somewhere.'
Neither of them knew how close they really were, I thought. And that's why both were dead.
CHAPTER 23
'According to the Record of Site Condition that Martin Glenn filed,' Jenn said, 'the southern end of the site was squeaky clean.'
'But according to the samples Will took, it's anything but.'
'Which provides somebody with an excellent motive for killing him.'
'And Glenn. And Maya.'
'You honestly think her father killed her?'
'Why not? I read somewhere that the vast majority of children who meet a violent end are killed by their own parents.'
'How could he live with himself?'
'Let's ask him,' I said.
'Where would we find him this time of day?'
'His office or the work site.'
'And?'
'The site is out of the question,' I said. 'Full of guys who could throw us out with one hand and eat their lunch with the other. The office has a receptionist or two to get past, but I think we could handle them.'
Jenn thought about that then broke into a smile that would charm anyone who didn't know her like I did. The smile of a fox who'd just discovered an unguarded henhouse.
'Want to mess with his head?' she asked. 'I'd rather thump it a few times.' 'Want to mess with it first?' Half an hour later, she dialled Cantor's office and asked, in a voice dripping both milk and honey, if Rob was in. 'No? Well, can you get an urgent message to him? Tell him I need to see him right away. At my apartment. My name? Look at your caller ID,' she said, and hung up.
We were calling from Maya's apartment. Jenn had played Maya's outgoing message a few times and practised pitching her voice in a similar range. Not as spot-on as her Scary Mary impression, but it got better with each try.
It took Rob all of three minutes to call back.
Jenn picked up the phone and whispered, 'Hello?'
I heard his voice blustering over the other end, asking what the hell this, who the hell that.
'Please come, Daddy,' she whispered, and hung up.
'You're creepier than you let on,' I said.
'Who isn't?' Jenn grinned. Jenn and I stood on Maya Cantor's balcony, watching a long V-shaped formation of geese fly south toward the lake. The wall around the balcony came up to my waist. I was a few inches taller than Maya. It felt safe to me. Probably had to her too, until someone hoisted her over.
How many seconds to fall from twelve floors up, I wondered. Probably three or four at the most. What did she feel in those last moments of her life? Did she see scenes of her brief life flashing by? Or was she just gripped with the terror of falling, the ground rushing up at her, unyielding black pavement ready to claim her broken body?
No. It would be the horror of knowing it was her own father who wanted her dead. Whether he had done it himself, or hired it out, she had to have known in the last cold seconds of her life that he was the one behind it.
My own father had died when I was fourteen, felled by a massive heart attack no one had foreseen. Unlike many of my friends, I never had the chance to see my dad grow old and weak. I had been spared the feelings a young man endures as his father is transformed from a giant, a hero, into an ordinary man-sometimes less than ordinary-flawed, fallible, unsure of himself. Buddy Geller would always be forty-four to me, with a full head of black hair, seemingly strong and robust. He would always be warm and loving.
He would never be my murderer.
I went back inside, leaving the sliding glass doors open, and stood facing the balcony. How had they done it? Grabbed her collar and waistband and heaved her over? Stood her up on the balcony wall and given her a strong shove?
I went back outside. 'Let's try an experiment,' I said to Jenn.
'What kind, doc?'
'Face the wall.'
'Like this?'
'Perfect.' I took hold of her belt and jacket collar and felt her whole body tense up.
'Relax,' I said.
'Yeah, right.'
'Maya was, what, five-seven? A hundred and thirty pounds?'
'Something like that.'
'And you're six feet.'
'Ask me my weight and you're a dead man.'
'I don't have to ask. I can feel it.'
'Was that a shot?'
'A statement. Now Rob Cantor is my size… a little taller than me.'
'In shape?'
'He works out.' I bent my knees and hefted Jenn a few inches off the ground.
'Jonah…'
'Don't worry,'
'Jonah!' she said.
'I'm not going to throw you off.'
'I know that,' she said. 'I just wanted to ask what kind of car Rob drives.'
I remembered a silver Mercedes parked at the job site: the only luxury sedan amidst a bunch of muddy pickups and SUVs. 'Grey or silver Mercedes, I think.'
'Then let go of me, doc. I think that's him down there.' A few minutes later, a key slid into the lock on Maya's front door. The door opened and Rob Cantor stepped inside. He stood in the doorway listening, looking around, then closed it behind him. He wore glasses with transitional lenses, darkened by the outside light, but slowly lightening to reveal the eyes behind them.
Roger Daltrey sings a Who song about a bad man behind blue eyes: how no one knows what it's like to be him. Could Cantor be that hated man, fated to telling only lies?
I stepped out of the kitchen, where I'd been crouched behind a counter.
'You,' he said. 'I should have figured you were behind this. I thought maybe your brother straightened you out, but I can see he didn't. Well, this is one sick fucking joke, calling me from here, pretending… How did you get in here anyway? No, don't tell me. Marilyn, right? She's in on this too. Was that her on the phone? I mean, if it was, she's even sicker than you are. You're doing it for the money, I can almost understand that, but what the fuck is wrong with her?'
'Not Marilyn,' Jenn said. She'd been in the doorway of Maya's bedroom. 'Just me, Daddy,' she whispered.
'Who the hell are you?' he said.
'My partner,' I said.
'It figures.' He took out his cellphone and flipped it open. 'Well, you're both fucking with the wrong guy. I know a lot of people in this town, Geller. Big people. And all of them are behind this project, including your brother. They want to see it happen. And when I get through with you, you'll be unlicensed and fucking well unemployable.'
'Are you through?'
