In the Company of Liars

FEBRUARY
TWO DAYS EARLIER
SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 28

Allison puts on her coat and goes outside, to avoid having to watch them scour her house. The warrant is limited to a search for a gold statuette with a marble base, an award given to Samuel Dillon by the Midwest Manufacturers’ Association two years ago.

At least they were specific, she thinks.

They’ve been in there almost three hours. She sat in the kitchen but finally couldn’t bare it. She’s second-guessing herself, given the weather today. It’s teeth-chatteringly cold outside, single digits. She wishes to God they could have had the decency to conduct this search last week, when the temps were north of freezing. She can see them turning over chair cushions, going through all the cabinets in the kitchen, removing all the china-God, she hopes they don’t break anything-even looking through the freezer.

Someone finally got a good look at the empty spot on Sam’s mantel and had the sense to ask,What used to be here?

She wonders what other surprises lay in store for her. She senses that Roger Ogren is not to be underestimated. He suffered a rather embarrassing loss in a big trial a few years back, a trial in which Paul represented the accused. She assumes Ogren will be especially teed-up to have another shot at one of Paul Riley’s clients.

She remembers the trophy-theaward, Sam called it. The MMA puts more money into lobbyists’ coffers than any single contributor. It was an award that said that Sam Dillon was the best at what he does. She remembers reaching for it on the mantel, commenting on it, Sam’s nonchalance, but she knew that he was appreciative. Sam didn’t advertise his success like others in his business-like Mat, for one. He had more of an aw-shucks demeanor, confident but humble, which Allison assumed played well with politicians. Let them be the center of attention, Sam will stay behind the scenes. Sam had already had his time in the spotlight as a three-term state senator. Now he was making four times as much and working less.

Sam was almost awkward with her at first. Maybe that was because she had been married to a colleague. Maybe. But she sensed a gentle quality in Sam in matters personal, and she liked it. Preferred it. She’ll take shy and sincere over smooth any day of the week.

This is when it hurts the most. When things move slowly, when she’s not working on her case or worrying about her family. It’s just sinking in. It’s only now, three weeks after his death, that she is beginning to truly comprehend that she will never see him again.

It’s awkward, the whole thing. She only really dated him for two, two-and-a-half months, and it was a covert courtship, at her insistence. She has never met Sam’s daughter, Julia, a television producer in Los Angeles. She didn’t even attend his funeral.

So she has been forced to mourn in secret. In a perverse way, that almost makes it easier, as if the whole thing never happened because it hasn’t been publicly acknowledged. But that’s just mind games. The rush of adrenaline is gone. The searing, utter joy as his image played through her mind, the hope that he brought to her life are washed away now as she struggles to hold the pieces together.

If he had just told her. Oh, if he had just said the words in those phone calls.

She could sense it in his voice immediately. Something was different, wrong.

Sam sighed through the phone. “It’s something I’m going to have to-I guess you could say I’m having an ethical dilemma.” That was all he would say, and she let him keep that distance.

A week passed. Sam had told her he would be down at the capital most of that week and might not even have time to call. It was agony to Allison, not even speaking to this man who had swept into her life; she felt like a schoolgirl with a crush, waiting by the phone just on the chance he might call. She was filled with insecurity, despite Sam’s mention of an ethical problem. Sam was distant for the first time in their admittedly short relationship, and it burned inside her.

He called, that Wednesday, the Wednesday before his death, the day before the cocktail party at his firm. Her caller identification told her that he was calling from the city.

“You’re in town,” she said to him.

“I’m-what?”

“I have caller ID, Sam. You’re in the city.”

She heard him sigh. She felt her heart drum. Why was he being secretive? Why hide the fact that he was in the city?

Was there someone else? Had this relationship been more one-sided than she had imagined? Had she pushed him too hard, too fast?

“Okay, I’m in town.”

It didn’t make sense. The legislature was in session. Why wasn’t he down there?

“I just wanted to say hi,” he said. “I-I can’t explain what’s going on, Allison.”

“This is that ‘ethical dilemma’ you were talking about?”

“I really-I can’t talk to you about it.”

“Something’s going on,” she said.

“Yes. You’re right. And when the time comes, I’ll tell you. Not now.”

“I’m worried about you.”

“Listen, I-we can’t talk about this now. I just wanted to hear your voice. I’m not up for twenty questions.”

It was like a kick to her stomach. She didn’t know what to make of this.

“I’ll see you tomorrow at the cocktail party?” she asked.

“Yeah. But we can’t-y’know-Jessica’ll be there. All the staff will be.”

“Right.” She could hardly protest. It had been her idea, not his, to travel below the radar for the time being.

“I’ll be here when you need me,” she told him.