False Impression

“Are you sure about that?” asked Jack, putting down his knife and fork.

“What are you getting at?” asked Anna.

“How do you explain the fact that Fenston always knew exactly where you were, if Tina wasn’t telling him?”

“I can’t,” said Anna, “but I know she hates Fenston as much as I do.”

“And you can prove it?” asked Jack.

“I don’t need proof,” snapped Anna.

“I do,” said Jack calmly.

“Be careful, Jack, because if you’re wrong,” said Anna, “then her life must also be in danger.”

“If that’s the case, all the more reason for you to return to New York and make contact with her as soon as possible,” suggested Tom, trying to calm the atmosphere.

Jack nodded his agreement.

“I’m booked on a flight this afternoon,” said Anna.

“Me too,” said Jack. “Heathrow?”

“No, Stansted,” said Anna.

“Well, one of you is going to have to change your flight,” suggested Tom.

“Not me,” said Jack. “I’m not going to be arrested for stalking a second time.”

“Before I make a decision on whether to change flights,” said Anna, “I’ll need to know if I’m still under investigation. Because if I am, you can go on following me.”

“No,” said Jack. “I closed your file a few days ago.”

“What convinced you to do that?” asked Anna.

“When Arabella’s sister was murdered, you had an unimpeachabl

e witness as your alibi.”

“And who was that, may I ask?”

“Me,” replied Jack. “As I’d been following you around Central Park, you can’t have been in England.”

“You run in Central Park?” said Anna.

“Every morning around the loop,” said Jack. “Around the Reservoir on Sundays.”

“Me too,” said Anna. “Never miss.”

“I know,” said Jack. “I overtook you several times during the last six weeks.”

Anna stared at him. “The man in the emerald-green T-shirt. You’re not bad.”

“You’re not so—”

“I’m sorry to break up this meeting of the Central Park joggers’ club,” said Tom, as he pushed back his chair, “but I ought to be getting back to my office. There’s a stack of 9/11 files on my desk I haven’t even opened. Thank you for breakfast,” he added, turning to Arabella. “I’m only sorry that the ambassador had to disturb you so early this morning.”

“Which reminds me,” said Arabella, as she rose from her chair. “I must get on with writing some humble-pie letters, my thanks to the ambassador and my apologies to half the Surrey police force.”