The secret phone lived in the locked glove compartment of Rajiv's Audi, wrapped in a microfiber cloth he had stolen from the house, the same cloth Priya used to dust the temple shelf every morning. He did not think about the irony of this. He did not think about Priya at all when he slid into the driver's seat and clicked the glove box open with a key he kept separate from the others, a small silver thing that looked like it might open a diary or a jewelry box. The phone was prepaid, purchased from a mall forty minutes from their apartment. It had one contact saved. The contact had no name, only a letter: M.
Meher.
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