In the Company of Liars

ONE DAY EARLIER
SATURDAY, APRIL 17

This is McCoy.”

“Agent McCoy? Roger Ogren. I see weekends are no better for you than me.”

“They might be a little better for me, Roger. You’re on trial in a couple of weeks. And call me Jane.”

McCoy tucks the phone into her shoulder and reaches for the cheeseburger on her desk. She is losing weight and can’t afford to. A little midday fast-food is the ticket. Only one she knows.

“Yes, that’s right,” Ogren says, “I’m on trial in less than two weeks. I’m wondering if you’re aware of any surprises in store for me.”

McCoy almost coughs up her sandwich.

“Nothing I know of,” she says.

“You’re being coy, Jane.”

“I’m not, really.”

“Unless my memory fails me,” he says, “you have Allison Pagone’s home bugged. You can hear everything she says in there with that fancy eavesdropping equipment.”

McCoy squeezes her burger, causing a dollop of mustard to fall on her jeans.

“Shit,” she says, not to Ogren.

McCoy didn’t want to talk to Roger Ogren, or any state or county official, for that matter, about the fact that Allison Pagone’s house was wired for sound. But the subject had to be broached. Not long after getting Allison Pagone in their sights for Sam Dillon’s murder, the prosecutors and police executed a warrant to search her house. McCoy’s best guess was that they wouldn’t even notice the eavesdropping equipment. But she couldn’t be sure. She and Irv Shiels debated it. They most certainly couldn’t have loose lips discussing the fact that Allison Pagone’s house was miked up. That, obviously, would defeat the purpose of eavesdropping. So the two of them went to the county attorney himself, Elliot Raycroft, and told him. They also threatened, cajoled, and ultimately stroked him into understanding that they couldn’t tell his office a damn thing about what they were doing, and in return, he had to keep quiet about the bug. The conversation was about as enjoyable as eating sand.

She doesn’t like the fact that Ogren’s even raising the topic, but she’s not surprised.

“Surely she must be saying something, Jane. Something I can use.”

“She doesn’t talk about the case in her home,” McCoy says. “Not anything substantive, at least. Not anything that concerns you.”

“Anything that concernsyou?” he ventures.

“Maybe.” McCoy wipes at her jeans but it’s pointless. She’ll have to do a load of wash tonight, because these are her only good pair of jeans.

“Look, she talks in her house, obviously,” McCoy elaborates. “But she seems to limit her discussions about the case to her lawyer’s office. She doesn’t have many visitors, and she’s certainly not going to start talking about her case to anyone. If there was something there, I’d tell you, Roger. I’ve told you before, haven’t I?”

“That’s why I called.”

“Well, there’s nothing new to report. I’m looking at her for something unrelated to this murder. I haven’t heard anything from her in that house that is remotely of interest to you. Scout’s honor.”

“You were a Scout?”

“I was a Brownie for about two days. I hated it. Hey, Roger?”

“Yes?”

“You’re still keeping quiet about this? No one else in your office knows that we have her place miked up, right?”

“Yes, Jane,” Ogren replies with no shortage of condescension. “I’m keeping quiet.”