after Myron and Win had revealed their discovery. That meant Myron and Win were the leak.
So who had they told?
The finger pointed back to Clip.
He turned on Route 3 and entered the Meadowlands complex. The arena loomed before him like a large UFO on a white landing pad. Did Clip Arnstein murder Liz Gorman and clean up the blood? Myron wrestled with the possibility, but he didn’t like it. How had Clip gotten inside Greg’s house? There were no signs of forced entry. Had he picked the lock? Doubtful. Did he have a key? Doubtful. Did he hire a professional? Still doubtful. Clip hadn’t even let a private investigator do a simple credit card check on Greg for fear word would get out. Whom would he trust to clean up the blood of a person he murdered?
And something else still jabbed at Myron with a sharpened, steel point: the woman’s clothes in the bedroom. They had been packed away too. Why would Clip remove all traces of a secret girlfriend? Why would anybody?
The different scenarios swirled in Myron’s head like rubber ducks in a whirlpool. He concentrated again on the mystery girlfriend. Could it have been Fiona White? She wasn’t talking, but Myron firmly believed that she was not the one. How could Fiona have lived with Greg and kept it hidden from a husband as obsessively jealous as Leon? Perhaps there had been some entanglement between Greg and Fiona—a casual fling in a motel room or something—but Myron no longer believed even that. The more he thought about it, the “greatest night of sexual ecstasy” epistle was more of a come-on than the talk of two familiar lovers. It seemed more logical that Greg was telling Leon the truth when he said he would never sleep with another man’s wife. The thought gave Myron’s old shame new life.
A commercial came on the radio. A very hip man and a very hip woman were enjoying a Molson’s Golden far too much. They spoke in low voices and laughed at each other’s lame jokes. Myron switched it off.
He still had more questions than answers. But when he picked up his cellular phone to check Greg’s answering machine, his fingers began to tremble. Something tightened his chest, making it hard to breathe. This feeling, however, was not like pregame jitters. In fact, it was the furthest thing from them.
Chapter 37
Myron rushed by Clip’s secretary.
“He’s not in there,” she cried.
Ignoring her, he opened the office door. The lights were off and the room was empty. He spun back toward the secretary. “Where is he?”
The secretary, a classic battle-ax who had probably been with Clip since the Coolidge Administration, put her hands on her hips. “I don’t have the slightest idea,” she huffed.
Calvin Johnson came out of the adjoining office. Myron approached him. He waited until they were inside Calvin’s office and the door was closed. “Where is he?”
Calvin held up his hands. “I don’t know. I tried his house, but there was no answer.”
“Does he have a car phone?”
“No.”
Myron shook his head and began pacing. “He lied to me,” Myron said. “The son of a bitch lied.”
“What?”
“He met with the blackmailer.”
Calvin raised an eyebrow. He moved to the chair behind his desk and sat down. “What are you talking about?”
“The night she was murdered,” Myron said, “Clip went to her apartment.”
“But she wasn’t supposed to meet with us until Monday,” Calvin said.
“Did you hear her say that?”
Calvin plucked at his chin with his thumb and pointer. The track lights from above his desk reflected off the receding forehead. His face remained the ever placid pool. “No,” he said slowly. “Clip told me.”
“He lied to you.”
“But why?”
“Because he’s hiding something.”
“Do you know what?”
“No,” Myron said. “But I intend to find out tonight.”
“How?”
“The blackmailer still wants to sell,” Myron said. “I’m his new buyer.”
Calvin tilted his head. “I thought you said the blackmailer was dead.”
“She had a partner.”
“I see,” Calvin said with a slow nod. “And you’re meeting tonight?”
“Yep. But I don’t know when or where. He’s supposed to call.”
“I see,” Calvin said again. He made a neat fist and coughed into it. “If it’s something damaging. I mean, something that could affect the outcome of the vote tomorrow….”
“I’ll do whatever is right, Calvin.”
“Of course. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”
Myron rose. “Let me know when he gets here.”
“Sure.”
Myron entered the locker room. TC was in his pregame pose—sprawled on a chair in the corner with a Walkman plugged into his ears, his eyes blazing straight ahead and unmoving. He did not acknowledge Myron. Leon was also there. He, too, studiously avoided Myron’s gaze. Not surprising.
Audrey approached. “How did it go with—?”
Myron shook his head to silence her. She nodded, understanding. “You okay?” she asked.
“Fine.”
“You think they can hear us?”
“I’m not taking any chances.”
Audrey looked left, then right. “You find something new?”
“Plenty,” Myron said. “You should have your story tonight. And then some.”
The gleam in her eye expanded. “You know where he is?”
Myron nodded. The locker room door opened. Calvin popped his head in. He leaned over and spoke to the Kipper for a moment. When he left, Myron noticed that he turned right, which led to the exit, as opposed to left which would have taken him back to his office.
The cellular phone in Myron’s pocket rang. He looked up at Audrey. Audrey looked back. He moved closer to the corner and picked it up.
“Hello?”
An electronically altered voice said, “You got the money?”
“You got lousy timing,” Myron said.
“Answer my question.”
Leon pulled up his gym shorts. TC stood and bobbed his head in rhythm to the music.
“I have it,” Myron said. “I also have a game tonight.”
“Forget the game. Do you know Overpeck Park?”
“The one in Leonia? Yeah, I know it.”
“Turn in the right side off Route Ninety-five. Then go down a quarter mile and make another right. You’ll see a cul-de-sac. Park there and look for a flashlight. Approach with both your hands raised.”
“Do I get to say a password?” Myron asked. “I loves passwords.”
“Fifteen minutes. Don’t be late. And for the record, I know your superhero partner is in his Park Avenue office. I have a man watching it. If he leaves between now and then, the deal is off.”
