They returned to the car and sat there, the ignition turned off as Behr had been taught, breath clouding the cold air.
“We could chase around to the home address, but we could end up missing him all over the place. I say we invest a few hours in waiting.”
Paul nodded his agreement.
They sat for a quarter hour in attentive silence, both scrupulously avoiding the events of the morning, Paul ’ s methodic flexing and rubbing of his hands the only tangible reminder of what had gone on. Then Behr spoke.
“It was a chance I took bringing you to County. Lots of guys would ’ ve collared up in that situation” — Behr put a hand near his throat in a choking gesture — “but you did good.”
“If lots of guys would ’ ve collared up, why ’ d you risk bringing me?” Paul asked.
“You ’ re not lots of guys.”
Paul nodded his thanks. “Neither are you, Frank.”
They fell silent again and watched midday slide through to early afternoon. Before long Paul ’ s breathing deepened. His eyelids began to flicker and he drifted off into a light sleep.
Paul felt his bones go to rubber. His mind released to a place without thought. A golden darkness surrounded him. He walked down a beach of powdery sand. He was in Destin, Florida. They had gone there as a family three years ago Easter, but he was there now, in a time out of time. A parasailer floated by him, towed by a boat, black in silhouette against the sky. As the canopy cleared it, the sun shone bright in his eyes. He did not look away. He felt his thudding footsteps absorbed by the sand, sucking his feet downward. He knew he was dozing, dreaming, but the images were more real than any reality he ’ d known. He kept walking and began to come up on the figure of his wife. She was in a bathing suit, her body young and firm. His eyes traveled down her arm, with aching slowness, to her hand. Hers held on to the small hand of a boy. Jamie. His son ’ s feet moved in a youthful dance, like a colt ’ s, light sand kicking up around his ankles. Paul walked faster, his legs feeling incredibly heavy. Still, he gained ground, one step, two steps closer. Suddenly, his wife ’ s and his son ’ s hands broke free. Jamie skipped down the beach, nimble, free. Paul had no hope of catching him. His legs were rubber. Jamie wasn ’ t fleeing, though; he turned where he was, as he used to when he was a young child, exploring the boundaries of independence but wanting to be sure his parents were still there. Paul ’ s wakeful mind rose up and he asked himself the very clear question of whether this was a mere dream or if he was being visited by the spirit of his dead son.
His eyes snapped open and he was back in the cold car. There was no time to revel in or mourn the vision, as a man was crossing from a gleaming sedan toward the Tudor building. Paul looked out at him and saw with the fleeting, penetrating clarity that the edge of consciousness brings. He ’ d believed he ’ d faced a difficult, ugly fact of the world that morning at the jail, but in that one look through the windshield he recognized that there were layers upon layers of filth and meanness, and he ’ d only been at the surface.
Behr was already halfway out of the car when Paul went for his door handle.
“Yeah, Mr. Riggi, how are you?” The eyes of the man in the expensive coat darted and revealed they had the right person. “We ’ re interested in some property — ”
“No, you ’ re not,” Riggi said, stopping and squaring, cutting right through Behr ’ s little pretext. “What do you want?”
“You ’ re right, it ’ s not about property. It ’ s about your side business — ”
“Side business? No. I ’ m a Realtor. If it ’ s not about property, there ’ s nothing I can do for you.”
“We spoke to an associate of yours, a nasty guy in a nasty place. He says different.”
“Oh, yeah? Who was that?”
“Garth Mintz.” Behr watched Riggi ’ s jaw work, his face going a bit more florid than even the cold demanded.
“I don ’ t have any associate by that name. What is it you want?”
“Yeah, you do — ”
“What, exactly, do you want? It ’ s the last time I ’ m asking.”
Behr recognized that they had reached the point where there was nothing to do but plunge forward. “We ’ re here about a boy named Jamie Gabriel, who went missing.”
Amazing things happened on Riggi ’ s face. Several complex emotions began and were then reined in, no single one allowed to reach full bloom. The net effect was a vacant sort of expression that revealed nothing. The guy was harder to read than a Chinese Bible. Behr realized he was witnessing deception on a very high level. He would need hours with the man, in a controlled environment, applying an array of interrogation techniques, if he hoped to be sure of a truthful response. When Riggi spoke, his voice was even and unhurried.
“Never heard the name. Don ’ t know anything about it. If this Mintz said I did, I should probably go talk to him about it. Where ’ s he at?”
Behr respected the man ’ s effort at turning the inquiry into a question of his own. “Don ’ t worry about that,” he countered.
Riggi ’ s chest practically heaved under his overcoat as he asked his next question, though his voice remained level. “Who are you, then? You know, in case I think of something that ’ ll help, so ’ s I can pass it on to you.”
Behr stared across the short distance into Riggi ’ s eyes. They were porcine, black and cold, but intelligent. He reached into his pocket and drew out a business card. It was a smart move by Riggi, putting Behr in a position to give information about himself.
“Here.” Behr handed him the card. Riggi looked it over.
“Okay, Mr. Behr.” Then Riggi ’ s eyes tracked over to Paul. “And how do I reach you, quiet guy?”
Behr answered for him. “Quiet guy ’ s my associate. He doesn ’ t have a card. You can reach him through me.”
Riggi nodded as if the answer told him much more than the words seemed to. “I see.” He tucked the business card away and made to move toward his office. “I ’ m going now. If you two ever plan on coming back, you better make an appointment first.”
“We ’ ll do that,” Behr said, matching Riggi ’ s stare. The man before him was no pervert wrestling with his desires. He was an organized man, a businessman. If Behr had thought he ’ d been in the presence of evil in the interrogation room at County, he knew he had now witnessed a much more evolved version.
Riggi sat in his vacant office in the dark. He ’ d locked the door behind him and drawn the blinds. A bottle of Lagavulin was in easy reach of one hand, the business card rested in his other. FRANK BEHR, INVESTIGATIVE SERVICES. There was a telephone number, a cell phone number, and a fax number. All the information he could possibly need. He ’ d read bad news off the guy as soon as the fucker and his mute friend had rolled up on him. And now, a few hours later, as he thought it over slowly, carefully, he was sure Behr was the same man who ’ d put the bitch-slapping on Tad Ford. He was certainly big enough to do it, and he must have had plenty of drive to end up on his doorstep. Riggi had assumed, or perhaps hoped, that Tad hadn ’ t given anything up the night he ’ d been braced, that there hadn ’ t been time before Tad was no more. He had half talked himself into believing that was the case, as time had passed since the incident and there ’ d been no further ripples. But he saw now that he ’ d been wrong. He had deluded himself. Believing what he wanted to, rather than seeing what was, was no way for a serious man to operate. There had been an article in the paper about a female cop being beaten. Police hadn ’ t released the name of the assailant. He had his guess. Either that, or Tad had spit out enough for this detective to have found Rooster, and the man had found some damn way to make Rooster talk. Riggi took a swallow of scotch against the chill that this thought delivered. Now it was all pressing up on him. He didn ’ t like that. It was time to make ready for war.
He reached across his desk, picked up the phone, and dialed.
“Wenck?” he said. “It ’ s Oscar. Is Gilley with you? Good. It ’ s time we did business.”
TWENTY-FIVE
Behr sat in Paul’s office using the computer late into the afternoon. He began by checking Riggi ’ s name with various search engines and newsgroups. No mention appeared. Most people were referenced in some fashion, by wedding, funeral, or various other announcements that invariably found their way onto the Internet. Behr considered whether he was dealing with an alias or a changed-name situation. He leaned back and noticed the
