The First to Lie

by Hank Phillippi Ryan

  Officer Adomako silenced Meg with a look, for which Ellie was grateful. “We can tell if things were disarranged. Drawers opened, items moved, things of that nature. There was no sign of that.”

  “Agreed,” Phillips said.

  “Just the door open.” Ellie felt the chill in her own voice. The realization. “And if they could get in once, they could get in again.”

  Meg gasped. “You are so right, Ellie. Sooo right. We should change all the locks. Every single one.” She grabbed a pink plastic ring of keys from the side table, jangled them like punctuation. “Oh my gosh, Ellie. It’s so awful. Some stranger was in your apartment. I’d have to wash everything, absolutely everything. What if they break into mine next?”

  “Officers?” Ellie felt her anger swimming to the surface. Or maybe it was fear. “Do you want me to go in? Look for myself?”

  “I’ll stay here.” Meg shook her head, retreated into her apartment. “It’s too terrifying. Too disturbing. What if there’s someone hiding?”

  “There’s no one hiding, miss.” Phillips opened the door, took a step into the corridor, then gestured Ellie to follow her. “Ms. Berensen? We’ll go with you, but again, I assure you your apartment is clear.”

  “Really?” Ellie tried to process that.

  “You’ll see,” Phillips said. “And Ms. Weest? I may have a few more questions for you in a moment, so please stand by.”

  With one officer on either side of her, Ellie crossed the hall. Adomako put his hand on the doorknob. Turned it. Ellie’s heart twisted along with it. She felt apprehensive, even with two cops beside her. You’ll see, the officer had told her. But they couldn’t have known what mattered. Or why.

  Adomako went inside, and so did Ellie. The entire atmosphere, the air, the energy, felt off, disturbed, as if everything inside was the same but different.

  “See?” Adomako waved a hand toward the living room. Phillips stayed in the doorway.

  Ellie surveyed the place in snapshot glances. Hallway. Kitchen. Fireplace. Couch. Windows, with curtains still as she’d left them. Blinker squirmed out of her arms and skittered down the carpeted corridor.

  “Your paperwork on the coffee table, see?” Adomako went on. “The coffee cup you used this morning, apparently, your yellow pad, sharpened pencils. And from the dust, not moved from their original positions. We can tell by the coffee cup mark on the glass coffee table.”

  Ellie stared at the coffee table, at the coffee cup, at the yellow pad and the pencils. What a reporter would use. What she would use. Did use, in fact. The cup, one from the kitchen supplies that came with her apartment, she drank from every morning. Her desk at work was stacked with yellow pads just like these. And she always wrote with the same buttercup-yellow Oriole pencils, now points-up like a graphite porcupine and stashed in her chippy old mug from college, its J-school decal long washed away.

  She felt her fingers tingle, and a clench in her chest as if a vise were closing around her lungs. “Offi—Officer? I didn’t put that stuff there. I didn’t.”

  A siren screamed by outside, the sound fading as it passed.

  “You didn’t?” Adomako narrowed his eyes at her. “Then who did?”

  CHAPTER 24

  ELLIE

  “Wow, El. I mean, could you even sleep last night?”

  Ellie had opened her apartment door just as Meg opened hers. Meg’s voice, this time of the morning and before coffee, seemed like the universe unfairly piling on.

  “I’m still freaked out over the break in-yesterday,” Meg went on. “I didn’t get one wink. How about you?”

  Ellie stooped, perplexed, to pick up the Tuesday Boston Globe on the rattan welcome mat outside her door. She’d thrown on yoga pants to sneak down to the entryway, where the newspaper carrier always left it at dawn. But today her paper was already upstairs.

  “Meg? Hi. Um. Do you know how this got here?” She looked at the front page as she picked it up, scanning for a possible story about the Kaitlyn Armistead crash. There’d been nothing reported since it happened a week ago. She folded the paper, stashed it under her arm. The break-in. She had slept, finally, a purring Blinker curled up beside her, but now she was worrying again. So she was up. Blinker kept sleeping. “How’d the paper guy get in?”

  “Get in? Oh, no one got in.” Meg’s ponytail swayed, emphasized her negative response. She wore a pink terry bathrobe over leggings and a T-shirt, and her feet were bare. “I brought it up for you.”

