Motherfucker.
Paula Louise Evans had her own Wikipedia page.
Andy clicked on the link.
The warning at the top of the page indicated the information was not without controversy. Which made sense, because Paula struck Andy as a woman who loved controversy.
She felt a nervous energy take hold as she skimmed the contents, scrolling through an extensive bio that listed everything from the hospital where Paula had been born to her inmate number at Danberry Federal Penitentiary for Women.
Raised in Corte Madera, California... Berkeley... Stanford... murder.
Andy’s stomach dropped.
Paula Evans had murdered a woman.
Andy looked up at the ceiling for a moment. She thought about Paula pointing the shotgun at her chest.
Clara said, “There’s so much information about her. Is it horrible that I’m a bit jealous?”
Andy scrolled down to the next section:
INVOLVEMENT WITH THE ARMY OF THE CHANGING WORLD.
There was a blurry photo of Paula. The date underneath read “July 1986.”
Thirty-two years ago.
Andy could remember doing the math back in Carrollton at the library computer. She had been looking for events that had taken place around the time she would’ve been conceived.
Bombings and plane hijackings and shoot-outs at banks.
Andy studied the photo of Paula Evans.
She was wearing a weird dress that looked like a cotton slip. Thick, black lines of make-up were smeared beneath her eyes. Fingerless gloves were on her hands. Combat boots were on her feet. She was wearing a beret. A cigarette dangled from her mouth. She had a revolver in one hand and a hunting knife in the other. It would’ve been funny except for the fact that Paula had murdered someone.
And been involved in a conspiracy to bring down the world, apparently.
“Jane?” Clara had pulled a blue afghan around her shoulders. “Should we have some tea?”
“In a moment,” Andy said, doing a search for the word JANE on Paula’s Wikipedia page.
Nothing.
ANDREW.
Nothing.
She clicked on the link that took her to the wiki page for THE ARMY OF THE CHANGING WORLD.
Starting with the assassination of Martin Queller in Oslo...
“QuellCorp,” Andy said.
Clara made a hissing sound. “Aren’t they awful?”
Andy skipped down the page. She saw a photo of their leader, a guy who looked like Zac Efron with Charles Manson’s eyes. The Army’s crimes were bullet-pointed past the Martin Queller assassination. They had kidnapped and murdered a Berkeley professor. Been involved in a shoot-out, a nationwide manhunt. Their crazy-ass leader had written a manifesto, a ransom note that had appeared on the front page of the San Francisco Chronicle.
Andy clicked on the note.