Vasey shakes his head, an expression of disbelief and revulsion on his face.
‘This is too much. Now you have really gone too far. I don’t know what-’ He stops himself in mid-sentence. Something has dawned on him. His mouth twists into a humorless smile. ‘Oh, no. No you don’t. You’re trying to make me a suspect, aren’t you? That’s what this is about. You’re getting nowhere with your murder case, and so you’re frantically trying to find someone to pin it on. Well, I’m sorry, gentlemen, but it’s not going to work. Not with me.’
Doyle presses on. ‘Dr Vasey, did you go to see Cindy Mellish at the bookstore where she worked? Did you make sexual advances to her, and did she slap you in the face?’
Vasey just sits there shaking his head slowly, as if in pity for his poor desperate interrogator.
‘Give it up, Detective. It’s not working. I don’t know what really brought you here, and frankly I don’t care. My guess is that you came across my name in some totally innocent context, drew some very tenuous and fanciful conclusions, and then concocted this whole charade to see if you could get me to blab. Well, tough. It was a nice attempt, but I’m afraid it was always doomed to fail. To be frank, even if I’d been guilty I would have seen that pathetic ruse for what it was. It doesn’t take a degree in psychology to realize what you’re doing. Now if you’ll forgive me, I have clients to see. Genuine ones.’
Doyle doesn’t want to leave. He thinks that Vasey is too smug, too smart. But Doyle also knows that, for the moment at least, he doesn’t have enough ammunition to continue this battle.
Before he departs, he warns Vasey not to leave the city.
Says Vasey, ‘I don’t plan to go anywhere, Detective. I’m innocent of any crime. Why would I need to abscond?’
In the corridor outside the office, Doyle says nothing. He remains mute as they wait for the elevator. Continues with the silent act as he pounds the button to descend.
‘He could be lying,’ says Holden. ‘He’s a shrink. He knows about lying, body language, all that shit. Right now, though, it’s just a he-said-she-said. We need more.’
Doyle is thinking the same thing. He needs more. And that need is making him furious. The diary was supposed to provide answers. It was supposed to lead him to the killer.
Did it do that? Could Vasey possibly be their man?
Maybe.
But
Not when someone’s life is about to run out.
TEN
Doyle’s shift officially finishes at four o’clock, but it’s after five before he gets out of the station house. He walks along Seventh Street, his mind buzzing. Less than seven hours to go now, and he’s not convinced he can stop what’s coming.
He arrives at his car, takes out his keys. He is so preoccupied he doesn’t hear the footsteps until the figure is within striking distance. Doyle whirls, his hand reaching for his gun.
‘Hey, Detective!’
Doyle blows air. ‘Jesus Christ, Gonzo. What are you trying to do, get yourself shot? Don’t sneak up on me like that.’
Gonzo puts on the sad puppy-dog eyes. ‘You said not to come into the station house. So I didn’t. I waited for you outside. You know, to keep our little secret.’
‘All right, Gonzo, all right. What are you doing here, anyhow?’
‘I thought maybe I could catch up on the case. Find out what happened. Shall we get a coffee?’
‘No, Gonzo. No coffee.’
‘Well, then. . How about the park? It’s a nice evening. We could sit in the park while we chat.’
‘Gonzo, it’s been a long day. I’m tired. I need to go home.’
‘Oh, okay. But what about Vasey? Did you speak with him? What did he say about the girl? Did he own up to it? Did you have to get a little rough with him? I bet you did. I bet he refused to say anything, so you had to roll up your sleeves and swear at him. Did you hit him? Because that’s okay with me. I mean, not that generally I think violence is the answer, because I don’t, but when-’
Doyle feels like employing a little violence right now, but makes do with a hand clamped over Gonzo’s mouth.
‘Kid, listen to me for a minute, okay?’
Gonzo nods, his eyes wide. Doyle takes his hand away slowly.
‘Let’s get something straight. I’m a cop, and you’re a lab technician. Those two things, they’re not the same. I’m sure you’re a very clever guy, and you do all kinds of valuable things for the PD. You must have helped put a lot of bad guys behind bars. You should be proud of that. I couldn’t do what you do. I don’t have the brains. Most of what I do is fill out forms and answer phones and talk to people. So don’t go thinking it’s glamorous, because it ain’t. Stick with what you’re doing, and don’t go looking to mess with the shit I have to deal with. Believe me, you’re better off.’
Gonzo appears unconvinced. ‘Yeah, but. . You said it was a secret. Just me and you. How can you handle a case like this all by yourself? I thought maybe I could-’
‘No! You hear me? No!’ Doyle feels like he’s talking to a young child who wants to help out in the kitchen. Like he has to be told in no uncertain terms that while it’s okay to fill a kettle, the sharp knives and the stove are definitely out of bounds. ‘It’s not safe. And anyway, things have changed. I got somebody else working with me now.’
Gonzo blinks at him. He looks as though he’s just been jilted at the altar.
‘Somebody else?’
‘Yes.’
‘But you can’t have. You said it was complicated, and you couldn’t tell anybody except me.’
‘I think I also made it clear it was a temporary situation. It’s different now. When I went to see Vasey, it was with a partner.’
‘A partner.’
‘Yeah. Another detective.’
Gonzo looks down at his worn-out sneakers. ‘So you don’t need me anymore?’
‘Not at the moment. But the next time I get a case involving computers, you’re the first guy I’ll come looking for.’
Gonzo scrapes one of his feet on the sidewalk. ‘Okay.’
Doyle bends at the knees to get a look at Gonzo’s downturned face. ‘Okay?’
‘Yeah.’
Doyle straightens up and slaps Gonzo on the shoulder. ‘Go home, kid. Give that brain of yours a rest.’
For a few moments, Doyle isn’t sure he’s been heard. Gonzo stands rooted to the spot. Eventually he turns and shuffles away, still studying the ground.
Watching him go, Doyle shakes his head and wonders how somebody like that manages to get around in this city without being devoured by it.
‘Why do dogs walk so fast?’
Doyle stops stroking his daughter’s hair.
‘What?’
‘Why do dogs walk so fast? When I see dogs on the street or in the park, they always walk really, really fast. They’re always in a hurry. They never walk at the same speed as people. Even when they’re on a leash they try to pull the person along.’
Doyle tucks in Amy’s bed covers while he mulls over his reply. It’s not a question that’s ever crossed his mind before, but he can tell from the earnestness on Amy’s face that a considered answer is required.
‘Well, what you have to remember, hon, is that dogs have twice as many legs as people.’
‘Oh,’ says Amy. ‘Yes.’
