In the Company of Liars by David Ellis Read Free Book Online Page A

almost caused an accident on the way to this store. Her eyes are heavy from sleep deprivation and worry. Her stomach is in knots, having been deprived of food for more than twenty-four hours.
    â€œPlease don’t tell me that things look grand,” she says. “They have me all over Sam’s house. They have that damn alibi. And they have me, the day before, barging into his office like some deranged maniac—”
    She stops herself as Larry’s look softens.
    â€œKind of like now,” she says. “I’m sorry.”
    â€œIt’s okay, it’s okay.” Larry has played the advocate in this relationship. Originally a biographer, now a reporter bent on showing that Allison did not kill Sam Dillon. But he has always been good about this. As much as he has tried to help Allison’s defense, shown an unwavering beliefin her cause, fought his exasperation at her unwillingness to use his assistance—always, he has deferred to her, the woman on trial for her life.
    â€œYou’ve tried to help me, Larry. I know that. And I hope I’ve given you enough material back.”
    â€œYou’ve been great.”
    â€œI don’t know about great, but—” She runs her hands over her face. “The book you’re writing, Larry? Please go easy on my family. That’s what I came here to ask.”
    Larry’s smile is eclipsed, his expression hardening just like that. “You want me to be quiet about what I know.”
    â€œLarry, this book is going to sell no matter what. ‘By Allison Pagone, as told to Larry Evans.’ You’ll get a great print run. Just stick to the basics. You don’t need the sensationalist stuff.”
    â€œSo?” He opens his hands. “You want me to back off what I know.”
    â€œYou don’t ‘know’ anything, Larry.”
    Larry Evans shifts in his chair, directs a finger at the table. “I know you didn’t kill Sam Dillon,” he says.
    â€œStop saying that. You don’t know that.”
    â€œThen I believe it. And I think you’re protecting someone.”
    Allison looks around helplessly. She recognizes her lack of leverage.
    â€œWhat’s happened?” he asks. “Where’d the fighter go? Why are you giving up all of a sudden? What’s happened since the last time I talked to you, that now you’re acting so resigned to defeat?”
    She looks into his eyes briefly. He is challenging her. But she will not tell him.
    â€œPromise me you’ll be fair to my family.” She recognizes that, from Larry’s perspective, she has no bargaining position here. She will not be able to enforce any promise. Allison gets to her feet, takes a moment to gain her equilibrium. She picks up the basket of vegetables, stares at them as if they are hazardous materials, and drops the basket.
    â€œTell me what happened,” Larry pleads. “Something’s happened. I can tell. New evidence or something?”
    â€œSomething,” she says to him. “Look—thanks for everything. For being there.”
    Larry reaches for her hand. “Allison, tell me. Maybe I can help.”
    â€œI can’t tell you.” She withdraws her hand. “I—I can’t.”
    She goes home, the only place she is allowed to go. The dry cleaner’s is a permissible stop as well, but it’s closed on Sundays, and she has no cleaning there, anyway. She sits outside on her patio, looking over her garden, at the rusted play-set where Jessica used to swing and slide and climb with such energy and unmitigated delight, and remembers the vicarious enjoyment she derived from her daughter’s simplest acts.
    She thinks of Sam Dillon. One evening in particular, mid-January of this year. Dinner, his idea, at a little Italian place, a real hole in the wall with the most perfect garlic bread she’d ever tasted. A small room with ten tables, a red-checkered tablecloth, the