"About what? You know I can't do gifts yet."
"No, no, nothing like that. You're speaking at the reunion, remember? You're going to be okay for that, aren't you?"
"Oh, yeah. With all this I forgot about it. Gee, I'm not sure. I might have a conflict out of town next week." Speaking on any subject was the last thing in the world he wanted to do now. No way.
"Oh, God, don't welsh on me. I'm counting on you."
"Look, Al, what can I say? I got hurt last week. I just don't know if I'm up for it."
"But it's so fucking impressive. Everyone is dying to hear about it. What a New York story. Saving a cop, fighting off a killer… it's amazing."
"Oh, I really did a job on him," Jack said bitterly.
"Oh, come on, don't be so modest. I heard you hurt him bad."
"It's all a crock. I didn't get anywhere near him."
"Not what my sources say. We're going to write you up in the magazine. Billionaire alum, New York hero. What kind of Good Samaritan story is that?"
"It's great, but I'm not interested."
"Oh, come on, it would be so good for both of us."
"Al, I'm spooked, okay? I'm not interested in being described as a hero when there's a killer out there."
"I'm sure he doesn't read the alumni magazine."
"Very funny."
"Come on, lighten up. People like you are exactly what the university desperately needs. Don't let us down."
"Not right now, okay, Al?"
"What can I do to change your mind? How about a limo for the event?"
"I'm only a few blocks away. I could walk. That's not the issue." Jack was trying hard to be nice.
"Then what's the issue?"
"I told you I'm nervous. Call me a wimp, whatever.
I don't want to do the event. It's not safe." Jack gazed out at the reporters downstairs. He had a lot of trouble going out.
"The university could protect you, I promise."
"Don't make promises. That's not the issue."
"What's the issue, Jack? You're one of us. I want you to know we're here for you. It matters to us that you're happy, feeling secure. The president, everybody. We want you happy. We can keep you safe."
"Well, tell everybody I'm happy, but I have another call coming in." Jack cut him off. He didn't want to hear any more people telling him how important he suddenly had become. He wasn't doing the reunion, period.
His call waiting kicked in.
"Hi, it's April Woo."
"Oh, hello." That was all he could manage even for her.
"Listen, can you come in today? I need you to look at somebody."
"Who?" Then he got excited. Maybe it was over.
"A guy." The pretty cop was noncommittal.
"Look, I'm under siege here. Is this for real?"
"What's going on?"
"The reporters won't go away. Don't these guys have anything else to do?"
"Everybody's trying to flush you out of your little pond into the big sea where you belong. You're the only guy in the world who prefers a walk-up to the Ritz. And you're a hero. It's all news. Do you want me to send a car for you?"
He wasn't a hero, but everybody wanted to send a car for him. Why wasn't he impressed?
"Well, it would be nice to get there without a confrontation in front of the building," he murmured. On the other hand, it wouldn't be so nice to see a clip of himself getting into a squad car on the evening news.
The detective read his mind. "How about an unmarked car?" she said.
"That would be great. Do you have the man who attacked you? If you had him, it would be a huge relief."
"Yeah, for all of us. The whole city. A car will be there in ten minutes, maybe eleven if the traffic is bad. Officer Maureen Perry will be your driver."
Seven minutes later a black Buick pulled up in front of his door building. The driver was a blond woman in uniform. The uniform blew his cover.
"Good morning, sir," she said, a little surprised when he charged out of the building, dove into the front seat next to her, and slammed the door. After that she didn't say a word, only nodded when he got out and thanked her for the ride.
As he headed into the Sixth Precinct his arm itched badly in its cast, and he had the feeling of rage that had been flashing on and off in him like painful power surges ever since his father died and stole his identity. Now absent fathers and murderers were all mixed up in his mind. Maybe the absent father was the murderer. All he wanted was to be normal again-to watch the Yankees battle the Mets, to make love to Lisa, to build his little business his own way. Normal.
Instead he couldn't get out of being an item on the news. His photo, inset next to a larger one of his father, had been on the cover of Time magazine two weeks ago. He was followed around by reporters. Yesterday the cop's funeral had dredged it up again. And now he was in the center of a murder investigation. Every talk-show host wanted him on TV talking about it. He didn't see how rich was good. It got him into this, but it couldn't get him out.
Inside the precinct, the desk lieutenant gave him a quick glance and knew right away who he was. "Mr. Devereaux?"
"Yes."
"They're waiting for you upstairs. First door."
Jack found the stairs and took them two at a time. There was nothing wrong with his legs, and he was in a hurry to see who was in custody. At the top of the stairs the door to the detective unit was open and people were spilling out. With them came a cloud of cigarette smoke. So much for the law against smoking in government buildings.
"I'm looking for Sergeant Woo," he told a skinny man with a pencil mustache and a gun at his waist who was sitting on the first desk with his cell phone pressed against his ear.
"You can wait in here." The man got up and led him through a maze of detectives and desks to a room with a window. The blind on the window was up, and April Woo was in the room beyond. He could hear her talking with a man who was definitely not the person who'd attacked him. He was too big, too fat, and too old. Jack sat down, disheartened. He'd hoped it would be over.
After a few minutes Mike Sanchez came into the room and shut the door behind him. "Thanks for coming in," he said. "How are you doing?"
"I'm okay. It's not him."
"Are you sure he doesn't look familiar to you at all?"
Jack's memory of Wednesday night had jelled solid. It didn't vary with the time of day, and he didn't have to study the man sitting at the table in the other room to know he wasn't the one. The man he'd seen gripping April in the fog had been catlike, a dancer. The man in the room with her now had a soft belly that doubled over his belt. He was a bear with big flat feet and fingers like sausages. A bear crushes with his weight. Jack touched the cast on his arm. The man who'd attacked him had not been a bear. Not a polar bear nor a grizzly bear. He'd been snake thin, snake quick, and snake agile. Too fast to grab hold of. He shook his head.
"Are you sure?"
"I'm dead sure. Who is he?"
"Someone who borrowed a lot of money from the deceased."
Jack shifted his attention to Sanchez. "Why do you call him the deceased?" he asked.
"Sorry. No disrespect intended."
At that moment, a large woman in a red jacket went into the interview room and whispered in April Woo's ear. She got up and left. A few minutes later she joined them and nodded at Jack.
"Thanks for coming. The traffic wasn't bad?"
Small talk. "No, not bad. Thanks for the ride," Jack told her, smiling a little because she was so pretty, and pretty in a cop still surprised him. Call it male chauvinism. Sanchez was what he would expect. Sergeant Woo was something else. She acknowledged his smile with a little one of her own. She knew.
"How are you doing?" she asked.
"I'm doing okay."
"Good. How about our pal in there?" The smile disappeared, and the sergeant's face went blank. It was kind of eerie the way she wiped it clean.
Jack glanced at Mike, then shook his head. "You know it wasn't him," he said, studying her flat expression.
She shrugged and repeated her question. "How are you doing?"