Detectives Jay and Rutledge share a long, exasperated look at each other.
“We have some questions for you,” says Detective Jay. “But we want to interview you separately, if you don’t mind.”
“I’m afraid I can’t allow that,” says Angelo Marino, again stepping in. “I’m afraid that won’t be happening.”
I want to tell Angelo Marino to leave us alone, to stand down and let the detectives work. But it isn’t just us he is protecting. It’s the entire Nylo Corporation. He knows better than we do.
Detective Jay sighs.
“Right, figured as much,” says Detective Rutledge. “Look, we’ll investigate all the angles here on our own. Thank you for your help, but if we need to talk with you, we’ll be in touch.”
The bell dings as he finishes speaking, and Rutledge gets up to retrieve his own haul of pizza: two pepperoni slices and two large squares of deep-dish Sicilian.
“You want a slice?” Detective Jay asks me, noticing me staring at their pizza.
I stand up and so does Alistair, following my lead.
“Look, go home and get some sleep,” says Detective Jay. “We’ll be in touch if we have any news to tell you. Thank you for all of your interesting leads. We are so sorry for your tragic loss.”
“So that’s it?” I demand.
“Unless you want any of this pizza,” says Detective Jay, grinning as he takes another bite.
Disgusted, I storm out of Joe’s Famous. The three of us walk back to the limo. We get inside and start driving, headed for the office, unsure of where else to go.
“I could try and trace the calls,” says Alistair. “Try and figure out where this Game Master is.”
“If the police don’t care, what can we even do?” I ask Angelo Marino. He stares out the window a long time, weighing my words, watching the bright lights and drunken revelers of early morning Manhattan speed by.
“I guess you keep playing,” he says.
16
The office is dark and silent. The security guard on the ground floor is surprised to see all three of us. He gives me a cool nod. We ride the elevator in silence to the top floor, to my father’s office. It’s clear from the tension that all three of us are thinking about Henley’s last moments, of the terror he must have felt as the elevator plummeted forty stories and killed him.
The abrupt cut to black as the camera was destroyed in the fall was chilling. It is the blackness that consumes us all in the end.
“Gabriella and Bernard are on their way,” says Angelo Marino, after we enter the office.
I pace back and forth, helping myself to my father’s bourbon while Alistair mumbles something again about trying to trace the game phones. He leaves. I excuse myself and go into one of the conference rooms and call Pez.
“Oh my god, Caitlyn, it’s so late at night!” he says after a few rings.
“Pez, I want to know if you’ve learned anything yet about why Henley had to come back so soon to the United States. I want to know what happened to him in China.”
“I have learned a little,” he says. “Mostly just rumors and tidbits. I don’t have anything concrete yet, though I am meeting with one of his many exes tomorrow to see what she can tell me.”
“I am specifically wondering if you know any reason why anybody might want him dead,” I ask, my voice trembling. I am trying to stay calm, but it isn’t quite working. I slowly pace around the conference room in a tight circle, like a tiny dog in a bathtub.
“I’ll know more when I talk to Sheila tomorrow,” says Pez. “She and Henley were evidently in touch these past few weeks and he went to see her as soon as he got back into town.”
Should I tell him or not? If I tell him, will he tell Sheila? Will that spook her and keep Pez from learning anything concrete from her? Or will telling her that Henley is dead let her know that the stakes are very high and there is no sense protecting any of Henley’s secrets anymore?
“Henley is dead,” I finally say. “He was killed in an elevator crash at the Empire State Building a few hours ago.”
“What?” says Pez. “I don’t understand.”
“We saw the video,” I explain. “It has to be related to the game.”
Pez doesn’t know what to say. He is stammering, searching for words.
“I think somebody is trying to kill us all,” I whisper.
“You think it’s related to this game?”
“Maybe,” I say. “Yes. I don’t know. Anyway, whatever we initially agreed upon as pay, I’m tripling your fee. But I need information and I need it fast. Anything you can find out about Henley, my father, the game—anything. I need it as soon as possible.”
“Okay,” says Pez. “I’ll keep pushing.”
“Call me every few hours,” I say. “Even if you don’t have anything new to report, I just want to know what you are doing and what leads you are working. I don’t really feel like I can trust anybody else here, you know? I don’t want to feel all alone in this.”
“You can trust me,” says Pez. “I loved your father and I love all of you kids.”
“You love everyone,” I say generously.
“I do. And I’m going back to sleep now,” he says. “So I can get right on it in the morning.”
I hang up and head back to the office, where Angelo Marino is sitting at a laptop, typing furiously. Alistair is nowhere to be seen.
“Alistair went down to R&D,” says Angelo Marino, answering my unspoken question. “I’m emailing the police. I’m typing up statements for all of you. I will need you to look over them just so there aren’t any surprises if they bring you in for questioning later.”
“What are you telling them?” I ask.
“The truth,” he says. He blesses me with one of his rare, unnatural smiles. I feel like I am being stared down by a hungry wolf, spittle foaming down its jowls.
Bernard
