Maybe Kimberly could help. A boat, she had been off that very morning, she had said, to see a man about a boat. What did that mean? He hadn’t left yet, of that I was pretty sure. He still had business here, he wouldn’t leave without the suitcase or the stuff I had brought back from Brockton, or the money he thought was still hanging around. So I had some time, but whatever I did, I would have to do it quickly or he would be gone again, and with him would have fled my last best chance for learning what happened to Joey Parma. That’s why I needed Beth and Skink, together, to talk through the options, to keep me from doing something stupid. On my own I am prone to stupidity, but Beth and Skink keep me sharp, keep me focused.

I looked at the second message, shook my head, dialed the phone.

“We need to talk,” said Slocum.

“That’s never a good sign,” I said. “Does this mean you’re breaking up with me?”

“We need to get together right away.”

“I’m a bit busy now.”

“What did you say to him last night?”

“To who? Derek?”

“The feds have been chewing my ass all morning. They want to know what you said to him. They want to know why after your visit last night he went ape shit. They want to know why he disappeared and where he went.”

“Derek is missing?”

“Gone.”

“What about the baby-sitters?”

“The bastard slipped out the window.”

“There were bars.”

“He had a screwdriver.”

“Nice security.”

“They were secured on the inside. He was the one that wanted protection. But for some reason, after your visit, he wanted out. They need to talk to you immediately at the federal building.”

“I seem to be pretty popular down there right now. Tell them to wait.”

“What’s going on?”

“When I find out you’ll be the first to know.”

“By definition that’s a lie.”

“So it is.”

“Carl, this isn’t funny.”

“I’ll be in touch.”

“Carl.”

I hung up lightly, not angrily, so lightly Slocum was probably still calling out my name before he realized I wasn’t there anymore. So Manley had slipped out the window. Maybe he knotted his sheets together, or maybe he leaped out onto a leafy bush, now a leafy dead bush. That must have been a sight, like a whale falling from an apple tree. What would Newton have made of that? I suppose Manley had some business to take care of and, after delivering his message to that 609 number, I had a pretty good idea of what it was. That was why Leo had come, not to give the envelope, but to enlist my aid in finding Derek. The feds weren’t the only ones rushing around like Keystone Kops looking for him. Run, Derek, run, I thought, because they are all coming after you. But Manley, I figured, could take care of himself; I had other things to deal with.

I saw a light flash on my phone, Slocum phoning back to shout in my ear, I presumed. I didn’t want to talk to him right now, I didn’t want to be hauled down to the federal building and locked in a room with a hungry pack of U.S. marshals who had been embarrassed by a fleeing witness, with the FBI in the hallway waiting for their own crack at me. I didn’t have time for that right now.

“I’m not in,” I called out to my secretary.

She stepped into my office and closed the door.

“I can’t find Ms. Derringer,” she said. “Her cell phone doesn’t answer and neither does her home phone. I left messages on both.”

“Okay,” I said. “Maybe she took a spa day.”

“She never takes a spa day, Mr. Carl. And there’s a call for you.”

“I don’t want to talk to Slocum.”

“It’s not Mr. Slocum. It’s someone else. He said you’d want to talk to him. He had an accent.”

“What kind of accent?”

“I don’t know. Michael Caine? Like that.”

I waited for Ellie to leave and close the door behind her before I picked up the phone.

“ ’Ello, Victor,” came Colfax’s slow angry voice.

“What do you want?”

“I thought we’d ’ave ourselves a little chat.”

“I don’t want to chat with you.”

“Not even if we talk about your pal Willie Shake? You’re a grand one for talking about Willie Shake.”

“What do you want?”

“Oh, don’t be like that. It was quite a performance you put on last night. You would have made a fine little public school boy, staying up all night with the other lads, discussing Shakespeare in your common room as you buggered one another to the dawn. A regular Oscar Wilde.”

“Go to hell.”

“There’s a bar, Fadó. On Locust. Do you know it?”

“I know it.”

“Join me there in thirty minutes, why don’t you?”

“Why don’t I? Because you’re an asshole and I’ve got nothing to say to you.”

“But I’ve got lots to say to you. Fadó. ’Alf an ’our. You and me, we can chat about life, about long-dead playwrights, and about your partner.”

“Beth?”

“You’ve got another partner we don’t know about?”

“What about Beth?”

“Seen her lately?”

“What about Beth, you bastard?”

“Come alone, Victor, but do come.”

Chapter 63

I COULD BARELY restrain my anger as I strode down Locust Street. I wanted to wring someone’s neck, to twist my hands around someone’s throat and squeeze until a head popped off. Whose head? It didn’t quite matter, but I had my list and it started with Colfax, that cocky cockney bastard, and it included his very creepy boss, and there was Justice Jackson Straczynski and there was Alura Straczynski and there was Joey Parma for getting himself killed and getting me and Beth into this steaming pile of dung in the first place. They had already messed with my profession, my freedom, my finances, but when they messed with my partner, they had gone so far beyond the pale they were well nigh invisible. Oh yes, I wanted to wring a neck, a peck of necks, but I had to restrain myself. Anger wasn’t what Beth needed. Cool calculation was what Beth needed, which was a problem, wasn’t it, since in our partnership she was the cool calculating one.

I took a deep breath, tried to calm myself, pulled open the door and entered Fadó. A bit of the home sod it was, all carved mahogany and painted ceilings, with corned beef and cabbage on the menu, folk songs from the speakers, Guinness on tap. It was trying too hard, a theme park version of a Dublin pub, when all it really needed to be authentic enough was the Guinness on tap and a villainous Brit at the bar.

“Where is she?” I said in as low a voice as I could maintain.

“What, no pleasantries?” said Colfax, turning from his pint, already three quarters gone, and giving me a superior little sneer. His face was ruddy, his hair short, he was wearing a three-quarter-length black leather coat with its pockets bulging, and he seemed to be enjoying himself. “No ‘How’s it going?’ No ‘Fine day today, isn’t it?’ No ‘Would you like another round, Mr. Colfax?’ None of that, ay? Just right to the bone of it. ‘Where is she?’ ”

“Where the fuck is she, you Euro slime?”

“Now that’s a bit crude, and from a man who so reveres his Willie Shake. Sit down, ’ave a pint. Don’t take it all so personal.”

“But it is,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Good. Because for me it’s just business, and when it’s business versus personal, well, the business always wins out, doesn’t it? She’s fine, Victor. A nice girl, that. Showed a fine respect for Mr. Beretta, and didn’t give us a spot of trouble. Right now, I can assure you, she’s being well cared for.”

“How do I even know you have her?”

“Oh, you know.”

“Prove it.”

“Give her a call and find out. Call her right now, why don’t you? On her cell.”

I took out my phone, glared at him, found Beth on the auto dial, stepped away, and turned my back to Colfax as I waited for the call to go through.

And then I heard the most sickening sound. A phone, ringing, her phone ringing. But not just on my line. Slowly I turned.