  Meg hadn’t closed her apartment door behind her, and in the distance Ellie saw a couch that looked much like hers. Yesterday she’d been too upset to notice much else but her fear. All these apartments came furnished, so maybe Meg’s furniture was similar to her own.

  “I’m so sorry.” Meg frowned. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I was trying to be nice. But, oh, you thought the burglar who got into your apartment might be coming back. Showing you he wasn’t done. That he could still get in. Yikes. So creepy. I see what you mean. But no, no, just me.”

  Her bathrobe buzzed. “Oh, hang on. I’m getting a call.” She slipped a cell phone from a pink terry pocket. “Can you wait a sec?”

  “Sure. Go ahead,” Ellie said. The break-in haunted her, truth be told. Those cops, Carolann Phillips and Sam Adomako, had promised to call her if they had any updates, though given their attitudes when they left, that seemed unlikely. A least they’d eliminated the Ellie-is-a-ditz explanation.

  “If you didn’t put that stuff there, someone clearly broke in,” Adomako, alpha cop, had said yesterday, after Ellie had explained to him that the pads and pencils on her coffee table were not hers. “So okay, you didn’t leave the door open. But—”

  Like I told you, Ellie wanted to sneer at them. Instead she’d asked for permission to check her valuables. “I know you’ve looked,” she said. “But I’ll feel better when I see for myself.”

  She’d quickly searched the places she hoped no one had thought of, decided nothing had been touched. Everything that could derail her was still where she’d stashed it.

  When Ellie got back from her search, Phillips, clearly underling-with-attitude, had brought in a leather carryall and zipped it open.

  “All good,” Ellie reported.

  “Like we told you.” Phillips took a camera from her bag.

  Adomako shot his colleague an expression that obviously meant back off. “Glad to hear it,” he said. “We’re handling this as evidence now. What do you make of it, though, Ms. Berensen?”

  “It’s nuts, all I can say.”

  “Yeah,” Adomako said. “Any ideas?”

  “I’m trying to think,” she said. Gabe had texted her over the weekend that he was out of town for a few days. So didn’t it have to be Pharminex? Maybe one of the lawyers she’d interviewed had ratted her out, and the company ordered some goon to scare her away. It was impossible, as an investigative reporter, to seal off every potential leak. Asking questions opened unpredictable doors. With unpredictable consequences.

  Ellie watched as Phillips photographed and tagged each item.

  “In the meantime, how about your computer?” Adomako pointed to the laptop on her kitchen table, the one she always left there, since she was the only one using the table. “Can you boot that up, see if anything’s added to that? This is still a B and E, Ms. Berensen. Breaking and entering. Doesn’t matter if nothing was taken.”

  “Yeah, no, Sam?” Phillips had interjected, stripping off her plastic gloves, as Ellie sat and popped her computer into life. “I’d say it’s a trespass. Simple trespass. Nothing’s been damaged or stolen. The lock’s not broken. Impossible to gauge intent, and no explicit indication of a threat or attempt to intimidate. To charge a felony, there must be intent. So what intent is this? Leaving pencils and legal pads?”

  Ellie looked up from her computer. Shimmering in front of her was the screensaver: stars twinkling in a vast dark universe, a personal reminder of her constant search for answers, of her cause and her quest.

 
“This isn’t random.” Ellie shook her head, disagreeing. “I think this is someone wanting me to understand they’re aware of a story I’m working on. A company I’m investigating. Pharminex. Their intent is to threaten me.”

  It had to be someone from there. Warning her off the story.

  “Someone’s trying to tell me that my own home isn’t safe,” Ellie went on. “It’s personal, officers. It has to be. Tell me why that isn’t a threat.”

  Phillips collected her evidence bags, sliding each one into the leather carryall.

  “Want to file a police report? We can do that, sure. But that’s about it, Ms. Berensen, I’m afraid. We could possibly charge a John Doe, with trespassing, but”—Adomako shrugged—“it’s a misdemeanor. If we ever catch the person, it’d be a fine.”

  “It’s a malicious message. A warning. To me,” Ellie insisted.

