Page 120 of The Five Year Lie

Meanwhile, I’m also tapping Zain’s phone number and listening to it ring. “Leave a message,” his voice says into my ear. Then I hear a beep.

Nope. Not good enough. I hang up and redial him a second later.

This time, the ring is cut off as the call is answered. For a hot second I’m flooded with relief, until an unfamiliar voice—a woman’s—answers the call. “Hello? Who am I speaking to?”

I stop walking. “This is Zain’s friend Ariel. Is he okay? I need to speak to him.”

“Can I ask your relationship to Zain?” she asks, not unkindly. “My name is Angela Block, and I’m a Portland police officer.”

My stomach lurches, and my voice comes out high and thready. “Did something happen? I’m a friend. I’ve been trying to reach him all morning.”

Her brief silence fills me with dread. “Ariel, are you somewhere you can talk for a moment? And not driving?”

“I’m... I’m just standing on the sidewalk. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’m afraid that Zain has overdosed, and he didn’t make it. His mother is quite distraught, and I’m wondering if you know her. We’ve been unable to locate any other family members, and she’s housebound. We’re not sure who to call for her, and she had to be sedated.”

Speech fails me completely.Overdosed.It’s all too familiar.He didn’t make it.

“Ariel?” she asks gently. “Are you there?”

“He didn’t use drugs,” I choke out. Although I don’t actually know that. “Overdosed onwhat?”

“Opioids, we believe,” she says softly. “I’m sorry. You can be sure that we’ll try to figure out how he died. Often the people closest to a user don’t know about their habit. Maybe he wasn’t an experienced user.”

“Of course he wasn’t!” I snap. This doesn’t make sense. Nothing makes sense. “When did this happen? He texted me last night. Where was he...?”Found. I can’t even say it.

“It happened in the middle of the night,” she says in a voice so soothing that they must teach it at the police academy. “He was at his desk. Maybe he thought the drug could keep him on task. There was nothing you could have done.”

It’s like a recurring bad dream.Your father passed, Ariel. I still don’t understand it. They say he took too many pills.

What is happening?

“I know this is shocking,” the police officer says in that trippy voice. “Do you know any friends of his family? We’re worried about his mother.”

“No,” I croak. “Can I see him?” Maybe then it will make sense.

“I’m sorry, but no. The body has been removed from the premises.”

The body.I shiver. “Hedidn’toverdose. Did someone break in? I’m telling you he wouldn’t do this. And he had a break-in last month.”

When it comes again, her soothing voice makes me inexplicably angry. “I promise we’ll do what we can to investigate this tragedy.”

I yank my phone away from my ear and hang up.

A jogger passes me on the sidewalk. I feel dizzy.Zain is dead of a drug overdose.It wouldn’t sound any more real if I repeated it all day long.

The past twenty-four hours are like a wave crashing over my head. The break-in. Zain’s weird message on my phone. Four seconds.Take Buzz and run.

I hurry toward Ray’s BMW and climb in.

43

FIVE YEARS AGO, AUGUST

Drew makes his final approach toward the Cafferty home.

Portland, Maine, with its brick buildings and its painted shutters, looks more beautiful today than any city has a right to. Seagulls cry overhead, reminding him how close he is to the water.