Thomas nodded back.
THOMAS: ‘His real name is Eddie Cowell. He’s an actor who I’ve cast a few times before in a couple of minor productions. He’s also a very accomplished guitar player and singer/songwriter, as I’m sure you found out.’
MARY: ‘That doesn’t add up.’
Mary challenged him because she was sure that Thomas was keeping something from her.
MARY: ‘There were no guarantees that I would’ve agreed to watch Luke’s gig that night. And more to the point – how could you possibly know that I would walk past that bar that night?’
THOMAS: ‘Oh, Mary, Mary. I know you’re brighter than this.’
He took a breath.
THOMAS: ‘It’s simple behavior psychology. Humans are creatures of habit, Mary. We love routines. It’s comforting to know exactly what we’ll be doing, instead of having to create something new every day.’
Mary thought about it for a beat before her jaw tensed. In Nashville, to escape the boredom of sitting at home alone, she had developed an evening walking routine. Almost every evening, she’d walk along the Cumberland River then down the Broadway for at least a couple of blocks. Always the same route, past The Whisky Bent Saloon.
THOMAS: ‘All I needed to do was get “Luke” to approach you at the right time.’
Mary shifted uncomfortably on the stiff bed in her cell.
THOMAS: ‘The trick was not to have him approach you too soon. During your first few months in Nashville, you were still on high guard – concerned that someone from your ex-husband’s camp was looking for you. If a stranger approached you in the middle of the street during your “high guard” phase, preservation instinct would’ve told you to walk away, no matter how charming or unthreatening that stranger might’ve looked, but as the months piled up and you saw no threats coming your way, you would’ve started to get more comfortable… more confident that your trail was clean… and your guard, inevitably, would start to relax.’
Mary looked angry, but at herself, not at Thomas.
THOMAS: ‘Boredom also played a big part here. You’ve been living in Nashville for five months… no friends… no job… barely spoke to anyone… We are also social creatures, Mary – we long for conversations… for friendships… and for the feeling that we’re not alone.’
He shrugged.
THOMAS: ‘Luke was an attractive and charming guy, who didn’t pose a threat to you because he was simply trying to get people into his gig. The way you saw it, he wasn’t targeting you specifically – he was targeting anyonewho walked past that bar – a simple diversion trick, but tremendously effective.’
Mary stayed silent, but inside she was screaming murder at herself because she had taken the bait like a hungry child.
MARY: ‘How about the guy in the gangster suit? Where does he fit into all this?’
Thomas lifted his left eyebrow.
THOMAS: ‘Marlon? He was my backup plan. A private eye based in Boston. He kept an eye on you. He was the one who spotted your walking routine… your eating routine… everything about you, really. But that night, he made a mistake that almost cost me my whole plan. He got spotted, and by doing so, he spooked you. If it weren’t for the fact that by then you already had Luke’s CD with you, we would’ve probably lost you that night because credit where credit is due here – it was a great counter surveillance trick you played on him back in Alabama. He ended up in Milwaukee, and let me tell you – he wasn’t best pleased.’
Mary closed her eyes, as she felt a drop of bile spill from her throat into her mouth. That damn CD.
THOMAS: ‘But thanks to Luke’s CD and the tracker in it, from that day on, we had your location twenty-four seven, which made implementing the next part of the plan a lot easier. But I had to do it fast, before you decided to throw that CD away.’
Mary’s voice was now nothing more than a whisper.
MARY: ‘New Orleans. Just a few weeks later.’
Thomas attempted another smile.
THOMAS: ‘Beautiful New Orleans – a city full of tourists, is it not? All I had to do was plant a new actor or actress in your path.’
A muscle flexed on the left side of Mary’s jaw.
MARY: ‘Natálie.’
THOMAS: ‘Correct again. A very talented actress called Manuela Oliver, but to you, she was just some stranger, who you had shared a few drinks with at a random bar in New Orleans, and who had handed you a piece of paper with her phone number on it. You do the math.’
Mary breathed out pure anger. The first time that she had ever seen the name Quaddra Buckner had been in a newspaper article, talking about a couple of his new acquisitions. But the truth was that Mary hadn’t read the article about Quaddra in a newspaper. She’d read it on a ‘torn’ page from a newspaper – the page that Natálie had scribbled down her number and handed to her.
