Read Tell No One for Free Online Page A

downtrodden at the end of a workday, probably heading for a train or bus. On the far right, I could see the curb. The foot traffic came in waves, probably coordinated with the changing of a traffic light.
    I frowned. Why had someone sent me this feed?
    The clock read 6:14.21 P.M. Less than a minute to go.
    I kept my eyes glued to the screen and waited for the countdown as though it were New Year’s Eve. My pulse started speeding up. Ten, nine, eight …
    Another tidal wave of humanity passed from right to left. I took my eyes off the clock. Four, three, two. Iheld my breath and waited. When I glanced at the clock again, it read:
    6:15.02 P.M.
    Nothing had happened—but then again, what had I expected?
    The human tidal wave ebbed and once again, for a second or two, there was nobody in the picture. I settled back, sucking in air. A joke, I figured. A weird joke, sure. Sick even. But nonetheless—
    And that was when someone stepped out from directly under the camera. It was as though the person had been hiding there the whole time.
    I leaned forward.
    It was a woman. That much I could see even though her back was to me. Short hair, but definitely a woman. From my angle, I hadn’t been able to make out any faces so far. This was no different. Not at first.
    The woman stopped. I stared at the top of her head, almost willing her to look up. She took another step. She was in the middle of the screen now. Someone else walked by. The woman stayed still. Then she turned around and slowly lifted her chin until she looked straight up into the camera.
    My heart stopped.
    I stuck a fist in my mouth and smothered a scream. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. Tears filled my eyes and started spilling down my cheeks. I didn’t wipe them away.
    I stared at her. She stared at me.
    Another mass of pedestrians crossed the screen. Some of them bumped into her, but the woman didn’t move. Her gaze stayed locked on the camera. She lifted her hand as though reaching toward me. Myhead spun. It was as though whatever tethered me to reality had been severed.
    I was left floating helplessly.
    She kept her hand raised. Slowly I managed to lift my hand. My fingers brushed the warm screen, trying to meet her halfway. More tears came. I gently caressed the woman’s face and felt my heart crumble and soar all at once.
    “Elizabeth,” I whispered.
    She stayed there for another second or two. Then she said something into the camera. I couldn’t hear her, but I could read her lips.
    “I’m sorry,” my dead wife mouthed.
    And then she walked away.

4
    V ic Letty looked both ways before he limped inside the strip mall’s Mail Boxes Etc. His gaze slid across the room. Nobody was watching. Perfect. Vic couldn’t help but smile. His scam was foolproof. There was no way to trace it back to him, and now it was going to make him big-time rich.
    The key, Vic realized, was preparation. That was what separated the good from the great. The greats covered their tracks. The greats prepared for every eventuality.
    The first thing Vic did was get a fake ID from that loser cousin of his, Tony. Then, using the fake ID, Vic rented a mailbox under the pseudonym UYS Enterprises. See the brilliance? Use a fake ID
and
a pseudonym. So even if someone bribed the bozo behind the desk, even if someone could find out who rented the UYS Enterprises box, all you’d come up with was the name Roscoe Taylor, the one on Vic’s fake ID.
    No way to trace it back to Vic himself.
    From across the room, Vic tried to see in the little window for Box 417. Hard to make out much, but there was something there for sure. Beautiful. Vic accepted only cash or money orders. No checks, of course. Nothing that could be traced back to him. And whenever he picked up the money, he wore a disguise. Like right now. He had on a baseball cap and a fake mustache. He also pretended to have a limp. He read somewhere that people notice limps, so if a witness was asked to identify the guy using Box