“His life, it seems, is one huge secret.”
“As you said.”
“Who is running him?”
“To be determined.”
“Still.”
She turned to him. “So you want to do this yourself? No? I thought not.” She shook her head. “People are complicated, an affair is complicated.”
“We don’t have time for this, Vera. I need to know—”
“You always need to know. Where is Caroline? Who is Gunn working for behind your back? Where will it stop?”
“It can’t stop, Vera. This is my life.”
“Sadly.” She walked past him into the living room.
“We’re not finished. Come back here.”
When she ignored him, he strode after her.
“Be careful, Vera,” he said.
She seemed incredulous. “You’re worried about my safety? Now?”
His eyes searched hers. He seemed to want to say something, then changed his mind. “You’ll never hear it coming.”
“Who ever does?”
“Who ever does what?” Gunn said. He had a bath sheet wrapped around his middle and was rubbing his hair dry with a matching towel. He looked from Vera’s expression to Carson’s half-shadowed face, and nodded. “You two are at it again.”
“He can’t help himself.” Vera moved aside as Gunn went into the bedroom to dress. She plucked at the puddle of her trench coat. While she was at it, she gave Carson a good view of everything. Hearing him expel a breath, she smiled to herself.
“I’ve showered you with gifts and favors.”
“And what do I have to show for it?”
“What is it you want?”
“A family,” she snapped as she whirled on him. “But all I have is you and Andy.”
“Poor you.”
She bared her teeth as she slid on the trench coat and belted it up.
“Aren’t you going to shower?” Carson said.
“Why should I?” She stepped into her shoes. “I love the smell of sex in the morning.”
She left without turning around or saying another word. It was as if the world she had just inhabited had vanished in a puff of smoke.
By this time, Gunn had dressed himself in midnight blue trousers and a crisp pin-striped shirt. A pair of shiny, expensive loafers were on his feet.
“Jesus, Andrew, she’s young enough to be—”
“Not quite.” Gunn guided an alligator-skin belt through the loops of his trousers and buckled up.
“You’re taking quite a risk.”
“Ah, now we come to the crux of your displeasure.” Gunn went through the living room, into the kitchen, and took a bag of coffee beans out of the freezer.
Carson followed him into the bright lights of the kitchen. “She didn’t even stay long enough to make coffee.”
“And you wonder why she hates your guts.” For the next few minutes he busied himself with grinding the beans, heating the water, then combining them in a Pyrex presspot. He took out a pair of cups from an overhead cabinet.
“I want to kill her.”
Gunn arranged a container of half-and-half and a canister of raw sugar. “No, you don’t. You want what she won’t give you.”
Carson reached out and swung Gunn around. “Listen, you, it’s fucking dangerous to go exploring in here.” He tapped the end of a forefinger against his temple. “More dangerous than you can imagine.”
For a long moment, the two men stared at each other. Then, without a word, Gunn turned back to the coffee and depressed the plunger all the way to the bottom.
“Cream and sugar,” Carson said.
Gunn stared down at the two empty cups. “You don’t have to tell me a second time.”
“THERE’S NOTHING here,” McKinsey said.
Naomi wrinkled her nose. “Nothing but the ammonia stink of an industrial-strength cleaner.”
“The manager of First Won Ton upstairs said they had a vermin problem.”
Naomi, playing the beam of her flashlight over the bare concrete floor and walls, said, “I heard him, Pete.”
“But you don’t believe him.”
“No,” she said. “I don’t.”
His own beam swung back and forth. “Maybe McClure was mistaken.”
Naomi glanced at him. “Are you kidding me? Mistaken about a white slave trade clearinghouse, mistaken about the body of Arjeta Kraja?”
“Do you see any evidence of those things?” McKinsey squinted. “He said he was calling from where?”
“He didn’t say.” Naomi walked into the back room, which was no bigger than a good-sized closet. “He was with Dennis Paull and Alli.”
“GPS?”
“He disabled it on his cell and his signal is being bounced, so he can’t be traced. But he must have been on the move because the signal kept cutting out.” She was staring at the painting of blue and gray mountains, whose ragged tops seemed to shred the blue sky. “What the hell is this doing here?” She glanced around. “No other paintings, wall hangings, calendars, zippo. But Jack said there was another room with Arjeta Kraja laid out in it, dead as a doorpost.”
“I don’t see anything of the sort,” McKinsey said. “Ever occur to you he was full of shit?”
When she gave him a dirty look, he added, “Between the two of you, Alli Carson could be a serial killer and she’d never get arrested.”
“Don’t be a dick.” She went over to the painting and felt behind it. “There’s something here.”
McKinsey came over and unhooked the painting, setting it down. They both stared at the one-way glass, then, cupping their hands, tried to peer into the other side.
“What the fuck?” McKinsey said.
Naomi flipped the wall switch, but nothing happened. “Go get the manager,” she said.
While he was gone, she checked around the tiny room, trying to find a way into the space beyond the one- way glass. She found nothing, which puzzled her so much that it was the first question to put to the restaurant manager.
He was a slender Chinese man in his midfifties, with a flat face and eyes that darted about like a pair of frightened mice. He licked his lips continually and his clasped hands made washing motions.
“I don’t know,” he said nervously. He frowned, clearly puzzled. “I didn’t even know the room existed.”
“But you own this space,” she said.
He nodded. “But it’s not used by the restaurant. I rent it out.” He looked around. “At least I did.”
“Who rented it?” McKinsey said.
“A company. Qershi Holdings.”
“Who the hell’re they?”
The manager spread his hands. “I have no idea.”
“Who is Qershi Holdings’ representative?”
“I only dealt with a voice over the phone.”
“And that was enough for you?” Naomi said skeptically.
