone local, in San Jose. Next time my husband went to Costa Rica, the local guy was supposed to follow him. Instead, he disappeared.”
    “Your husband disappeared?”
    She shook her head. “Not my husband. The local guy. My investigator got scared, told me he didn’t want to work on the case anymore, and gave me back my money. And my husband died after that, before I could hire someone else.”
    “What do you think happened?”
    “I don’t know. I don’t want to know. My husband could be a scary man.”
    “Scary how?”
    There was a long pause. Then she said, “He had rage inside him. I don’t know what about. Maybe it was work, things he saw or things he had to do.”
    “He had a temper?”
    “No. He never lost his temper. At least not with me. With me he was mostly just cold.”
    “Then—”
    “I can’t explain it to you. You wouldn’t understand, you didn’t live with him. There was something inside him he was struggling to keep from exploding. Maybe it finally did. I don’t know. I look back now, and I realize… he was very controlled. He only let people see what he wanted them to see. Even his wife. So I don’t have anything else I can tell you.”
    They were quiet for a moment. Ben said, “Do you still have the contact information for the local investigator?”
    “Sure. Harry McGlade. He operates out of Orlando. Or at least he did—we haven’t been in touch since he dropped the case.”
    Ben couldn’t rule out the possibility that she was in some kind of collusion with Larison. But if so, they’d have to be in collusion with the PI, too, or at least they would have had to manipulate the hell out of him years in advance. All of which he judged highly unlikely. His gut told him she was telling the truth.
    “What else?” he asked, reminding himself to use the kind of open-ended questions they’d taught him at the Farm were best for general elicitation.
    She laughed. “What else were you expecting? That’s got to be more than you were hoping for right there.”
    He was half impressed, half irritated by her spunk. He wondered what she’d been like as Larison’s wife. A handful, that much was clear.
    He looked at her. “If you think of anything else, will you call me?”
    She smiled, a faint, sad movement at the corners of her mouth. “If you learn anything else, will you do the same?”
    Why not,
he thought.
She’s still in pain over this. You can call her, tell her anything you want, and make her feel better.
    “If I learn something that would be personally helpful to you,” he said, “then, yes, I’ll try to find a way to let you know. Off the record.” It felt good to say it. It wasn’t even a lie, exactly.
    “I just want to know about Costa Rica. You understand?”
    He nodded. “Yeah.”
    “Was he seeing someone there.”
    “Got it.”
    She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I doubt it. That’s a very hard thing not to know about the man you were married to. If you’re decent, you won’t even put what you find in your report.”
    “I don’t… I’ll try not to.”
    She looked at him and nodded gravely, as though grateful for his gesture and doubtful of its worth. “Well, if you happen to come back here and want to fill me in in person, that would be fine.”
    He nodded, wondering whether he’d been wrong after all about her initial interest. “I can’t promise anything,” he said. “But… I think that would be nice.” Again, he wasn’t exactly lying.
    She walked him to the door. He opened it and took a quick glance through the crack—first right, then sweeping left as he opened it wider. Everything looked all right. The gardener and his truck were gone. Other than that, nothing had changed since he’d arrived.
    “My husband used to do that,” she said from behind him, her voice cold.
    He stepped out onto the stoop and glanced back at her. “Well, I don’t want to wind up like him.”
    Even before the words were out, he realized it sounded harsher than he’d intended. As he tried to think of a way