cabin. I feel my strength and confidence returning as I crest the last hill before my driveway and I am thinking of calling Nicki the moment I get home and then I see Claire Boyle’s Sheriff’s Dept. SUV parked near the front of my driveway, pulled off onto the shoulder of the rutted drive. As I come closer I see no one in the vehicle so I drive on by without slowing down.
Time to call Nicki.
I pick up the phone and dial, watching my driving carefully.
“Jack Rhodes returning Nicki’s call,” I say to Nicki’s assistant.
I wait for what seems forever and then Nicki’s voice in my ear.
“Jack? Where the hell have you been?”
“I’ll tell you later. What’s up?”
“We have a problem. Where are you?”
“Vermont.”
“Have you been home?”
“Not yet. Tell me what’s going on.”
“LAPD is about to release your name as a person of interest in the Beverly Grace murder.”
Jesus.“What exactly does that mean?” I ask.
“Legally, absolutely nothing. It’s their way of leveraging you to cooperate without formally charging you or calling you a suspect.”
“What does ‘cooperate’ mean?”
“They want you to come back to L.A. so they can talk to you again.”
“Shit.”
“I’ve been putting them off, hoping I could come up with something on your whereabouts in April ’01 but I’ve come up with zip. But if you come back to New York I may be able to get them to compromise on a meeting here, with me present, at the Manhattan DA’s office. You ended the interview abruptly in L.A. and I think they’re mainly concerned that you’ve made a run for it, since no one has been able to locate you. Where were you?”
“Long story. I’d rather not go into it on the phone.”
“Can you meet me here?”
I hesitate.
“Jack, this guy Marsh at LAPD is no dummy. He went back to the scene, at Temescal, and he saw fresh tracks, which he assumes are yours. He’s not gonna let go. If they find the hair clip and it has your prints on it…”
“I know.”
“He has a real bug up his ass about you. He’s reading all your books now. Jack, please tell me where you are. Are you headed home? Because LAPD has asked the Sheriff’s office there to go to your place and wait for you there.”
“I’m on the road, but I’m not home.”
“Jack, listen to me. Don’t go home. You need to come to New York right now. We can talk to the LAPD here, and I’ll be right there with you the whole time. If you want, we can talk to my forensic shrink before the meeting, as a last ditch effort to get you to remember where you were that last week of April ‘01. I’ve already talked to him and he’s willing to help.”
I hesitate again.
“Jack, I know you don’t want to look back at that period of your life but you may have to if we’re going to get you out of this,” she says.
“What about that lead?” I say. “My editor’s assistant, Dontis…assault with a cocktail umbrella?”
“Gregory Dontis. We haven’t been able to find him. My investigator has checked everywhere—police, employment records, DMV, IRS…every place we can think of.”
“Coroner?” I ask.
“…I’m not sure, hold on,” she says. I hear papers shuffling, then she comes back. “It’s not in my investigator’s notes. But he did check police records.”
“Your investigator didn’t check the coroner for a missing person? Who is this investigator?”
“A junior associate here.”
“Coroners and police don’t always exchange information,” I say.
“I know. I’ll call there myself as soon as I get off the phone with you. Jack, don’t change the subject. Come to New York.”
“Alright,” I say. “I can be there tonight.”
“When?”
“Late. I’ll call your cell.”
“Why all the mystery? What the hell is going on?”
“I wish I knew.”
“Look, Jack, don’t fuck with me, okay? I’m your lawyer and I’m here to help you and I will help you any way I can but you’ve got to be straight with
Time to call Nicki.
I pick up the phone and dial, watching my driving carefully.
“Jack Rhodes returning Nicki’s call,” I say to Nicki’s assistant.
I wait for what seems forever and then Nicki’s voice in my ear.
“Jack? Where the hell have you been?”
“I’ll tell you later. What’s up?”
“We have a problem. Where are you?”
“Vermont.”
“Have you been home?”
“Not yet. Tell me what’s going on.”
“LAPD is about to release your name as a person of interest in the Beverly Grace murder.”
Jesus.“What exactly does that mean?” I ask.
“Legally, absolutely nothing. It’s their way of leveraging you to cooperate without formally charging you or calling you a suspect.”
“What does ‘cooperate’ mean?”
“They want you to come back to L.A. so they can talk to you again.”
“Shit.”
“I’ve been putting them off, hoping I could come up with something on your whereabouts in April ’01 but I’ve come up with zip. But if you come back to New York I may be able to get them to compromise on a meeting here, with me present, at the Manhattan DA’s office. You ended the interview abruptly in L.A. and I think they’re mainly concerned that you’ve made a run for it, since no one has been able to locate you. Where were you?”
“Long story. I’d rather not go into it on the phone.”
“Can you meet me here?”
I hesitate.
“Jack, this guy Marsh at LAPD is no dummy. He went back to the scene, at Temescal, and he saw fresh tracks, which he assumes are yours. He’s not gonna let go. If they find the hair clip and it has your prints on it…”
“I know.”
“He has a real bug up his ass about you. He’s reading all your books now. Jack, please tell me where you are. Are you headed home? Because LAPD has asked the Sheriff’s office there to go to your place and wait for you there.”
“I’m on the road, but I’m not home.”
“Jack, listen to me. Don’t go home. You need to come to New York right now. We can talk to the LAPD here, and I’ll be right there with you the whole time. If you want, we can talk to my forensic shrink before the meeting, as a last ditch effort to get you to remember where you were that last week of April ‘01. I’ve already talked to him and he’s willing to help.”
I hesitate again.
“Jack, I know you don’t want to look back at that period of your life but you may have to if we’re going to get you out of this,” she says.
“What about that lead?” I say. “My editor’s assistant, Dontis…assault with a cocktail umbrella?”
“Gregory Dontis. We haven’t been able to find him. My investigator has checked everywhere—police, employment records, DMV, IRS…every place we can think of.”
“Coroner?” I ask.
“…I’m not sure, hold on,” she says. I hear papers shuffling, then she comes back. “It’s not in my investigator’s notes. But he did check police records.”
“Your investigator didn’t check the coroner for a missing person? Who is this investigator?”
“A junior associate here.”
“Coroners and police don’t always exchange information,” I say.
“I know. I’ll call there myself as soon as I get off the phone with you. Jack, don’t change the subject. Come to New York.”
“Alright,” I say. “I can be there tonight.”
“When?”
“Late. I’ll call your cell.”
“Why all the mystery? What the hell is going on?”
“I wish I knew.”
“Look, Jack, don’t fuck with me, okay? I’m your lawyer and I’m here to help you and I will help you any way I can but you’ve got to be straight with
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