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MRK shrugs. “Get me the six courses from Jean-Georges and maybe it’ll refresh my recollection.”
Buckman gets up angrily and leaves the room.
On the video, MRK looks up at the camera, offers another sickly smile, and waves.
Other prisoners killed MRK two days later.
Poppy tries to shake off the image of Benedict Cromwell’s cold, dead eyes. She thumbs through the rest of the paperwork in the second box. It appears they closed the case after MRK’s death. At the time, that might have been a reasonable decision. Cromwell trolled Missouri River towns and Lovers’ Lane wasn’t far from the river. Alison’s DNA was found at his campsite. He probably dumped her in the river, which is why she was never found.
But questions are nagging at her. If it was MRK, who are the men in Alison Lane’s car? Was Cromwell working with them? That doesn’t feel right. It wasn’t his MO with the other women he raped, tortured, and murdered. But bigger, more troubling questions hit her: What if it wasn’t Cromwell who took Lane? And if it wasn’t Cromwell, how did Alison’s DNA get on his sleeping bag? Something’s not right. The puzzle pieces are warped, disfigured.
She shudders again thinking about Cromwell. She would never say it out loud, but he got what he deserved: shanked over and over and over in that dreary prison.
11
MONTEPULCIANO, ITALY
The hot-air balloon lands with a bump in a field, and Ryan stumbles out of the basket. The captain appears to be withholding a smile, clearly amused. Nora clasps Ryan’s arm as if she’s worried he might faint. They don’t understand that his weak knees, his nausea, his fear, aren’t about the fucking hot-air balloon.
In the field, the balloon company has set up a table with rows of champagne flutes. The woman who greets them says something about the champagne being a tradition from the days when it could be dangerous to land on someone else’s property. A universal truth: It always helps to bring gifts.
Nora still holds his arm, which is strangely comforting. He’s recovering. Gaining his footing. Deliberatively slowing the pace of his breathing and racing thoughts.
He notices Eddie walking over. The others are already clinking glasses, taking more photos for their feeds. Ryan pats Nora on the hand to indicate he’s okay, that she should join the group. Is he okay? Maybe, maybe not, but he needs to pull it together. Nora heads over to the others, passing by Eddie, who’s squinting at the sun.
“What’d you think?” Eddie asks.
“About?” Ryan answers, trying to regroup. His mouth is dry, it’s still hard to swallow.
“About the ride, numbnuts. I think the view was overrated.”
Eddie is pretending not to have witnessed Ryan’s embarrassing panic attack.
Ryan starts over toward the group.
“You sure you’re okay?” Eddie asks. “We can just hang back if you need a minute.”
Ryan realizes he’s being handled, by Eddie of all people.
He shakes his head and they join their classmates. Ryan surveys the area. The scene is from a travel magazine. Tuscany’s chamber of commerce. A filtered Instagram post.
Eddie takes a flute and downs the champagne. Offers a nod as if to say, Not bad.
Ryan’s stomach is still churning. His head is thumping. But it’s also clearing. He’s been acting insane. He feels another wave of embarrassment.
“I’m sorry,” he says to Nora, who’s still eyeing him closely.
“For what?”
He narrows his eyes at her.
She gives the hint of a smile. Many people would be annoyed that he’d ruined the ballooning experience. But she seems more concerned than anything.
“What was it?” she finally asks.
“What was what?”
“It’s like you saw that guy at the liftoff site and…” She doesn’t finish the thought.