Brennan nodded. Something that had been bothering him since his break-in at the Palace suddenly clicked into place. "And the rest of the deck is missing."
"That's right," Maseryk said. "How did you know?" Brennan smiled tightly. "Someone told me that Jay Ackroyd was at the Palace early that morning."
"That's right, too," Maseryk said. "He found the body."
"Why was he there?"
"You're awfully full of questions," Maseryk said. "You're not thinking of interfering with an ongoing police investigation, are you?"
"I want her killer brought to justice. If you find him, fine. If I do…" His voice trailed off and he shrugged. "Look, Brennan," Maseryk said in a sudden, hard voice, pointing his forefinger at him, "none of this vigilante shit-"
"If you did your job," Brennan replied, in a voice just as hard, "there wouldn't be any need for this vigilante shit. I could be home where I want to be, instead of putting my ass on the line."
Maseryk was about to reply when the waiter appeared at their table and slipped their plates in front of them. He glanced from one man to the other. "Will that be all?"
Brennan tore his gaze from Maseryk's and nodded at the waiter. "For now."
"Enjoy your meal, sirs," the waiter said, and hustled away.
"If you answer my question," Brennan said in a soft, conciliatory voice, "I'll give you another' one you should ask somebody."
Maseryk looked at him a long time, then finally sighed. "All right. I'll bite. The PI said Chrysalis had hired him to be her bodyguard. He did one hell of a job."
Brennan nodded thoughtfully and picked at his seafood salad.
"Well," Maseryk prompted, "what do you have for me?"
"Ask the Oddity what he, she, whatever, was looking for in Chrysalis's bedroom last night."
Maseryk scowled at his dish as Brennan speared a bit of crab. "Do you want to tell me what's going on?" he finally asked.
Brennan shook his head. "Not now. I have nothing you'd believe." He popped the crab in his mouth and chewed, his gaze far away.
Maseryk frowned. "You better not be jerking me around."
"Enjoy your meal," Brennan said.
Maseryk nodded, cut another slice. "I will. It's a damn fine fish. Damn fine."
They ate their food, saying little. Neither was much for small talk and both were absorbed in their own thoughts. Maseryk refused the waiter's offer of coffee and dessert when they had finished. Brennan ordered a cup of tea.
"I'll be in touch," Brennan said as Maseryk rose from the table.
"Don't do anything foolish," Maseryk advised him. Brennan nodded. The. waiter set a teacup in front of him and left. Brennan lifted the cup to his lips. He frowned. There was a note on the saucer. It was written on a ragged scrap of paper in a childish, impossibly tiny hand.
"If you want to no what the Shadow Fists are hidding," it read, "go to Stoney Brook, 8800 Glenhollow Rode. Be carfull. " Brennan quickly looked around the restaurant, and then immediately felt foolish for doing so. Someone had to be trailing him-or reading his mind. Someone knew as much about what he was doing as he did. It gave him a chilly, uncomfortable feeling, as if he were the hunted instead of the hunter.
He looked again at the note. It was unsigned, of course. It appeared as if it were sent by someone who was friendly, and seemed childishly innocuous with its semilegible scrawl and misspelled words. Brennan decided to check out the tip it offered, but also to follow its final hint and be very, very careful indeed.
2:00 P.M.
Kant didn't look pleased to see him. "I thought we got rid of you yesterday," he said.
"The reptile ranch was closed, so I came here," Jay said. "Where's your partner?"
"Out to lunch," Kant snapped at him. "Like you. Only with you it's a permanent condition." He showed his teeth. They were still pointed.
"Is that a joke?" Jay asked. It was, he was almost sure of it. He turned to a passing uniform. "Kant just made a joke," he said. The cop ignored him. "I don't think he was real impressed."
"You keep playing games with me, I'm going to make you real sorry" Kant promised. His moment of levity had obviously passed. "What the fuck do you want?" he asked irritably, rubbing at a big green scab under his collar. The starch must chafe his scales.
"I want to talk to Elmo," Jay said.
Kant was so surprised he stopped scratching his scab. "Get the hell out of here before I throw you out."
"You again?" Maseryk said as he sauntered up to the desk. He was chewing on a toothpick. It must have been a good lunch.
"He wants to see Elmo," Kant told his partner, in a tone that suggested it was the funniest thing imaginable. Maseryk didn't laugh. "Why?"
Jay shrugged. "Might as well, can't dance."
"Elmo isn't talking," Maseryk said. "We told him he had the right to remain silent, and damned if he didn't take us up on it."
"He'll talk to me," Jay said.
Kant and Maseryk exchanged glances. "And you'll tell us what he said?" Maseryk suggested.
"Wouldn't be sporting," Jay said.
Kant gave him one of his sideways blinks. "Get out of here before I lose my temper. I wouldn't want you to get hurt."
"Uh-oh," Jay said. "You hear that, Maseryk? Your partner was threatening me with police brutality. Do all lizards have such nasty dispositions, or is it just him?"
Kant came around his desk. He towered over Jay, all teeth and scales. "That's it. C'mon, asshole. Let's dance." Jay ignored him. "I've got a proposition for you," he said to Maseryk. "Why don't you tell your partner to go sun himself on a rock while we talk privately?"
Maseryk looked at Kant. "Give us a moment, Harv"
"You're going to buy into this bullshit?" Kant said. Maseryk shrugged. "He might have something." They walked down to an empty interrogation room. Maseryk shut the door, swung a chair around, and sat down with his arms crossed on its back, studying Jay with those piercing violet eyes. "This better be good," he said.
"It's a modest little deal, but I think you'll be amused by its presumption," Jay said. "You give me ten minutes with Elmo, I'll give you the name of the ace-of-spades killer."
Stony Brook-or, as the note had said, Stoney Brookwas a small suburban town in Suffolk County, Long Island. Brennan stopped at a gas station in his rented Toyota to ask directions to Glenhollow-thank heavens his unknown informant had managed to spell that right Road. It ran nearly parallel to Long Island Sound, and in fact turned into a wandering county road through sparsely settled, heavily forested country soon after Brennan turned onto it. A few houses were directly on the road, more stood back out of sight on meandering dirt lanes.
Brennan kept looking for number 8800, but missed it the first time by. He stopped when he saw number 8880 on a mailbox next to a dirt lane; checked for nonexistent traffic, then did a careful three-point turn and headed back down the road, this time driving even slower. This time he passed number 8700 without finding the address he was looking for, but remembered going by an unnumbered lane that could have been the missing 8800.
Brennan pulled over to the side on a relatively wide section of the road. He parked, got out of the car, and went to the trunk where he had stashed his bow case. He glanced up and down the road. There was still no traffic. He opened the bow case and with practiced, assured ease, assembled his compound bow. He drew the string smoothly. His shoulder burned, but he decided he could handle the pain. He slipped his hood over his head and then faded into the trees crowding the roadside, the hunter returned to the forest.