“Hello, Samuel.”
The tablemate gave a small but genuine smile and nodded toward the severely dog-eared puzzle book in Lynch’s lap.
“Kelly tells me you’re into logic puzzles.”
The detective went cold.
“Where is she, (you bastard)?”
“At work, as far as I know. She was as surprised to see me as you are…happy though.”
It wasn’t enough for Lynch. He referred back to the book.
“Did she tell you why I do these things?”
“She did. Alzheimer’s is a bitch. I’ve seen it up close.”
Okay, so Kelly probably wasn’t laid in a ditch somewhere. Lynch exhaled and allowed himself to catch up to the weight of the moment. He had no idea where to start.
The two men stared at each other. Both of them knew the next move belonged to Lynch. Samuel reached for Kelly’s latte and took a healthy pull. Lynch folded his puzzle book and stuffed it in his trench coat pocket without breaking eye contact. Five days’ worth of investigation data ricocheted through his head as he attempted to find the one perfect, succinct, powerful set of words that would kick things off.
Fuck it.
“Who are you?”
Samuel leaned back and widened his smile, as if he’d waited his whole life to be asked that very question.
“Detective Lynch…I’m the guy everybody hates. I am, to put it plainly, heir to a sizable business empire. I prefer not give you my last name, but I will if you ask me to. Suffice it to say, you’ll recognize it.”
“I can’t say that I particularly care what you prefer.”
Samuel gave his last name. Lynch recognized it. It made no difference.
Samuel slid the latte aside and folded his hands on the table, palms down. Lynch could tell that he was being very careful not to appear as though he was reaching for his pockets…smart lad.
“But, detective, the reason I’m here instead of Kelly is to save you some time. I realize that I am in no position to negotiate, but I would humbly ask for ten minutes of your time in return so that I might explain myself.”
“I get the feeling you don’t do anything humbly.”
“I can help you. We can help each other. Kelly tells me you’re very good at your job…”
He pulled his hands back to his chest, snarkily leaving a small folded piece of paper on the table.
“…so, I’m hoping that makes sense.”
Lynch could clearly see what it was.
“Cute, you can put ‘slight-of-hand’ on your resume right below ‘heir to a sizable business empire.’ What does a receipt from Dave & Buster’s have to do with anything?”
“It’s proof that I wasn’t in Potterford Saturday night.”
“This? This is proof?”
“Not by itself of course. Damn, Sergeant, I’m sure Dave & Buster’s is loaded with CCTV’s, and there’s at least one witness…”
“Alright, shut up. We’ll see.”
Lynch pocketed the receipt, thus closing the book on his prime suspect.
There it is. ”Yay!” and ”Shit!” at the same time.
“You’ve got your ten minutes. Explain how you can help me.”
Samuel gleefully picked up where he left off.
“You see…my dad is in pretty good shape for his age and isn’t in any hurry to retire, so, since I’m not taking over the empire any time soon, I generally spend my life traveling the world in search of things to keep me from getting bored.”
“And you wound up in Potterford?”
Samuel grinned and nodded.
“By way of Downey’s about three years ago. Do you know Downey’s?”
“In Philly?”
“Yes, one of three Irish pubs in the city that actually knows how to pour a Guinness.”
“Marvelous, what happened at Downey’s?”
“Whoever had the table before me left a copy of “Philly Neighbor” on the seat. Do you know…?”
“Yes, I know “Philly Neighbor,” and I know the article you’re about to ask me to read. Is there any special reason you told Avery your name is Matthew?”
Samuel was clearly impressed.
“No, no reason. I’m rich. I get bored. I find biblical aliases amusing.”
“Who doesn’t? Back to Downey’s.”
“I usually can’t stand rags like Philly Neighbor, but what else are you going to do while you’re waiting for the bartender to complete a three-stage pour?”
“Holy crap, you fully intend to take the entire ten minutes, don’t you?”
Yes, he did.
“I tell you, I don’t know if it was because I was twenty-two years old. I don’t know if it was because my great-aunt had just died, and it was the first time in my life that I was forced to face my own mortality. I don’t know if it was the residual effects of what I put in my body the night before. Somehow what Avery said in that article got to me.
“I mean, you’ve met him…the dude’s a charlatan. I spent a year working for the guy, trying to tap into his genius. The man has talent, but insight? No way. He is right about one thing though. We do make our own truths. I don’t care what he meant by the painting; I know what it meant to me. The mistake I made was assuming anyone else in my shoes would be affected the same way.”
“You mean Arthur.”
“Yes, I mean Arthur. Did Kelly tell you why I left the Unjudged?”
“She said she didn’t know.”
“That was smart. She’s the reason I stuck around, you know.”
“You’ve been in town this whole time?”
“Atlantic City, but I’ve been reading the Potterford Herald every day on line.”
Lynch chuckled as was his instinct every time that snot rag of a paper was mentioned.
“What the hell for?”
Samuel shrugged.
“I was keeping an eye on Kelly. When I left the UJ, I realized it meant leaving her, but I figured it was worth the trade-off. I mean, I’d left stuff before. Well, detective, I was wrong, and it took me way too long to be honest with myself about it. So, I started reading the Herald. I figured as long as
