"Maybe. But I'll tell you this, if they were just hired meat, they were good actors; and if they were just actors, they were pretty damn tough meat. And they weren't trying to scare me off; they wanted to know where she was." He changed his tone to imitate the voice from last night. '"Where is Melanie Rubin Ehler?'"
Lew stiffened. "'Melanie Rubin Ehler?' They said that? They used her maiden name?"
"Every time. Something wrong with that?"
"I don't know about wrong, but it's certainly odd. Melanie never used her maiden name. She hardly ever used a middle initial."
"Well, whoever they were," Jack said, trying to boost Lew's spirits, "at least they think she's still alive—and findable."
He brightened. "Hey, that's right. That's right. Jack, I think you just made my day."
"Great, Lew. Why don't you go to your room and crash for awhile. You look dead on your feet."
"I think I'll do just that."
Jack watched Lew limp off, and couldn't help thinking of the other husband he'd dealt with in the past twenty-four hours. Could any two people be more different? Maybe someday Ceil would find herself a Lew to help her forget Gus.
As he was turning toward the door, Jack caught Roma staring at him from the other end of the lobby. Roma raised his hand, and for an instant Jack thought he was going to wave. But no—he made that three-fingered clawing gesture again.
Jack was tempted to make a gesture of his own, a more economical one employing only a single digit, but thought better of it. Instead, he held Roma's dark gaze until the monkey jumped up on his shoulder and added his own stare to his master's.
That was enough for Jack.
Later, Roma, he thought as he turned and pushed through the revolving door. We're not finished yet.
2
Roma watched the stranger leave, wondering where he was headed with such purpose at this early hour.
"Why did you do that?" Mauricio whispered when no one was looking.
"I wanted to rattle his cage, as they say."
"To what end?"
"To keep him off balance until we know the part he plays in this. Did you check his room?"
"As we assumed: the rest of the device is there."
Roma had expected this, would in fact have been shocked if Mauricio had reported otherwise, yet still it elicited a pang of dismay in his gut. Why, why, why?
"Undamaged?"
"Yes, but still, I am worried."
"No need to be," Roma said, forcing a casual tone. "As I told you, he knows nothing of the Otherness. And yet the Otherness seems to want him involved. Else why deliver the device to him—and protect him from you? No, my friend. We must watch carefully and see how this plays out…before another sunrise we will know what part this stranger is to play."
Mauricio growled his dissatisfaction, then said, "By the way, I ran into Frayne Ganfield this morning. He's looking for you. Says he has something important to tell you."
"That despicable little hybrid always thinks he has something important to tell me. He will have to wait. I have better things to do than listen to his prattle."
Much more important, Roma thought, feeling his excitement grow. Less than twenty-four hours until his hour came round. He needed solitude. The growing anticipation made further human contact almost unbearable.
3
Jack was on his second coffee in Julio's when he spotted Schaffer through the front window. He was moving fast, no doubt as close to a run as his portly frame would allow. Jack had told Julio that Schaffer was coming and to do the usual interception, but tell him Jack wanted a word with him.
Schaffer entered clutching a white envelope. Perspiration gleamed on his pale forehead. His expression was strained. Here was one very upset real estate developer. He handed Julio the envelope; after they exchanged a few words, Schaffer glanced around like a rabbit who'd just been told there was a fox in the room, spotted Jack, and bolted out the door.
Jack got up and started after him. He passed Julio along the way.
Julio was grinning as he handed Jack the envelope. "What you do to spook him like that?"
Jack grabbed the envelope and kept moving. "Don't know, but I'm going to find out."
Out on the sidewalk, where spring was reasserting herself, he stopped and scanned the area. Quiet and sunny this morning, almost deserted. New York City is a different town on weekend mornings. Cabs never completely disappear, but only a few are on the prowl. No commuters, and the natives are sleeping in. Most of them, anyway. To his left, a guy stood with a pooper scooper in one hand and a leash in the other, waiting patiently while his dachshund relieved himself in the gutter. Far down to his right a young guy in a white apron was hosing last night off the sidewalk in front of a pizza shop.
But where the hell was Schaffer?
There—across the street off to his left, a bustling portly form hurrying away. Jack caught the developer as he was opening the door to his Jaguar.
"What's going on?" Jack said.
Schaffer jumped at the sound of Jack's voice. His already white face went two shades paler.
"Get away from me!"
He jumped into the car but Jack caught the door before he could slam it. He pulled the keys from Schaffer's trembling fingers.
"I think we'd better talk. Unlock the doors."
Jack went around to the other side and slipped into the passenger seat. He tossed the keys back to Schaffer.
"All right. What's going on? The job's done. The guy's fixed. You didn't need an alibi because it was done by a prowler. What's your problem?"
Schaffer stared straight ahead through the windshield.
"How could you? I was so impressed with you the other day. The rogue with a code: 'Sometimes I make a mistake. If that happens, I like to be able to go back and fix it.' I really thought you were something else. I actually envied you. I never dreamed you could do what you did. Gus was a rotten son of a bitch, but you didn't have to…" His voice trailed off.
Jack was baffled.
"You were the one who wanted him killed. I only broke his legs."
Schaffer turned to him, the fear in his eyes giving way to fury.
"Who do you think you're kidding? You really think I wouldn't find out?" He pulled a couple of folded sheets of paper from this pocket and tossed them at Jack. "I've read the medical examiner's preliminary notes!"
"Medical examiner? He's dead?" Clammy shock wormed through him. Dead hadn't been in the plan. "How?"
"As if you don't know! Gus was a scumbag and yes I wanted him dead, but I didn't want him tortured! I didn't want him…mutilated!"
Confused, Jack scanned the notes. They described a man who'd been beaten, bludgeoned, bound by the hands, and had both tibias broken; then he'd been tortured and sexually mutilated with a Ginsu knife from his own kitchen before dying of shock due to blood loss from a severed carotid artery.
"It'll be in all the afternoon papers," Schaffer was saying. "You can add the clippings to your collection. I'm sure you've got a big one."
Jack squeezed his eyes shut for a few heartbeats, and reread the second half of the notes. His first reaction was relief of sorts—he hadn't killed Gus. Then he thought of Olive's mutilated body. A connection? No, this seemed different. Olive's mutilation had been almost ritualistic, Gus's sounded far more personal, a revenge thing, fueled by boundless rage and betrayal.
Jack tossed the report onto Schaffer's lap and leaned back. He lowered the window. He felt the need for some air.
Finally he looked at Schaffer. "How'd you get those notes? Are they the real thing?"
"Who do you think you're dealing with? Half the new construction in Queens is mine! I got connections!"
"And where was Ceil supposed to be when all this"—Jack waved the notes—"was happening?"