McDERMOTT STANDS alone in the interview room where Paul Riley sat thirty minutes ago.
“He ran back to his office,” a uniform says. “He said you could call him there.”
“He did, did he?” McDermott frowns at the officer, but Riley wasn’t in custody, he was free to waltz out. He goes to his desk just as the phone rings, startling him. Why does that always happen to him?
“McDermott.”
“Mike, Bentley just got back from whatever meeting he was in.”
“Tell him to get his ass in here right now. Tell him right now, Tom, or I come to him, and it’s not pretty.”
“Okay, Mike. Listen, he won’t be coming alone. He’s got a lawyer.”
A lawyer. “Paul Riley?”
“No, not Riley. Some other guy. Don’t know him.”
Now, that’s interesting. Bentley isn’t using Riley.
He places the phone in the cradle and it rings immediately. “Dammit.” He lifts the receiver. “McDermott.”
“It’s Paul Riley.”
“Oh, well, speak of-”
“He just dropped off another note. He stopped a messenger in the lobby, about ten minutes ago.”
“Bring it to me,” he tells Riley. “I’ll get some uniforms over there.”
“He was wearing glasses and a blue baseball cap. A button-down shirt and trousers,” says Riley. “But he’s probably in the wind by now.”
“Yeah, thanks, Riley. Get the hell in here.” McDermott makes a call, dispatches some uniforms to the scene, but he’s less than optimistic.
SWITCH NOW, after dropping off the note at Riley’s building, back to the parking garage, take the elevator to eight, get in the Chrysler LeBaron with state license plate J41258-the one they just described on the radio, be on the lookout, calling all cars, but, guess what, everyone-
Back out the car and drive down one floor to the beige Toyota Camry, another rental car, different rental company, he’s not stupid, different rental company, different fake name, it’s a good time of day to make the transfer, not first thing in the morning or quitting time, good time, not many cars, not many people, transfer the contents, transfer quickly, okay, good, that’s done, that’s done, now, one more thing, they always underestimate him, crazy Leo, he must be stupid, he’d never think of this-
Go to a secluded corner, a small alcove off the main strips of the parking garage, look at the cars parked against the cement wall, a sedan, parked nose in, but with a little space to maneuver between the front of the car and wall, enough space to duck in with a screwdriver, remove the front license plate, they’ll never know, won’t be looking at the front of the car when they get in, won’t see it until later when it’s way too late-
Take that license plate, exchange it with the LeBaron’s plate, they probably won’t search a parking garage, but, if they do, if they drive by and see a Chrysler LeBaron, they’ll see the license plate doesn’t match and move on, lazy, stupid cops, this is easy, he’s smarter-
Pull out into traffic and head toward the interstate. Almost done now.
I TAKE A CAB to the police station, carrying the manila envelope in a plastic shopping bag Betty gave me. I also bring the coded note I received on August 15, 1989, still encased in plastic. I give the cab bie a twenty and don’t wait for change. McDermott is waiting for me at the top of the stairs and waves me past the desk sergeant.
“You just come and go as you please now?”
I hand him the shopping bag and follow him to his desk. Ricki Stoletti, at her desk nearby, comes over.
“Where’s Gwendolyn Lake now?” she asks.
I tell her I have no idea. “I gave you her cell number.”
“Yeah, and she didn’t answer.”
“I told her to call you,” I say, but my focus is on McDermott, who is wearing latex gloves and opening the top of the manila envelope with a letter opener. He dumps out a regular-sized white envelope.
He nods to me. “What else is in here?”
I show it to him, the note I received from August 15, 1989.
“A job well done,” he says, reading the Post-it I attached to it. “Any idea what a ‘job well done’ might have been?”
I clear my throat and tell him. The letter was referring to the dismissal of Cassie’s murder from the case.
“Oh.” He coughs out the word, like a laugh. “How’s that Burgos case looking now, Counselor?”
“She had a secret,” I say. “Whoever wrote this was glad it stayed a secret.”
McDermott stares at me. “Y‘know, Riley, for a guy who everyone says is so smart-”
“Open the note, McDermott.”
He takes the white envelope and slices open the top, dumps out a single piece of paper, folded in three. With his gloved hands, he smooths out the paper.
I grab a notepad and pen off his desk as all three of us read it:
I scribble it out as quickly as I can:
I-F-Y-O-U-B-E-H-A-V-E-S-H-E-W-I-L-L-L-I-V-E-T-O-O. IF YOU BEHAVE, SHE WILL LIVE, TOO.
McDermott says, “If you-”
I brush past him and pick up his phone, dialing the numbers so quickly I mess it up the first time.
“Children’s Advocacy Project.”
“Shelly Trotter, please.”
“Shelly-is not in. Can I-”
“Has she been in?”
“Has she-who am I speaking to?”
“This is Paul Riley,” I say.
Voices in the background. I make out Rena Schroeder, the supervising attorney. Shelly’s boss. I hear my name thrown out, then the phone changing hands.
“Paul, this is Rena.”
“Rena, where’s Shelly?”
“I was going to ask you that. She didn’t show up today. She missed
