The Never List

for some junior agent to be assigned this piece of the puzzle. But if we refused to stay at the hotel, Jim might order us into full protective custody.
    I changed the subject.
    “Jim, what do you know about Jack’s childhood?”
    “Sarah—”
    “Jim, just … for my information …”
    “Sarah, let’s talk later—but the truth is, we don’t know much.”
    “Please, Jim. Tell me something.”
    Jim sighed the way he did when he was about to give in.
    “He bounced around the foster care system for a while, until the Derbers adopted him when he was about fourteen. Before that, well, unfortunately the record-keeping system for Child Protective Services was not so great back then. His file was lost. His social worker was killed in a car accident about fifteen years ago. No one else has any idea about his past.”
    “Well, we might be piecing some of it together. Let’s talk tomorrow.”
    “Sarah, go back to the hotel. Now . We’ll double security. Leave those letters with Officer Grunnell. We’ll find out what’s going on. Someone called in a tip about Noah, so I’ll most likely be gone all night, but I’ll be by to check on you in the morning.”
    I pushed the off button on my phone and repeated to the others what Jim had discovered at Noah’s compound. We all stared straight ahead, trying to piece it together, to understand what it all meant.
    Finally, I dared to look at the others. Christine’s hands were still now, but her eyes were darting right and left, her face flushed. She had appeared completely together, our savior, the meticulously assembled Upper East Side mother, just a few hours before. Now she was starting to remind me of the Christine I had known all those years ago.
    Had this Christine been lurking behind her eyes all this time? Was this the real her, and everything else a plastered-over version held together by all her repressive might?
    I looked over at Tracy to see if I could shift her attention to Christine without being obvious, but she was concentrating only on her driving, one eye on the pink line of the GPS system, hurtling us toward the campus. Tracy’s grip on the steering wheel was turning her knuckles white.
    None of us wanted to admit it, but we knew. Jack was telling us something with those letters. Sure, he was letting us know hethought he was still in charge, that he could still reach us anywhere, wherever we were. But he was also telling us he’d left us a clue there. There at that house. Some clue in his sick game that might yield something valuable. But at what price? I knew we all understood it, though none of us could bring ourselves to say it out loud.
    We’d try anything else first.
    We reached the campus, Tracy hitting every speed bump at five miles an hour too fast. The tires screeched as she pulled into a space in the empty lot next to the psych building. The streetlights over the parking area were just coming on, giving the sky a strange glow. I glanced at the campus security emergency call box on the other side of Tracy, as she emerged from the car. If only that call box could help us now, I thought.
    As we walked toward the building, I could see a light on in Adele’s office.
    We made our way down the hallway, past the same security guard, who as usual didn’t even give us as much as a sidelong glance. We stood still for a moment in front of Adele’s office door, wondering whether to knock or barge in. I stepped forward and rapped lightly on the door. No answer. Tracy rolled her eyes at me and gestured for me to step aside. I obliged.
    She turned the knob and flung the door open wide.
    Professor David Stiller was kneeling on the floor, blindfolded, in front of Adele, in a pose of total submission. When she saw us, she jerked upright, her left hand behind her out of sight.
    As she recognized us, a slow smile crept over her face.
    “I’ll be with you in just a moment.” She said it as if we’d merely caught her busy on the phone.
    She signaled for us to close the door. We stepped back out into the hallway stunned. When we recovered, we started whispering in the half-lit hallway.
    “More fieldwork,” Tracy said dryly. “She must have a grant.”
    I stifled a small laugh, and we moved farther away from the door.
    “I thought David Stiller hated Adele, but maybe that was just their idea of foreplay,” I whispered.
    At that moment Adele stepped out into the hallway, the model of professional composure. David Stiller followed her, and carefully