Line of Vision by David Ellis

Author:David Ellis [Ellis, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2002-02-04T16:00:00+00:00

I close out of the Federal court opinion I pulled up on-line and log off the Internet. I suck in a big breath and hold it. I count backward from one hundred.

I’m not sorry I killed him.

I’m not afraid of what will happen to me.

Are you sure?

Ninety . . .

I saw you, Mr. Kalish.

I’ll come forward.

Eighty . . .

Rachel says she didn’t see the intruder.

Marty?

What are you doing here?

Are you sure?

Seventy . . .

Are you sure?

46

MY DAILY RUN AT THE HIGH SCHOOL. IT’S OVER forty today, and I run six miles on the quarter-mile cinder track. My headphones are blaring Vivaldi, and I’m lost in my little world of strings and percussion and sweat. I’ve come to relish my daily jog. I’ve made a deal with myself that I won’t think about the case when I run, and I’ve kept to it.

The pressure is mounting, though, and manifesting itself physically now. The last few days, my shoulders have tightened up; I wake up every morning with a stiff neck. My appetite is gone, my stomach preferring to twist and turn itself into knots.

The track surrounds the school’s football field; as the snow has melted the last few days, the yard lines have begun to appear. Today, a few eager students are out throwing around a baseball, getting loose for the upcoming tryouts, trying not to slip on the field as they hop in place and wing the ball to each other, their breath visible with their effort.

I complete lap twenty-four and break to a walk. I notice by the spectator stands a man in a long olive coat, standing and watching me, smoking a cigarette. As we make eye contact, he nods and walks toward me, dropping his cigarette and crunching it out with his foot, a last stream of smoke curling from his nostrils and mouth. I’ve had reporters follow me here before, and I’ve always given the same line: No comment, talk to Paul Riley.

As he approaches, I consider leaving my headphones on and ignoring him completely. But I’ve been inclined lately to treat these guys more respectfully, hoping they’ll return the favor. They rarely do.

“Mr. Kalish?” He extends a hand. He has receding curly hair, a Mediterranean complexion. “Andrew Karras.”

“The Watch,” I say. He’s the reporter I called that time, declaring my innocence.

“Yeah. Listen, I was hoping for a comment from you.”

I wipe my forehead with my arm. “You know the drill by now. Talk to Riley.”

“I’m giving you the chance to hear something in advance, Mr. Kalish.”

“Keeping your nose to the ground, huh? Good for you.” I pull the hood on my sweatshirt and turn away.

“Okay,” he calls out. “You’ll find out about Rachel just like everyone else, in a few days.”

That one stops me. I turn back to him. “Talk.”

“We have a deal? You’ll give me a comment?”

“Talk.”

Karras blinks and considers his options. He sees he’s not gonna get any guarantees. He finally decides he’s got nothing to lose. “Rachel’s cutting a deal.”

I stumble back

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