  “Your colleague Ms. Weest mentioned you’ve been under a lot of pressure, professionally,” Phillips said. “That something had gone wrong with an interview? That your boss was pushing you on a deadline?”

  She had? Ellie’d frowned, wondering why Meg would say such a thing.

  “Blame the victim, really? I left the door open? I forgot that I had stuff on the table?” Ellie looked at her computer screen as she talked, scrolled through files and emails. “Nothing in here, by the way,” she said. “I mean, in addition to what there was when I left this morning.”

  Adomako closed his notebook and slid it back into his breast pocket, leaving the spiral top showing. Tucked his ballpoint in next to it. “Ms. Berensen? I understand it’s unsatisfying. But given the parameters of the law, what do you suggest?”

  “What do I…?” Ellie had closed her eyes in frustration as she slowly lowered the top of her computer. She tried to control the fear in her voice. “It’s a message. From someone at Pharminex. They don’t want me sniffing around, so they’re sending a message that they know about that, and they know where I live, and they know how to get in.” She felt her fear intensify as she talked, spreading like black ink clouding clear water. “And if that’s not threatening—”

  “Do you have any reason to think this Pharminex is likely to do something dangerous?” Adomako interrupted, bringing out his notebook again. “Harm you? Or intimidate you? Have they contacted you? Any person in particular there?”

  She put her face into her hands, trying to think. If Pharminex was warning Ellie, they knew she was on the right track. Which would—ridiculously—make this a good thing. Companies could file lawsuits for slander or false light, but only after an investigation was aired on TV. This might be their strategy, to try to stop her story before it aired, especially before their high-visibility Winton Vanderwald gala.

  Blinker strolled into the room, aloof and tail waving, and nudged Ellie’s hand with her pink nose. Ellie lifted the lump of cat onto her lap and held her like a barrier. Blinker, a silent witness, knew what had happened this morning.

  “Look. We’ll fingerprint, see what we get,” Phillips had said. “But you’re new to this place, so a prior tenant’s prints could be here. I checked with the super, and he told me the surveillance cameras were down. I’m afraid that’s all we can do.” The two officers moved toward her front door. “We’ll be in touch. And you call us, if you hear or see or discover anything.”

  The cops had taken the evidence. Inside Ellie’s apartment, everything looked the same. Except it wasn’t. She’d have to move.

  But not today. Today she was in the hallway, in her long T-shirt and yoga pants, at six thirty in the morning, on her way to retrieve a newspaper that was already at her door.

  “Ellie?” Meg was tucking her cell phone back into her robe pocket. “Hellooo. Earth to Ellie. Where’d you go?”

  “Lost in space for a second, I guess.” Ellie tried to recover, get back to the moment. “Hey, Meg? Why’d you tell the cops yesterday that I was under pressure? They already suspected I was a whack. As if I’d leave my door open. Just wondering why you’d perpetuate that story.”

  Meg widened her eyes. “That woman came back to talk to me, yeah, we talked in the hall. But I never told her that.”

  Ellie made sure she had her key, then stepped away from her door. It closed, and clicked. “See? It locks automatically. I didn’t leave it open. Couldn’t have. And I’m not under pressure. Except about the Abigail interview you seem to have blown. But that should put you under pressure, Meg. Any word on that?”

  “I—”

  “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t make me look like an idiot,” Ellie couldn’t resist adding.

  Meg took a step closer, then another. She reached out, almost touched Ellie on the arm. Looked square into her eyes, with such intensity that Ellie had to back a step away.

  “I swear I didn’t say that.” Meg planted her hands on her hips, revealing the smiley Life is Good logo on her T-shirt. “I’m disappointed, and hurt, that you think so. We’re a team, Ellie. And cops always do that, try to make people uncomfortable. Fight with each other. You know that.”

  “Maybe,” Ellie had to admit.

  “And I called the cops, right? Trying to protect you. Make sure you were safe.”

  “Yeah, thanks for that.” Ellie felt a twinge of embarrassment that she hadn’t thanked her before. “You could’ve ignored it.”

  “I’m just glad I was here.” Meg’s eyes got wider. Then she spread her hands, entreating. “Truce? Okay?”

  “Sure,” she said. “Truce.”

