Right to Die

8-5000.”
    Andrus giggled. “Inés has all our itinerary and numbers for both the hotel and the tournament people. She can reach us if you need me.”
    I’d just opened my mouth when Andrus said, “But, John, please try not to call. I’d like a real vacation, if possible.”
    “All right.”
    Hebert sighed. “Amen.”
    I dropped them at Pan Am’s domestic terminal for the flight to Kennedy. Andrus flagged a skycap as I opened the trunk. Hebert unfolded himself from the backseat and came around to me, people already honking at us and a state trooper windmilling his arm to keep moving. “John?”
    “Yes?”
    “Sorry about riding over you on this, but I think it really is best for Maisy.”
    “I know.”
    “She’s worn out. More than I’ve ever seen before from anything. Believe me, this is the best thing for her.”
    “I hope you’re right.”
    “Besides,” he said, yanking the bags out, one in each hand, “we haven’t seen a note since Monday. I’ll bet all your poking around’s scared the sumbitch clear out of the valley.”
    I watched Hebert reach the skycap, drop off the bags, and hold out his arm for Maisy Andrus to take as they disappeared into the terminal.

= 19 =

    “I know it’s still only December, John, but you’ve got to think ahead. You see, the marathon’s like Good Friday: you’ll be on the cross from twelve noon to three. Only for you she’ll be more like four, four and a half hours. Of steady pounding and chafing.
    “Think about what to wear. You have to dress warm to go out to Hopkinton. on account of you’ll be standing around for hours till the race starts. Maybe layers of old clothes that you can just take off and throw away on the street. If it’s raining, get yourself a trash bag, one of those big green ones. Cut a head hole in it so you can use it like a poncho, then tear it off with the clothes when you hear the gun. For the running itself, just shoes, socks, jock, shorts, and a T-shirt. If it’s below fifty degrees, wear a long-sleeved cotton turtleneck under the T. Remember, usually you dress warm to keep your heat in against the cold. Over twenty-six miles, you’ll be wanting to let the heat out. Hell, your whole innards’ll be producing heat like a blastfurnace. Vent it out through sweat, and the wind’ll wick it off, keep you cooler.
    “Another thing. Before you put the socks on, turn them inside out and slap them a few times against your thigh. Got to get rid of all the sand or dirt particles. Over the miles, one piece of grit can cut through your toes like a hacksaw.
    “Spread some Vaseline around your body. Don’t be stingy, eh? Really slather it on your feet and crotch, and don’t forget your nipples. I’ve seen men finish a marathon bleeding like they’d got arrows in their chest.
    “Finally, don’t wear nothing next to the skin that you haven’t been wearing during training. Something old, soft, and comfortable is what you want. Don’t worry about how you’ll look for the camera, neither. No matter what you do, two hours into the race you’re going to look like shit warmed over. ”

    Turning at the Western Avenue bridge after two miles, I felt the wind billow at my back. My joints were a little rusty, the leg muscles a little stiff. Not from age, I was sure, as much as from running each morning instead of every other. It was hard to think about a race four months away, but picturing the details of what I’d be wearing was helping me focus on the early stages of the training program.
    Passing Boston University ’s law school tower, my mind clicked over to Maisy Andrus. Two nights before, I’d driven the professor and her husband to the airport. I’d checked in with Inés Roja the next day, she telling me there was no word from Andrus or Hebert. Roja had called the airline in New York , however. Their flight had departed for Sint Maarten on schedule.
    In the car I’d told Andrus I didn’t have enough information yet to form any conclusions. I was no further along now. Neely reported no unexpected prints on the note or the book from Plato’s.
    Four untraceable notes, and a rogue’s gallery of people Andrus had offended. Walter Strock, from her politics at the law school; Manolo and stepson Ray Cuervo, from her actions in Spain ; Louis Doleman, from losing his daughter; Steven O’Brien, from her stand on the right to die. Even Tucker Hebert, if you didn’t believe he enjoyed being a trophy husband.
    Which left Gunther Yary and