instructor. I don't normally do things like this, but I-well, I'm here at this atrocious party, and I couldn't stop thinking about those insightful links you made between German Baroque and Nordic Classicism. To be honest, I can't remember the last time I met someone who actually knew who Ivar Tengbom was, let alone would admit to being his number-one fan. Anyway, are you doing anything this week? I have another dinner with some MOMA people coming up on Friday and thought, eh, maybe you'd like to, uh, tag along. There, I've said it. If you can make it, wonderful. If you can't, well, my and Ivar's loss. Here's my number.'
'Sorry, old chap,' I said, immediately deleting with extreme prejudice Mary Catherine's Hugh Grant-like suitor. 'Looks like you're going stag.'
Was that wrong? I wondered, staring at myself in the mirror. I turned away. It most certainly was, and I most certainly didn't care.
Chapter 59
I showered, tossed on some shorts, and brought a beer and my phone back into the living room.
'Hey, Mike,' Mary Catherine said when I called Breezy. 'I was just about to call you. You're not going to believe this. No Flaherty incidents, no stitches, no one even got sunburned. Even Socky the cat seems ready to twist by the pool tonight. How are you holding up? Are you on your way? I'll save you some pizza.'
'Don't bother, Mary,' I said, toweling off my wet hair. 'I'm actually at the apartment. This case is looking like an all-nighter. Hey, I forgot to ask you. How was your art course this week?'
'It was terrific,' she said. 'This really bright, young Oxford professor came to speak to us, a world-renowned expert on German architecture. He was really funny.'
'German buildings are fine,' I said, 'but I'm more into Nordic Classicism myself.'
'I didn't know you liked architecture, Mike. Were you peeking at my books?' Mary Catherine said.
'Bite your tongue, lass. Not all cops are meatheads.'
'I'll have to remember that,' she said after a beat. 'I'm afraid it's too late to talk with the gang. They're all asleep.'
'That's okay. Just apologize and kiss them good night for me, okay?' I said.
'No problem,' Mary said. 'Who are you going to kiss good night, I wonder?'
'What?' I said, startled. 'What's that supposed to mean?'
'Nothing, Mr. Bennett. Have fun all by yourself in the city tonight,' Mary Catherine said and hung up.
I stared at the phone. Then I cracked the cap on my beer. Sauce-hitting time had officially arrived.
'Nothing, Mr. Bennett,' I mimicked in a pretty good Irish accent as I tossed my phone at the opposite couch.
Chapter 60
I put on the TV with the sound off as I sorted through my notes and the case files.
It was a lot of paper. There was still so much to get through, so much to absorb. I wasn't even sure if we were wasting our time with our latest theory. The very real threat of yet another insane, pointless copycat killing wasn't exactly helping my concentration.
I was getting up to exchange my beer bottle for a coffee cup when my phone rang. I grabbed it from the couch.
Lo and behold, would you look at that? I thought, glaring at the screen. It was my boss, Miriam. Did the woman never sleep?
'Bad news, Mike,' she said when I made the mistake of accepting the call. 'I just got off the phone with the commissioner. It looks like he wants to go in a different direction with the task-force lead. Major Case is out. Manhattan North Homicide is in. We're both still on the task force, but he wants to, quote unquote, refresh the supervising investigative angle.'
'Refresh what? With the Manhattan North scrubs? He's going to pull the plug on us now? Just when the ice is starting to break?'
'I know, Mike. This is just a bunch of backroom bullshit. The chief of detectives is just screwing with us because he can. We'll still run the task-force meeting tomorrow, but then that's it. I just thought you should know.'
'I'm sorry. I feel like I let you down, Miriam,' I said.
'How do you think I feel? I pulled you off your vacay only to get you jammed up. Don't take this to heart. You're still my go-to. Sometimes you just can't catch a break quickly enough.'
I hung up, trying to absorb what I'd just heard. I was letting out a breath as my text jingle rang. It was Emily.
Hey, u still awake?
I'd almost forgotten that Emily was still out pounding the pavement. The original plan was to meet back up for dinner to brainstorm and crunch everything we'd learned, but she'd been tied up in an interview when I'd called earlier.
Just barely, I started texting back, but then remembered I was over the age of twelve and actually called her instead.
'Hey, yourself,' I said when she answered. I decided not to tell her the devastating news about my impending public demotion. She'd find out tomorrow along with the rest of New York.
'I thought we were supposed to meet and compare notes,' I said.
'The best-laid plans of mice and Feds, Mike,' Emily said. I could hear traffic in the background. 'Turn left in two hundred yards,' Emily's GPS system said in its annoyingly calm computer voice.
'I actually got lost after visiting one of the Grand Central bombing victims' families. Newark is tricky with all those parkways and turnpikes.'
'You're in Newark?' I said in shock. 'What are you, nuts? I gave you all the Manhattan victims so you wouldn't have to go too far, country mouse.'
I couldn't believe how far and fast Emily was going on this. This wasn't even her case, and she was putting in a superhuman effort. It was because it was my case, I realized. Not only had she volunteered, she was going above and beyond to make me look good.
'What's wrong with Newark?' she said.
'Nothing, if you happen to like drug gangs and gun violence. You should have called me.'
'Please. I actually just got off the George Washington Bridge,' Emily said over the GPS blathering something about the right lane. 'That's somewhere near you, right? Are you too beat for a powwow?'
I perked up a little. The case was still mine until tomorrow. Maybe I might pull this off after all. Suddenly, Mary Catherine's comment about whom I'd be kissing good night crossed my mind.
'I'm wide awake, Emily,' I said. 'Ask that damn thing if it knows where West End Avenue is.'
Chapter 61
In the glittering light of a cut-crystal chandelier, Berger lifted a warm mussel to his eyes like a jeweler with a
