“All we know is that Clu called them.”
Win shook his head. “We know a great deal more.”
“For example?”
“They overreacted to your visit. Tossing you out would have been one thing. Roughing you up a bit would have been one thing. But this sort of interrogation complete with knife slashes and electrocution—that’s overkill.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that you struck a nerve, poked the hive, stirred the nest, choose your favorite cliché.”
“So they’re connected into all this.”
“Logical,” Win said, again doing his best Spock.
“How?”
“Heavens, I haven’t a clue.”
Myron chewed it over a bit. “I had thought maybe Clu and Esperanza hooked up there.”
“And now?”
“Let’s say they did hook up there. What would be the big deal about that? Why the overkill?”
“So it’s something else.”
Myron nodded. “Any more tangents?”
“The big one,” Win said. “The disappearance of Lucy Mayor.”
“Which happened more than ten years ago.”
“And we must confess that her connection is tenuous at best.”
“So confessed,” Myron said.
Win steepled his fingers and raised the pointers. “But the diskette was addressed to you.”
“Yes.”
“Ergo we cannot be sure that Lucy Mayor is connected to Clu Haid at all—”
“Right.”
“—but we can be sure that Lucy Mayor is somehow connected to you.”
“Me?” Myron made a face. “I can’t imagine how.”
“Think hard. Perhaps you met her once.”
Myron shook his head. “Never.”
“You might not have known. The woman has been living in some sort of clandestine state for a very long time. Perhaps she was someone you met in a bar, a one-night stand.”
“I don’t one-night stand.”
“That’s right,” Win said. Then with flat eyes: “God, I wish I were you.”
Myron waved him off. “But suppose you’re right. Suppose I did meet her but didn’t know it. So what? She decides to repay me by sending me a diskette of her face melting into a puddle of blood?”
Win nodded. “Puzzling.”
“So where does that leave us?”
“Puzzled.”
The speaker buzzed. Myron said, “Yes?”
Big Cyndi said, “Your father is on line one, Mr. Bolitar.”
“Thank you.” Myron picked up the receiver. “Hi, Dad.”
“Hey, Myron. How are you?”
“Good.”
“You readjusting to being home?”
“Yeah, I am.”
“Happy to be back?”
Dad was stalling. “Yeah, Dad, I’m great.”
“All this stuff with Esperanza. It must be keeping you hopping, huh?”
“I guess so, yeah.”
“Soooo,” Dad said, stretching out the word, “think you have time for lunch with your old man?”
There was a strain in the voice.
“Sure, Dad.”
“How about tomorrow? At the club?”
Myron bit back a groan. Not the club. “Sure. Noon, okay?”
“Good, son, that’ll be fine.”
Dad didn’t call him son very often. More like never. Myron switched hands. “Anything wrong, Dad?”
“No, no,” he said too quickly. “Everything’s fine. I just want to talk to you about something.”
“About what?”
“It’ll keep, no biggie. See you tomorrow.”
Click.
Myron looked at Win. “That was my father.”
“Yes, I picked up on that when Big Cyndi said your father was on the line. It was further reemphasized when you said ‘Dad’ four times during the conversation. I’m gifted that way.”
“He wants to have lunch tomorrow.”
Win nodded. “And I care because—?”
“Just telling you.”
“I’ll write about it in my diary tonight,” Win said. “In the meantime, I had another thought, vis-à-vis Lucy Mayor.”
“I’m listening.”
“If you recall, we were trying to figure out who was being injured in all this.”
“I recall.”
“Clu obviously. Esperanza. You. I.”
“Yes.”
“Well, we must add a new person: Sophie Mayor.”
Myron thought about it. Then he started nodding. “That could very well be the connection. If you wanted to destroy Sophie Mayor, what would you do? First, you’d do something to undermine any support she had with the Yankee fans and management.”
“Clu Haid,” Win said.
“Right. Then you might hit her in what has to be a vulnerable spot—her missing daughter. I mean, if someone sent her a similar diskette, can you imagine the horror?”
“Which raises an interesting question,” Win said.
“What?”
“Are you going to tell her?”
“About the diskette?”
“No, about recent troop movements in Bosnia. Yes, the diskette.”
Myron thought about it but not for very long. “I don’t see where I have any choice. I have to tell her.”
“Perhaps that too is part of the theoretical plan to wear her down,” Win said. “Perhaps someone sent you the diskette knowing it would get back to her.”
“Maybe. But she still has the right to know. It’s not my place to decide what Sophie Mayor is strong enough to handle.”
“Too true.” Win rose. “I have some contacts trying to locate the official reports on Clu’s murder—autopsy, crime scene, witness statements, labs, what have you. But everyone is tight-lipped.”
“I got a possible source,” Myron said.
“Oh?”
“The Bergen County medical examiner is Sally Li. I know her.”
“Through Jessica’s father?”
“Yes.”
“Go for it,” Win said.
Myron watched him head for the door. “Win?”
“Yes?”
“You have any thoughts on how I should break the news to Sophie Mayor?”
“None whatsoever.”
Win left then. Myron stared at the phone. He picked it up and dialed Sophie Mayor’s phone number. It took some time, but a secretary finally patched him through to her. Sophie sounded less than thrilled to hear his voice.