Let the Devil Sleep

Kim’s expression froze. “What news?”

“Another murder-the wife of one of the people you were talking to. Lila Sterne.”

“Oh, God, no!” Kim grabbed the edge of the sink island.

“This was on the radio?” asked Gurney.

“On the Internet. Google News.”

“What did they say? Any details?”

“Just that she’d been stabbed to death with an ice pick sometime last night. ‘Police are at the scene, investigation ongoing. Monster on the loose.’ A lot of drama, not a lot of facts.”

“Shit,” Gurney muttered. Hearing the news a second time somehow made it worse, deepening his sense of the situation accelerating out of control.

Kim looked lost.

Gurney went over to her, put his arms around her. She hugged him with a fierceness that startled him. When she released him, she took a deep breath and stepped back.

“I’m okay,” she said, answering his unasked question.

“Good. Because later we both need to be fully functional.”

“I know.”

Kyle frowned. “Fully functional? For what?”

Gurney explained as calmly and reasonably as he could his general objective and its reliance on the eavesdropping equipment in Kim’s apartment. He was conscious of trying to make it sound like a more coherent strategy than it really was. He wondered whom he was trying to convince-Kyle or himself.

“Tonight?” said Kyle incredulously. “You plan on doing this tonight?”

“Actually,” said Gurney, feeling again the terrible pressure of time closing in on him, “we should be leaving for Syracuse as soon as we can.”

Kyle looked very worried. “Are you guys… prepared? I mean, this sounds like a huge deal. Do you have any idea what you’re actually going to be saying-what it is you want the Shepherd to overhear?”

Gurney tried again for a tone of reassurance. “The way I see it-and I admit that a lot will have to be improvised as we go along-we show up at Kim’s apartment in the middle of discussing the meeting we had today with Rudy Getz. Kim is telling me she wants to end the Orphans series on RAM. I’m arguing that maybe she shouldn’t be so quick to turn her back on it.”

“Wait a minute,” said Kyle. “Why would you say that?”

“I want the Shepherd to see me as the primary threat to him, not Kim. I want him to believe that she wants the series to be canceled and that I might get in the way of that decision.”

“That’s it? That’s the plan?”

“No, there’s more. What I’m thinking is that in the middle of this discussion we’re having about The Orphans of Murder, I get a phone call. A phone call supposedly from Max Clinter. And anyone listening to my side of the call-which is all that the bugs would be capable of picking up-will be given the impression that Max has discovered some information pointing to the identity of the Good Shepherd. Maybe some information that fits in with a few things I’ve discovered myself. The takeaway will be that Max and I are pretty sure who the Shepherd is and we’re getting together at his cabin tomorrow night to compare notes and work out our next steps.”

Kyle was quiet for a long minute. “So… the idea is that he’ll… what? Come to Clinter’s cabin to… to try to kill you?”

“If I handle it right, he’ll see it as a low-risk way of eliminating a major threat.”

“And you guys…” He looked back and forth between Gurney and Kim. “You guys are going to… just make all this up as you go along?”

“At this point it’s the only way.” Gurney looked up at the clock on the wall. “We have to get going.”

Kim looked terrified. “I need my bag.”

When Gurney heard her footsteps going up the stairs, he turned to Kyle. “I want to show you something.” He led Kyle into the master bedroom and pulled out the bottom drawer of his bureau. “I don’t know what time I’ll be home tonight. In the event that anything unexpected happens-or any unwanted visitor arrives-I want you to know this is here.”

Kyle looked down into the open drawer. It contained a short-barrel twelve-gauge shotgun and a box of shells.

Chapter 43

Talking to the Shepherd

Gurney and Kim drove to Syracuse in separate cars. With so much yet to be determined, maximum flexibility seemed wise. Standing in front of the shabby little house that Kim’s apartment formed half of, Gurney went over the plan with her again. As he did so, its ad-hoc flimsiness seemed increasingly evident. In fact, it was hardly a “plan” at all-more like some ill-conceived theatrical improvisation. But he couldn’t let his growing doubts show, couldn’t let them infect Kim. Any more anxiety would paralyze her. And for better or worse, this hollow little scheme of his was all they had.

He concluded by saying, with the most confident smile he could muster, “Whatever I say to you up in your apartment, just react as though you really believe it. Stay as close to your real feelings as you can. Just relax and react. Okay?”

“I guess.”

“And just one more thing. Have your cell phone handy and ready to use. At some point I’ll signal you to call my number to make my phone ring, and then I’ll go through my fake conversation with Clinter. Whatever facts have to be invented, I’ll invent them. Afterwards, you just play yourself. React the way you normally would. That’s all there is to it.” He gave her a wink and a thumbs-up. Then he wished he hadn’t. He was embarrassed by the phony bravado.

She swallowed hard, opened the door into the tiny vestibule, then unlocked the door of her apartment. She led him down the narrow hall to the living room. He looked around at the futon couch, the cheap coffee table, the pair of worn armchairs, each partnered with a flimsy floor lamp. It was all as he remembered it, right down to the dirt- colored rug that was frayed in the middle.

“Go ahead, have a seat, Dave. I’ll just be a minute,” said Kim, her voice only slightly strained, as it might be from a difficult day. She walked down the hall and disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door loudly.

He paced around the room, cleared his throat a few times, sat down noisily on the couch. A few minutes later, she returned. They both laid their cell phones on the table.

“So… can I offer you a drink or something?”

“I am thirsty. What do you have?”

“Anything you want.”

“Uh, maybe just some juice or something. If you have it.”

“I think I can manage that. Give me a sec.” She went back down the hall to the kitchen. He heard glasses banging against each other, the sink tap going on and off.

She returned with two empty water glasses. She handed him one, clinked hers against it, and said, “Cheers.” She sat down on the couch, turning sideways to face him.

“Cheers to you, too. I see you’re drinking wine. Something to make you feel better about the RAM deal.”

She let out a loud sigh. “That whole situation is a nightmare.”

Gurney cleared his throat. “Television is television, I guess.”

“You saying I should be thrilled to work with Rudy, the slimebag?”

“Not necessarily thrilled,” said Gurney. “But there is your future to think about.”

“I’m not sure I want that kind of future. Why?” she said with a half-jesting edge in her voice. “Are you interested in chasing that opportunity Getz dangled to host your own show?”

“Not in this lifetime, at least not the way he described it,” said Dave. He coughed, cleared his throat. “Any