was the last person with a right to criticize on that count.
'It's not all about you,' I said. 'I was there ahead of you. I didn't stop that girl getting killed. I didn't find Erin. Sometimes things just play out the way they play out.'
'You believe that?'
'I have to. If I didn't, then I'd be to blame for every rotten thing that ever happened, and I know for a fact I'm only to blame for two-thirds of them.'
He looked at me for a moment that stretched on. I wanted to turn away or move, but I didn't.
'So, did Jade have an alibi for last night?' I asked.
'A woman. A client. Susannah Atwood.'
'She confirmed?'
He nodded.
'And did she have anyone to corroborate her story?'
He rolled his eyes. 'Sure. Jade. Why? Do you know her?'
'I know of her. Sean knows her. She has a reputation as a social dragonfly.'
'Don't you mean butterfly?'
'No.'
He raised his brows.
'I know her type,' I said. 'Susannah might just think providing an alibi to a murderer is the oral sex of the new millennium. I wouldn't trust her. Then again, I don't trust anyone.'
I checked my watch and moved away from the counter. 'I'm going to throw you out now, Landry. I've got a dinner date with the devil.'
'Which one?'
'Van Zandt.'
As I went in search of a pair of shoes, I told him what I'd learned through Sean and through Interpol via Armedgian. I had told Van Zandt I would meet him at The Players at eight. I had wisely declined his offer to pick me up.
Landry stood staring into the closet, hands on his hips. 'You're telling me you think this guy could be a sexual predator, but you're going out to dinner with him?'
'Yes.'
'What if he killed Jill Morone? What if he's got Erin stashed somewhere?'
'Hopefully, I'll learn something to help nail him.'
'Are you on crack?' he asked, incredulous. 'Are you stupid?'
'He won't try to pull anything with me,' I said, coming out of the closet one heel on, one in hand. 'First: He knows he doesn't scare me and can't control me. Second: He thinks I'm worth money to him as a client, not as a victim.'
'And if he's just a fucking pervert who wants to rape you and slit your throat?'
'Then I will have made a gross misjudgment of his character-which I haven't.'
'Estes, he may have killed that girl last night, for all you know. He lied about seeing her. He was there at The Players. The bartender and the waitress said he was there, drooling all over the girl. We'd have hauled him in by now, but we don't know where he is.'
'What time did he leave the bar?'
'No one could say for certain.'
'So pull him in and rake him over the coals if you want,' I said. I stepped into the bathroom and looked at my hair. There was nothing to be done about it. 'I'll gladly spend the evening in the tub reading a book. But if he's got Erin stashed somewhere, he's sure as hell not going to tell you about it.'
'And you think he'll just up and tell you?' Landry asked, blocking the doorway. 'Like that's some kind of smooth line: wanna come back to my place and see the girl I kidnapped? Jesus Christ!'
'So tail us! What are you getting so upset about?'
He shook his head and turned around in a circle, moving back into the bedroom. 'This is why I don't want you involved in this,' he said, pointing at me as I came out of the bathroom. 'You've got your own agenda, you run off half-cocked-'
'So look the other way,' I said, pushing his finger out of my face, my temper rising. 'I'm a private citizen, Landry. I don't need your permission and I don't need your approval. If I turn up dead, you'll know who to arrest. I'll make your fucking case for you. You'll be a hero in the Sheriff's Office-getting rid of me and catching a killer all in one fell swoop.'
'It's not my job to let you get yourself killed!' he shouted.
'Believe me, if I haven't done the job myself by now, I'm not about to let some hump like Van Zandt do it for me.'
We were nearly nose to nose, the air in the scant inches between us charged with electricity. Landry held whatever it was he wanted to say tight in his chest. Maybe he was counting to ten. Maybe it was all he could do to keep from strangling me with his bare hands. I didn't know what he was thinking. I was thinking I was standing too damn close to him.
'I was good too, Landry,' I said quietly. 'On the job. I know that's not what anyone wants to remember about me, but I was good. You'd be a fool not to take advantage of that.'
Another eternity came and went. We stood there staring at each other like a couple of angry porcupines-all defenses up. Landry blinked first and took a step back. I thought I should have been proud of that, but what I felt was more like disappointment.
'Van Zandt wants to impress me,' I said. I went back into the closet and found a small clutch purse to stash my microcassette recorder in. 'He wants to come across like a hotshot, but his mouth is bigger than his brain. I can get him to say things he shouldn't. I'll tape the conversation. I'll call you after.'
'After what?' he asked pointedly.
'After coffee,' I said. 'I draw the line at prostituting myself. Glad you have such a high opinion of me, though.'
'I'm glad you have a line,' he muttered.
He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, dialed a number, and stood staring at me while he waited for someone to pick up on the other end. I knew what he was doing. A part of me wanted to ask him not to, despite what I'd said earlier. But I wouldn't allow it. I had come as close to begging as I was going to.
'Weiss. Landry. Van Zandt is at The Players. Pick him up.'
Never taking his eyes off me, he put the phone back in his pocket. 'Thanks for the tip.'
I wanted to tell him to go to hell, but I didn't trust my voice. It felt like I had a hard, hot rock stuck in my throat. I much preferred feeling nothing, caring about nothing but getting from one day to the next-and not caring very much about that. If you have no expectations, no purpose, no goal, you can't be disappointed, you can't feel hurt.
Landry turned and walked out, taking the information I'd given him, taking my plans for the evening with him, taking my hope to make a break in the case. I felt like a fool. I thought he had come to me to include me, but all he had wanted was to absolve his conscience. The case was his case. He owned it.
'Thanks for the tip.'
I paced the house, trying to shove back the emotions crowding in on me. I needed to do something. I needed a new plan. I wasn't going to sit home with all these feelings to contemplate, and I didn't have a good book to take to the bathtub.
An idea began to take shape in my mind. Before it was more than an embryo, I had changed clothes and was out the door.
My life would have been easier if I had gone to Barnes amp; Noble.
25
Lorinda Carlton's Wellington address was a town house on Sag Harbor Court. Unless Van Zandt made a
