who was not beyond making visitors strip naked if he thought it was necessary to get them to prove they were harmless.
‘What’s he look like?’ Doyle asks.
‘Geeky-looking kid with red hair and a squeaky voice. Acts like something’s missing upstairs, if you know what I mean.’
Shit, thinks Doyle. What the. .
‘Keep him there. I’ll be right down.’
Doyle ends the call and heads for the stairs. Cesario will have to wait.
When he gets down to the first floor, Wilson looks at him, then directs his gaze toward the waiting zone opposite his desk. Gonzo is sitting between two doped-up hookers and looking petrified that he’s about to have his virginity snatched away from him. He holds a black cloth bag firmly on his lap, as though using it as a groin shield.
Doyle beckons him over with his finger. As Gonzo gets up, one of the hookers pinches his ass, and he scampers across for Doyle’s protection.
‘Outside,’ says Doyle.
‘But-’
‘Outside.’
They exit through the large double doors of the station house, Gonzo now clutching the bag tightly under one arm. Doyle takes him by the sleeve and drags him along the street.
‘What are you doing here?’ Doyle demands.
‘What do you mean? And where are we going?’
‘I said not to come here. I said to call me on my cell.’
‘No. No you didn’t. You said your cell number was the only one I should use if I wanted to phone you, but that I shouldn’t phone you on the precinct number. You didn’t say anything about making personal visits. I have a good memory for things like that.’
Doyle stops and spins Gonzo to face him.
‘Did you have to take it so literally? Wasn’t there a small part of that gargantuan brain of yours that said, Hey, maybe that means he wants to keep this under wraps?’
Gonzo blinks at him. ‘Why would you want to keep it quiet? This is a homicide investigation. You never said it was a homicide. Does Lonnie know about this?’
Doyle stares back at Gonzo for several seconds. He brings his hand out of his pocket in a sudden move that causes Gonzo to flinch. In his hand is the key to his car.
‘Get in.’
Doyle opens up the car, and they both clamber inside. Doyle doesn’t start the engine.
He says, ‘How do you know it’s a homicide?’
‘This computer belongs to Cindy Mellish. Her name is in lots of her files on here. She’s the same Cindy Mellish who worked in that bookstore, right?’
‘Maybe,’ says Doyle. He thinks about it for a while. Realizes he has to admit at least something if this conversation is to go anywhere. ‘Okay, yes. The computer belongs to the homicide victim from the bookstore. Happy now?’
Gonzo pushes his glasses up his nose. ‘I don’t get it.’
‘Get what?’
‘This. The cloak and dagger stuff. I mean, it’s really cool and everything, but-’
‘Wait! Wait a minute. Cool? Why is it cool?’
‘Well. . it’s exciting. Working with you like this. I don’t normally get to-’
‘Gonzo! Hold on. We are not working together, okay? I’m not looking to set up some kind of long-term relationship here. I just asked you to do a little job for me. That’s it. End of story.’
Gonzo looks crestfallen. Like he’s just had his favorite toy snatched away.
Doyle adopts a more mellow tone. ‘Look, it’s complicated. Don’t ask me to explain. There are things happening on this case that I can’t tell anyone about. It’ll all come out eventually, but right now it has to be kept quiet.’
‘A secret,’ Gonzo says.
‘Yes.’
‘Just between us.’
‘Yes.’
‘I won’t tell anyone.’
‘Good.’
‘Does Lonnie know?’
‘No, not even Lonnie knows about this.’
‘Just you and me.’
‘Yes.’
‘Wow.’
Gonzo sits there nodding and smiling and staring into space. This is the high point in his week. Maybe even in his whole sad life. It almost pains Doyle to break the spell.
‘So. .’ he prompts.
Gonzo raises his face. ‘What?’
‘Did you find anything?’
‘Where?’
Jesus, thinks Doyle, not for the first time.
‘On the computer?’
It’s as if Gonzo suddenly realizes where he is and what he’s doing here.
‘Oh. Oh! The diary. What you asked me to look for.’
‘Yes. Did you find the diary?’
Gonzo unzips his bag and starts rummaging around inside. ‘You are gonna love this. You are so gonna. .’
‘Gonzo.’
‘. . love this. I mean, when you see what. .’
‘Gonzo!’
‘. . I found on this baby, you will just. .’
‘GONZO! Did you find the freakin’ diary?’
Gonzo pulls out a sheaf of paper and holds it up triumphantly. ‘I found it. It was hidden in her pictures folder and it was encrypted.’
‘It was what?’
‘Encrypted. It was in code. That’s what took me so long to get back to you. I had to break the encryption.’
Doyle reaches out for the paper. ‘That’s fantastic, Gonzo. Good job.’
Gonzo makes no attempt to hand over his document. ‘Don’t you want to know what’s in it?’
‘Well, I thought I’d just read it through and-’
‘It’s mostly crap. Girly stuff, you know?’ He gives Doyle a knowing wink, as if to lay claim to being a man of the world who knows all about girly stuff. ‘Most of it was written a while back, when she was with her boyfriend. What she thought about him. All that lovey-dovey stuff that makes you want to puke, you know?’
‘Okay, Gonzo. That’s great. So if I could just-’
‘And of course then he goes and dumps her, doesn’t he? That’s when she gets really emotional, and her whole universe is falling around her ears, and nobody loves her any more, and life isn’t worth living. I mean, puh- lease!’
Doyle puts his fingers on the papers. ‘Maybe if I was to take a look at-’
‘But then there’s the therapist. And that’s when it gets interesting.’
They both fall quiet. Each studies the other.
Doyle lets his fingers drop from the printout. ‘Therapist? What therapist?’
