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ht like this。 You know； contrast。'
'Kay。 How about I put on some coffee。'
'It's like people who want a four…wheel…drive vehicle for winter。 So they buy something white。 Tell me how that makes sense when you're sliding on a white road beneath a white sky with white stuff swirling everywhere。'
'What are you talking about？' His eyes were on me。
'I don't know。'
I lifted the bottle of champagne out of its bucket。 Water dripped as I refilled our glasses； and I was ahead of him； about two to one。 The CD player was stacked with hits from the seventies； and Three Dog Night was vibrating speakers in the walls。 It was one of those rare times I might get drunk。 I could not stop thinking about it and seeing it in my mind。 I did not know until I was in that room with the wires hanging out of the ceiling and saw where gory severed hands and feet had been lined in a row。 It was not until then that the truth seared my mind。 I could not forgive myself。
'Benton；' I quietly said； 'I should have known it was her。 I should have known before I got to her house and walked in there and saw the photographs and that room。 I mean； a part of me must have known； and I didn't listen。'
He did not answer； and I took this as a further indictment。
'I should have known it was her；' I muttered again。 'People might not have died。'
'Should is always easy to say after the fact。' His tone was gentle but unwavering。 'People who live next door to the Gacys； the Bundys； the Dahmers of the world are always the last to figure it out； Kay。'
'And they don't know what I do； Benton。' I sipped champagne。 'She killed Wingo。'
'You did the best you could；' he reminded me。
'I miss him；' I said with a sad sigh。 'I haven't been to Wingo's grave。'
'Why don't we switch to coffee？' Wesley said again。
'Can't I just drift now and then？' I didn't want to be present。
He started rubbing the back of my neck； and I shut my eyes。
'Why do I always have to make sense？' I muttered。 'Precise about this； exact about that。 Consistent with； and characteristic of。 Words cold and sharp like the steel blades I use。 And what good will they do me in court？ When it's Lucy in the balance？ Her career； her life？ All because of that bastard； Ring。 Me； the expert witness。 The loving aunt。' A tear slid down my cheek。 'Oh God； Benton。 I'm so tired。'
He moved over and put his arms around me； pulling me into his lap so I could lean back my head。
'I'll go with you；' he quietly said into my hair。
We took a black cab to London's Victoria Station on February 18； the anniversary of a bombing that had ripped through a trash can and collapsed an underground entrance； a tavern and a coffee bar。 Rubble had flown； shattered glass from the roof raining down in shrapnel and missiles with terrible force。 The IRA had not targeted Mark。 His death had nothing to do with his being FBI。 He simply had been in the wrong place at the wrong time like so many people who are victims。
The station was crowded with muters who almost ran me over as we made our way to the central area where Railtrack ticket agents were busy in their booths； and displays on a wall showed times and trains。 Kiosks were selling sweets and flowers； and one could get a passport picture taken or have money changed。 Trash cans were tucked inside McDonald's and places like that； but I did not see a single one out in the open。
'No good place to hide a bomb now。' Wesley was observing the same thing。
'Live and learn；' I said as I began to tremble inside。
I silently stared around me as pigeons flapped overhead and trotted after crumbs。 The entrance for the Grosvenor Hotel was next to the Victoria Tavern； and it was here that it had happened。 No one was pletely certain what Mark had been doing at the time； but it was speculated that he had been sitting at one of the small； high tables in front of the tavern when the bomb exploded。
We knew he had been waiting for the train from Brighton to arrive because he was meeting someone。 To this day I did not know who； because the individual's identity could not be revealed for security reasons。 That's what I had been told。 I had never understood many things； such as the coincidence of timing； and whether this clandestine person Mark was meeting may have been killed； too。 I scanned the roof of steel girders and glass； the old clock on the granite wall； and archways。 The bombing had left no permanent scars； except on people。
'Brighton is a rather odd place to be in February；' I mented to Wesley in an unsteady voice。 'Why would someone be ing from a seaside resort that time of year？'
'I don't know why；' he said； looking around。 'This was all about terrorism。 As you know； that was what Mark was working on。 So no one's saying much。'
'Right。 That was what he was working on； and that was how he died；' I said。 'And no one seems to think there was a link。 That maybe it wasn't random。'
He did not respond； and I looked at him； my soul heavy and sinking down into the darkness of a fathomless sea。 People； and pigeons； and constant announcements on the PA blended into a dizzying din； and for an instant； all went black。 Wesley caught me as I swayed。
'Are you all right？'
'I want to know who he was seeing。' I said。
'e on； Kay；' he said； gently。 'Let's go someplace where you can sit down。'
'I want to know if the bombing was deliberate because a certain train was arriving at a certain time；' I persisted。 'I want to know if this is all fiction。'
'Fiction？' he asked。
Tears were in my eyes。 'How do I know this isn't some cover…up； some ruse； because he's alive and in hiding？ A protected witness with a new identity。'
'He's not。' Wesley's face was sad； and he held my hand。 'Let's go。'
But I wouldn't move。 'I must know the truth。 If it really happened。 Who was he meeting and where is that person now？'
'Don't do this。'
People were weaving around us； not paying any attention。 Feet crashed like an angry surf； and steel clanged as construction workers laid new rail。
'I don't believe he was meeting anyone。' My voice shook and I wiped my eyes。 'I believe this is some great big Bureau lie。'
He sighed； staring off。 'It's not a lie； Kay。'
'Then who！ I have to know！' I cried。
Now people were looking our way； and Wesley moved me out of traffic； toward platform 8； where the 11：46 train was leaving for Denmark Hill and Peckham Rye。 He led me up a blue and white tile ramp into a room of benches and lockers； where travelers could store belongings and claim left baggage。 I was sobbing； and could not help myself。 I was confused and furious as we went into a deserted corner and he kindly sat me on a bench。
'Tell me；' I said。 'Benton； please。 I've got to know。 Don't make me go the rest of my life not knowing the truth；' I choked between tears。
He took both my hands。 'You can put this to rest right now。 Mark is dead。 I swear。 Do you really think I could have this relationship with you if I knew he were alive somewhere？' he passionately said。 'Jesus。 How can you even imagine I could do something like that！'
'What happened to the person he was meeting？' I kept pushing。
He hesitated。 'Dead； I'm afraid。 They were together when the bomb went off。'