Page 82 of The Five Year Lie

“It sounded like they’re arguing about the day your father died.”

“Yeah, I noticed that. My mom is having some kind of...” I don’t even know what to call it. “... Attack of conscience. Like she could have done more for the man who abused her. And Ray doesn’t want to hear it. I mean—I wouldn’t, either.”

Zain cringes. Then he pats the top of the bag. “I got the third tape last night and made myself a copy. Been waiting all day to tell you about it.”

“Sorry. Was it easy to find?”

He nods. “Nobody had touched the copies at the server farm facility. Now I’m wondering if Ray’s moving them was just a random thing he decided to do.”

“Must be,” I agree. “He went through everything in his office—ten years’ worth of junk—and did a lot of clearing out.”

Zain looks thoughtful as he props his feet up on my coffee table next to mine. “Are you actually sick with something?”

“No.” I sip my wine. “Just feeling wrecked by life. And freaked out. I made a lot of calls to cemeteries today.”

Those wild eyebrows lift. “And?”

I shake my head.

Zain blows out a breath. “So that entire obituary is possibly... made up?”

“Possibly,” I say with gritted teeth. I once lived in a world where Drew was alive. And then I learned to exist in a world where he’s dead. But I don’t know how to navigate this halfway place.

It’s like standing with one foot on either side of a fault line. During an earthquake.

“Okay, okay,” he says softly, the way you’d speak to a feral animal. “My guy will do some digging. And I’m going to spend somequality time with this third tape. But let’s also do this—let’s make a list of every fact we know about Drew.” He opens his backpack and pulls out a legal pad and a pen. “Real name, Marker. Jay or Jason. He’s an army vet...”

“Probably,” I grumble.

“Probably,” he concedes. “Maybe I need three columns—things we know for sure, things we believe, and things that could be lies.”

“Plenty of entries in that last column.”

Zain ignores me and starts listing off items for his worksheet. “... Lived on Shawmut Street in Lowden. That’s a fact. Played high school football. Blue eyes, brown hair. Hot body—never skips chest day.”

I snort. He’s working hard to lighten me up, but there aren’t enough jokes in the world.

And most of the things I remember about Drew aren’t useful. Like the scent of his skin, and the way he shakes his head like a dog right after a shower.

“Programming languages he knows... are facts.” Zain keeps scribbling. “In theprobablycolumn we’ve got a college degree from UMass.”

“Probably injured in Syria,” I add. “Probably has a best friend named Woody,” I add. “From Wisconsin. No—Michigan.”

“Ah—that’s a good one. Maybe we can find Woody.”

“Oh, I’ve tried. Five years ago I googled the shit out of Woody. It’s probably a nickname. He had a foster brother named Omar. I think.”

He jots that down. “Okay, next. His computer password was Harrietta. Any new clues about what that means?”

I shake my head. “A search brought up a lot of elderly women’s obituaries. I’ll look again, though.”

“Definitely do that.” He clicks the pen on and off a few times. “In the fact column we can also add that he was the executor of the estate of Andrew Ernest Miller. Then he hired a lawyer...”

I sit up straighter on the sofa.“Zain.”

He looks up. “Yeah?”

“Wills are public record.”