“I’m not sure yet,” I said. “Presumably he’s out to prove me and my book either right or wrong. We’re still trying to figure that out.”
“And that’s the problem,” said Elizabeth. “We need more from this guy than he’s giving us—clues, hints, anything—and the best way to get that is to make him think we’re not as smart as he thought, that we haven’t caught on.”
“In other words, that the game hasn’t started yet,” said Grimes.
By George…
“You got it,” I said. “With any luck, he’ll give us a little more than he intended.”
“And game over,” said Elizabeth.
“But according to Dr. Professor here, this guy wants to be caught,” said Grimes. “Won’t he eventually just, you know, play to lose?”
“It doesn’t work like that,” I said.
“Then enlighten me,” said Grimes.
“Do you really want a lecture on the subconscious?” I asked.
“No. What I really want is to break this goddamn story in Monday’s paper.”
“Okay, let’s assume you’re right for a second,” I began. “Our guy allows himself to get a little careless down the line. Like Son of Sam, he gets a parking ticket. Or he steals a car and gets nailed for it, like Ted Bundy. Or hell, let’s say he does the ridiculous and turns himself in. Maybe it’s even as early as next week. But what if it’s not? What if it’s next year? Because here’s all I know at this point. The king of clubs? The two of hearts? He’s still got fifty cards left in his deck.”
With a glance, I handed the discussion back to Elizabeth. It was sort of like good cop, bad cop, except I was actually no cop.
“Allen, you can break the story Monday and never get anything more from me on this or anything else ever again,” she said, folding her arms on the table. “Or you can give us a couple more days, still break the story, and then be the guy who knows everything first.”
I eyed Grimes carefully. He could’ve chosen to go apeshit over Elizabeth’s threat, but she’d managed to say the one word that was like all the whiskey in the world to a guy like him.
“First,” he said.
“First,” she repeated.
“I’m going to hold you to that, Detective,” he said.
“You won’t have to,” she assured him, sliding his recorder across the table. She swung her legs out of the booth and stood. “Enjoy your omelet.”
Chapter 20
I WASN’T sure if Elizabeth was aiming for a dramatic exit, but she didn’t look back as she walked out of the diner. Presumably I was supposed to follow her. Grimes, however, had me pinned into my seat in the booth. He wasn’t moving.
Instead, “Be careful, Dr. Professor,” he said.
“Careful about what?” I asked.
“She hasn’t told you, has she?”
“Okay, I’ll bite,” I said. “What hasn’t she told me?”
“Well, you’re the expert on human behavior, so you might want to ask yourself this,” he said. “Of all the detectives I could’ve called after getting that package, why did I call her?”
“Because she’s good at her job?” I said. It wasn’t a question.
“You’re right: she is good at her job. Good enough, though, to be the youngest detective second grade in the city, not to mention the prettiest?”
“What exactly are you suggesting?” I asked. “That she slept her way to a promotion?”
“No. Elizabeth’s too smart for that. But she is in bed with someone,” he said, taking another sip of his whiskey. “Do you follow politics by any chance? There’s a big election coming up here in the city, and it’s going to be a tight race. A very tight race.”
“So I’ve been hearing,” I said.
“Even if you don’t follow politics, how could you miss all those damn TV and radio ads, right? I’m already sick of them.”
“I know what you mean.”
“Do you, though?” he asked. “Do you really?”
“Okay, so I don’t know what you mean,” I said. “Apparently you’ve taken a course in cryptic bullshit that I somehow missed.”
Grimes smiled, tilted his coffee cup of whiskey at me, and promptly polished off the rest of it in a single swig. “I like you, Reinhart,” he said.
I couldn’t say the feeling was mutual. At least not yet. The guy did have a certain charm about him, though.
“Thanks,” I told him. It was the best I could offer.
“Just remember what I told you, okay?”
“What did you tell me?” I asked.
“To be careful,” he said. “Sometimes you think you want to know things only to find out you really don’t.”
I wasn’t about to ask what the hell that meant, because I knew he had no intention of explaining. Instead he slid out of the booth and made a beeline for the waitress, who was standing by the register.
“Ix-nay on that omelet, sweetheart,” he said, handing her a twenty. “I’ve lost my appetite.”
Chapter 21
THE TWO cops camped out in the otherwise empty lobby of the Excelsior Hotel on the Upper West Side barely looked up from their newspapers as Elizabeth walked by them. They knew who she was. It wasn’t her first time there. It wouldn’t be her last.
Although had they thought about it, they might have at least asked if she was expected. It was very early in the morning, after all.
But they hadn’t thought about it, and they didn’t ask. Further proof, perhaps, that their guard duty assignment wasn’t exactly a reward for being the best and brightest on the force.
Ding.
The elevator opened in front of Elizabeth, revealing the man she’d woken up only minutes before with her call from outside the hotel.
“This better be good,” he said, walking toward her. He was wearing a hastily assembled outfit of jeans and a Harvard sweatshirt. “What is it that you couldn’t tell me over the phone?”
Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder, making sure they were truly alone. They were. “I need to see him,” she said.
“Do you know what time it is?” asked Harvard.
“Yeah, it’s roughly a few minutes past I don’t give a shit,” she said. “Wake him up.”
He hesitated. She knew what that meant. Men and their vices…
“He’s not alone, is he?” she asked.
Harvard hesitated again, weighing his options. There weren’t any. He was one of the most gifted liars in the city, the Botticelli of bullshitters, but never to Elizabeth. It’s how she found out about the charade in the first place.
“No, he’s not alone,” he said.
Elizabeth smiled all too knowingly. “I’m curious,” she said. “Is there anything you wouldn’t do for him?”
“It’s called loyalty, Detective,” he said. “It wouldn’t hurt you to show a little more of it.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
Harvard frowned. That was one of the things that really pissed him off about Elizabeth. She had an answer for everything. Of course that was also why his boss liked her so much. She was always thinking ahead.
“Why don’t you tell me whatever it is you were going to tell him, and I’ll relay the message later?” he said.
“Or,” said Elizabeth, “you could do what I asked you to do in the first place and wake him up.”
“What if I don’t?” he asked.
“Then I’ll go wake him up myself,” she said. “If I can’t win Powerball or marry Jake Gyllenhaal, my next wish in this world is having you and your skinny Ivy League ass try to stop me.”