Sidney let out a deep breath as the memory of that horrific night
settled back down on her. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you when I called
before. I… I just couldn’t.”
“Tell me what happened that night, Sidney.”
Sidney was silent, debating whether to hang up or not. Sawyer sensed
her deliberations. “Sidney, I’m not at the Hoover Building. I can’t
trace your call. And I happen to be on your side. You can talk as long
as you want.”
“Okay. You’re the only one I happen to trust. What do you want to
know?”
“Everything. Just start from the beginning.”
It took Sidney about five minutes to recount the events of that night.
“You didn’t see the shooter?”
“He was wearing a ski mask that covered his face. I think it was the
same guy who tried to kill me later. At least l hope there aren’t two
guys walking around with eyes like that.”
“In New York?”
“What?”
“The security guard, Sidney. He was murdered.”
She rubbed at her forehead. “Yes. In New York.”
“But definitely a man?”
“Yes, from his build and what I could see of his facial characteristics
through the mask. And the bottom of his neck was exposed. I could see
beard stubble.”
Sawyer was impressed with her observations and said so.
“You tend to remember the smallest details when you think you’re about
to die.”
“I know what you mean. I’ve actually been in that situation myself.
Look, we found the tape, Sidney. Your talk with Jason?”
Sidney looked around the darkened interior of the Land Rover and the
garage beyond. “So, everyone knows–”
“Don’t worry about that. On the tape your husband sounded jumpy,
nervous. Answered some of your questions but not all.”
“Yes, he was distraught. Panicked.”
“How about when you talked to him on the pay phone in New Orleans? How
did he sound then? Different or the same?”
Sidney narrowed her eyes as she thought back. “Different,” she said
finally.
“How? Give it to me as exactly as you can.”
“Well, he didn’t sound nervous. In fact, it was almost a monotone.
He told me I couldn’t say anything, that the police were watching.
He just gave me instructions and hung up. It was a monologue rather
than a conversation. I never said anything.”
Sawyer sighed. “Quentin Rowe is convinced that you were in Jason’s
office at Triton after the plane crash. Were you?”
Sidney was silent.
“Sidney, I really don’t give a Tinker’s dam if you were there. But if
you were, I just want to ask you one question about something you might
have done while you were in there.”
Sidney remained silent.
“Sidney? Look, you called me. You said you trust me, although at this
point I can understand you not wanting to trust anyone. I wouldn’t
recommend it, but you can hang up now, try going it alone.”
“I was there,” she said quietly.
“Okay, Rowe mentioned a microphone on Jason’s computer.”
Sidney sighed. “I accidentally hit it; it bent. I couldn’t get it back
straight.”
Sawyer sat back in the recliner. “Did Jason ever use the microphone
feature of the computer? Did he, for instance, have one at home?”
“No. He could type much faster than he could speak. Why?”
“So why did he have a microphone on his computer at work-?”
Sidney thought about it for a moment. “I don’t know. I think it was
fairly recent. A few months or so, maybe a little longer. I’ve noticed
them in other offices at Triton, if that helps. Why?”
“I’m getting there, Sidney, just bear with an old, tired G-man.”
Sawyer tugged at his top lip. “When you talked to Jason, both times,
you’re sure it was him?”
“Of course it was him. I know my own husband’s voice.”
Sawyer’s tone was deliberate and steady, as though he were trying to
graft those traits onto Sidney. “I didn’t ask you if you were sure it
was your husband’s voice.” He stopped momentarily, took a slow breath
and then continued. “I asked you if you were sure it was your husband
both times.”
Sidney froze. When she finally found her own voice, it came out in a