“Don’t go all Eastwood on me now-we were almost having a conversation.”
“You were doing the talking.”
She smiles at him, and there’s a little pity in it. “Okay,” she says softly. “But you’re remembering a different guy.”
She takes his hand again and leads him down the wharf, past a yellow cigarette boat, a chrome-heavy sport fisher, and a big white catamaran. She’s whistling again, softly, and Carr sighs.
“What about you?” he asks. “No lingering mommy and daddy issues?”
She laughs. “You don’t know anybody more mentally healthy than me.”
“Most of the people I know are borderline sociopaths. Your parents stay together?”
Her laugh is sharp, and it echoes like a shot on the water. “They were both military, so they knew how to fight. It was like a nonstop cage match.”
“But you have no issues.”
She shakes her head and slips her arm around him. “It doesn’t always have to be like that, you know-like my parents, and yours. Like the battling Bessemers.”
“I haven’t seen many examples to the contrary.”
Valerie moves in front of him, and slides her hands under his shirt. They’re cold and smooth against his ribs, and a shudder runs through him. “Maybe that’s what we’ll do afterward,” she whispers. “You and me. We’ll conduct a little research to find some happy couples. We’ll be like archaeologists.”
“You think we’ll have to dig them up?”
Valerie laughs, and her mouth is hungry on his. “Early morning tomorrow,” she whispers. “We should call it a night.”
20
Carr arrives at the workhouse at three p.m. on Friday. He has swum, showered, shaved, and dressed in a blazer, jeans, and dark glasses. No one inside the house looks as good.
Bobby is bristled and fragile, and he’s working slowly though a liter of Coke and an egg sandwich. Latin Mike is also unshaven, vaguely jaundiced, and unconcerned with anything beyond the cup of coffee on the table before him, the cigarette burning in his ashtray, and the bottle of Advil in his hand. Dennis is green, shaking death. Carr lets the door slam behind him and smiles when they wince.
“I see you’ve been busy while I was away,” he says loudly. Mike ignores him, and Bobby flips him the bird over his sandwich. Carr chuckles. “How’s our man Bessemer doing?” he asks.
Dennis wipes sweat from his forehead. “Pickled. He was at the gin again last night, and didn’t get up until noon. Hasn’t been out of the house yet today. Stearn called him an hour ago, to check that his party was still on for tonight.”
“And?”
“Howie told him nine o’clock.”
“Has he spoken to Prager again?”
“He’s tried twice-yesterday and the day before-and got nowhere.” Carr nods. “And Amy Chun? How’s she coming along?”
Dennis taps on his keyboard. “Good. I pulled some stuff from her laptop-her personal one, not the Isla Privada equipment.”
“And?”
Dennis manages a smile. “She’s been e-mailing Val-Jill, I mean. She talks about how she misses her, how much she enjoys hanging out with her.”
“Fuckin’ Vee,” Bobby says through a mouthful of egg.
“Chun’s also been searching for anything and everything about Jill Creary on the Web,” Dennis says.
“No more stalking Janice Lessig?”
“Not for a while now.”
“What’s she finding on Jill?”
“Everything we put out there, everything Val asked for. Footprints in New York and in Boston. Modeling, PR, cooking school.”
“Chun does all the looking herself? No professional help?”
“All by herself,” Dennis says, and scrolls through some e-mail. “Her last note to Jill, she talks about the two of them going on vacation together.”
Carr shakes his head. “That’s fast.”
Mike rouses himself from his coffee to smile bitterly. “A real heart-breaker, that Vee.”
Bobby laughs, takes a bite of his sandwich, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He looks at Carr. “You gonna say how your trip went?”
“It went fine, Bobby.”
“Fine as in you had a nice little vacation, or fine as in you found something out about Bessemer?”
Carr smiles, but says nothing.
“Asshole,” Bobby says, and he takes a long swallow of Coke. “What time do we set up at Howie’s tonight?”
Carr’s smile widens. “I’m thinking six.”
Latin Mike scowls. “Why the hell we need to get there so early? Stearn won’t show till nine, and the pimp’s people won’t be any sooner.”
“We don’t need to wait for them,” Carr says. “We don’t need them.”
Dennis looks up. “What?”
“We don’t need them. We’re set for tonight, without them.”
Confusion and relief play across Dennis’s pale face. “What about Stearn, and Lamp? They’re expecting-”
“Howie will sort them out for us.”
Latin Mike shakes his head. “Guess jefe ’s trip worked out okay.”
Bobby looks at Carr. “How do you want to work it tonight?”
“We give Bessemer no time to think,” Carr says. “I want fear, confusion, and compliance.”
Bobby nods, and burps loudly. “You sound just like my ex,” he says.
21
Water gurgles in the shower drain as Howard Bessemer presses a towel to his face, and then he hears his front door open. He leaves damp footprints on the tiles as he steps cautiously out of his bedroom, and a puddle forms where he stands frozen and stares openmouthed at the men in his entrance foyer.
Carr hands the laptop to Latin Mike. “Set it up in the living room,” he says, and Mike nods and walks off. Carr looks at Bessemer. “You want to get your pants on, Howie, or are you good like that?”
Bessemer wraps his towel more tightly about his waist. His mouth closes and opens again and a sound comes out, but it’s not a word.
“Pants, Howie.”
Bessemer squints, and takes a step backward. “Wha… What?”
Carr points to the bedroom. “Pants.”
“Who… Who the hell are-”
“Get your fucking pants on, Howie,” Carr says, smiling, and he unbuttons his blazer and lets Bessemer see the Glock in his belt. Bessemer backs slowly into the bedroom, and Carr counts to twenty. When he walks to the bedroom door, he finds Bessemer holding the telephone handset, staring at it.
“Just out of curiosity, Howie, if the phone was working, just who do you think you’d call?”
Bessemer drops the phone and stumbles on the edge of his towel. Carr waits in the doorway while Bessemer
