“I’ll talk to Jennings,” I said. “We need to establish her link with these phone threats. That’s something we could actually run with.”

“Excellent. Let me give you her cell number. She’s not staying at her place tonight. At Gallo’s suggestion, she won’t be at her boyfriend’s, either. She’d be just as easy to track down there. She gave Gallo the address of where she’d be staying tonight, and he said he’d post a car outside. He didn’t tell me where it was. You call her cell in the morning, and the two of you can set up a place to meet. If you can, could you swing by my office after you’ve talked to her? There’s something else I need to go over with you.”

I agreed to stop by, and we hung up. I returned the rest of the wasabi peas to the bag and stowed it in the cabinet. The radiator had ceased its banging while I was talking to Peter, but now it started up again. The room was stuffy, so I cracked a window. I poked my head outside for some air and spent a minute looking down the block at the green and red holiday garlands straddling the street farther down Mulberry. The lights of the Italian restaurants were popping and blinking, but the street itself was nearly abandoned. It seemed like the entire city had gone to ground.

Before I got into bed, I jotted down some notes, circled a few of them, drew an arrow here and there, and layered in a number of question marks. I considered calling Margo to let her know that I was now officially on the case. I had a client. A paying client. Maybe that would mollify her. The radiator in the front room clanged and banged again as I picked up the phone. In the distance, I heard the urgent blaring horn of a fire truck. The sound grew louder as the truck passed a block or so away, and then it faded again into the night.

I set the phone back down and turned off the light.

16

ALLISON JENNINGS WANTED me to meet her in Brooklyn Heights. First thing in the morning, I took the subway under the river to the Clark Street stop. My low-level claustrophobia kicked in when we were under the East River, but I’ve got some tricks I use to deal with it. On the crowded cattle elevator up to the street level, there was a rabbit-fur hat in my face, and I wanted to snatch it with my teeth and spit it out onto the floor. But I maintained a civil composure and got through the short ride.

Allison’s boyfriend came along. His name was Jeffrey. I met them at a pastry shop on Piermont Avenue. As I came in, Jeffrey rose from his chair and met me at the door. The first thing he did was ask to see my PI license. He took it with a trembling hand and stared at it as if it needed deciphering.

He asked, “Do you carry a gun?”

“Sometimes.”

“Are you carrying one now?”

I tapped the area of my heart. “I’d introduce you, but he’s shy.”

Jeffrey handed me back the license. “She’s really freaked out. Anything you can do to make her feel safer, I’d appreciate it.”

Allison was sitting at a small table about fifteen feet from the door. Jeffrey’s security check completed, the two of us joined her. She was a brunette. She looked hopeful and scared all at once. Jeffrey sat down and took her hand. I considered taking the other one, but we weren’t here for a prayer meeting. I introduced myself and asked Allison to tell me the story. I knew it already, but details get dropped and added as tales move down the line. In this case, the details were few, and Allison’s rendering essentially matched the version I’d gotten on the phone from Peter Elliott.

“What’s going on?” Allison asked, a tremor in her voice. “I’m really confused. Why does this man want to hurt me?”

“We’re going to figure that out,” I said. “Let me ask you some questions. From what I understand and what you just told me, you have zero connection with Marshall Fox.”

“None. I don’t even watch his show.”

“Okay. Put Fox out of your head for the moment. We can look for the Fox link later. I want to focus on who might have some sort of problem with you directly. Why don’t you tell me what you do for a living?”

She told me that she worked for Reuters news service. I knew the building-it’s in midtown, not far from my office. Allison worked as the manager of human resources.

“That’s hiring and firing?”

“Basically, yes. Though most of my time is spent in recruitment.”

“You check qualifications, references, do interviews? That sort of thing?”

“Correct.”

“Have you fired anyone recently?”

She paused. “We announced a large layoff right before Christmas.” She managed a small laugh. “Nice and Dickensian, isn’t it? Some people went immediately. Others received notice that their positions were being phased out over a matter of a couple of months. We give good severance packages. But yes, I guess I’ve fired a lot of people recently.”

“How does that work, a mass layoff like that?”

“It’s a grueling couple of days. I see everybody one at a time, and I give them the news.”

“That must be fun.”

“Most people are surprisingly okay about it. Layoffs are part of the culture these days. That’s not to say they’re happy. I get the word that we have to make so-and-so many cuts in such-and-such department. I talk with the department heads, we go over their staffs. Except in rare cases, it’s almost always a matter of seniority. I mean, sometimes there’s a bad job report that can move someone up on the list, but usually it’s last one in, first one out. Either way, it’s painful. It’s like I’m the village executioner.”

“You say people are pretty good about it. But do some people get angry? Have you ever had anyone threaten you personally?”

She and Jeffrey shared a look. “Go on,” Jeffrey said. “Tell him.”

Allison turned back to me. “It’s nothing. Yes. Some people do get upset. Of course they do. Who wouldn’t? Like I said, these last cuts came right around Christmas. Which I argued against, by the way. Plus, the job market really stinks right now.”

“You’re reluctant to give me a name, is that it?”

She looked like she was ready to cry. Jeffrey squeezed her hand tighter and answered for her. “There’s an implied confidentiality in the work Ally does.”

I ignored him. “Ms. Jennings, were you also reluctant to give this name to the police last night?”

“I could lose my job if one of our former employees brings a lawsuit. I’m sure this guy isn’t the one who left that message. It makes no sense. The last thing I need is him finding out I sicced the police on him.”

“Okay. Let’s put him aside for a minute. I assume you also interview people for new positions. Have there been any job candidates in the past six months or so who struck you as peculiar?”

“Peculiar?”

“Excessive in some fashion. Too eager. Too friendly. Too boastful. Too secure or too insecure. Someone who behaved like he had the job in the bag when in fact he didn’t.”

“Yes.”

“Yes to which?”

“Yes to everything you just said. That’s what you get in my position, all the types you just listed.”

“Let’s concentrate on the ones who didn’t get the job.”

“That’s the majority. One position, scores of candidates.”

“I’m looking for a man, someone who stands out. Maybe he wasn’t necessarily aggressive. Something off in the body language. Or he had an odd way of putting things. Did any of the candidates come on to you? Even subtly?”

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

“I’m just fishing. If someone unhinged thought he’d made a personal connection with you and then he didn’t get the job. In his eyes, you rejected him not only for the job but also personally. Does anyone like that come to mind?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m sorry.”

I was getting nowhere. But most times that’s how you have to play the game. You rack up the miles on fruitless roads. I tried a new tack. “Back to the people you had to let go. Did any of them ever say to you that losing their job was going to make things difficult for them or their family?”