  Meg clapped her hands, soundlessly, just twice. “Great,” she said. “So—you have plans for the day? What’s on the Pharminex agenda for us?”

  Ellie decided. Right then, she decided. “My insider interview.”

  “What?”

  “Yup. It’s time to get my source on tape. Especially before the Vanderwald thing.” It happened in reporting, every time, the moment when the puzzle pieces clicked together and the curtain went up on reality. “We won’t lose this interview, Meg. It’s a sure thing. I’m arranging it today.”

  “So great.” Meg clapped again. “But can’t you just tell me who it is? Come on, Ellie. I’m gonna know soon, anyway. We’re a team.”

  What harm could it do? And she’d been nasty to Meg, and that was probably unfair.

  “Between us?”

  “Of course!”

  “Okay. She’s a Pharminex employee. Access to everyone and everything.” Ellie’s resolve came to life. This was going to work. She’d stake her career—and her entire future—on it. She’d save so many women. And prevent so much sorrow.

  “She? It’s a woman?” Meg narrowed her eyes, nodded. “Cool. Very cool. Perfect. What’s her name?”

  “Her name,” Ellie said, “is Nora Quinn.”

  CHAPTER 25

  ELLIE

  Saturday offices have a different feel, Ellie thought, as someone—Gabe, she figured—buzzed her through the imposing glass doors of the WorkHere shared office space. Gabe had rented a spot in this mirrored-glass downtown Boston building, he’d explained, a place for him to do his research. The reception desk sat empty, the buttons on the wide telephone console unlit and silent, a once-lavish arrangement of maroon calla lilies and yellow mums now wilting in a curved glass vase filled with murky water.

  She hadn’t told Gabe about the break-in. His out-of-town assignment had been extended, and she’d decided it didn’t seem like a topic for a phone conversation. There was nothing he could have done but worry, or meaninglessly commiserate.

  But she’d spent every night this past week sleepless, planning for her big interview with Nora Quinn. She’d also conjured grim replays of Kaitlyn Armistead’s death.

  She’d used her reporter status to email the state police, oh-so-casually asking about the latest in that car accident. They’d been stonewallingly unresponsive. She’d even driven to state police headquarters to find Detective Lieutenant Rafael Monteiro, the trooper assigned to the case, but had been told he was out, and his schedule “uncertain.”
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br />   “He has your number, Miss Berensen,” an indifferent receptionist informed her.

  At Channel 11, she’d made dozens of phone calls, to labs and lawyers and fertility experts. She’d tried to track down people who’d once worked at Pharminex, scouting LinkedIn and Facebook. Yellow highlighter in hand, she’d pored over FDA filings. She was so close. Frustratingly, agonizingly close. But with Warren breathing down her neck and the Vanderwald gala looming—close wasn’t near close enough.

  “You made it.” Gabe, silhouetted now in front of the office windows, strode in to greet her. Like Ellie, he was dressed in Saturday clothes, jeans and a turtleneck.

  At least Gabe was as eager as she was to get this story nailed down. He’d offered to meet in neutral territory, a public place like a coffee shop or restaurant, but after the break-in, Ellie needed the protection of locked doors, alarms, the reassurance of security.

  Now, behind the polished expanse of the reception desk, the wide glass wall of a conference room revealed the bleak wintry landscape behind it, a dense lattice of bare branches crisscrossing the midmorning sky. They’d predicted snow again, the persistently gloomy weather making spring feel impossibly far away.

  By the time she’d handed over her puffer jacket and they’d gotten coffee in plain ceramic mugs, she’d explained about Nora Quinn, how Gabe had been partly correct, how the disenchanted and disillusioned pharma rep had finally agreed to an in-depth no-holds-barred interview.

  “I know what she’s going to say,” Ellie told Gabe. “Pharminex is fully aware Monifan can be devastatingly harmful. But because those bad outcomes are ‘rare’—her word—they’ve made the decision to pay off the victims and keep it all quiet.”

  She followed him down a long hallway, galleried with gold-framed newspaper articles about WorkHere showing women with babies in cribs next to their desks. Gabe opened the door to a mid-corridor office, no name plaque on the wall.

  “When did you talk to her?” Gabe gestured her inside.