'Jesus, don't ask me,' Pete said, embarrassed and uncomfortable.
The offices of the Police Commissioner for the City of New York were on the fourteenth floor. Peter walked into reception to find his father also waiting there. Corin O'Neill was wearing his dress uniform, with the two stars of a borough commander. Pete would have been slightly less surprised to see Elvis Presley.
'What's going on, Pop?'
Corin O'Neill's smile was just a shade uneasy. 'Beats me. Any problems on the job, Petey?'
'I'd've told you first.'
'That you would.'
The commissioner's executive assistant came out of her office. 'Good morning, Peter. Glad you could make it.'
As if he had a choice. Pete made an effort to look calm and slightly unimpressed. Corin said, 'Well, Lucille. Let's find out how the wind's blowin' today.'
'I just buzzed him. You can go right in, Commander.'
But the commissioner opened his own door, greeting them heartily. His name was Frank Mullane.
'Well, Corin! Pleasure, as always. How is Kate? You know we've had a lot of concern.'
'She's nearly a hundred percent now, and she'll be pleased you were askin'.'
Mullane looked past him at Peter, then gave the young detective a partial embrace: handshake, bicep squeeze. 'When's the last time I saw you, Peter? Rackin' threes for Cardinal Hayes?'
'I think so, yes, sir.'
Mullane kept a hand on Peter's arm. 'Come in, come in. So are you likin' the action in the 7-5?'
'That's what I wanted, sir.'
As soon as they were inside the office, Lucille closing the door behind them, Peter saw John Ransome, wearing a suit and a tie today. It had been more than a month since the artist's show at the Mellichamp Gallery. Echo hadn't said another two words about Ransome; Peter had forgotten about him. Now he had a feeling that a brick was sinking to the pit of his stomach.
'Peter,' Mullane said, 'you already know John Ransome.' Pete's father gave him a quick look. 'John, this is Corin O'Neill, Pete's father, one of the finest men I've had on my watch.'
The older men shook hands. Peter just stared at Ransome.
'John's an artist, I suppose you know,' Mullane said to Corin. 'My brother owns one of his paintings.
And John has been a big supporter of police charities since well before I came to the office. Now, he has a little request, and we're happy to oblige him.' Mullane turned and winked at Peter. 'Special assignment for you. John will explain.'
'I'm sure he will,' Peter said.
A chartered helicopter flew Peter and John Ransome to the White Plains airport, where a limousine picked them up. They traveled north through Westchester County on Route 22 to Bedford. Estate country. They hadn't talked much on the helicopter, and on the drive through some of the most expensive real estate on the planet Ransome had phone calls to make. He was apologetic. Peter just nodded and looked out the window, feeling that his time was being wasted. He was sure that, eventually, Ransome was going to bring up Echo. He hadn't forgotten about her, and in his own quiet way he was a determined guy.
Once Ransome was off the phone for good Peter decided to go on the offensive.
'You live up this way?'
'I was raised here,' Ransome said. 'Bedford Village.'
'So that's where we're going, your house?'
'No. The house I grew up in is no longer there. I let go of all but a few acres after my parents died.'
'Must've been worth a bundle.'
'I didn't need the money.'
“You were rich already, is that it?'
'Yes.'
'So—this special assignment the commissioner was talking about? You need for somebody to handle a, what, situation for you? Somebody causing you a problem?'
'You're my only problem at the moment, Peter.'
'Okay, well, maybe I guessed that. So this is going to be about Echo?'
Ransome smiled disarmingly. 'Do you think I'm a rich guy out to steal your girl, Peter?'
'I'm not worried. Echo's not gonna be your—what do you call it, your 'subject?' You know that already.'
'I think there is more of a personal dilemma than you're willing to admit. It affects both you and Echo.'
Peter shrugged, but the back of his neck was heating up.
'I don't have any personal dilemmas, Mr. Ransome. That's for guys who have too much time and too much money on their hands. You know? So they try to amuse themselves messin' around in other people's lives,
