"I understand."
Gus excused himself and retreated to the kitchen for a refill. Alone at the table, she canvassed the opulent surroundings while contemplating how, without insulting him, she could confirm that Gus was good for the reward. The crystal chandelier was undoubtedly Steuben or Baccarat. On the wall opposite Andie was an antique mahogany-and-glass cabinet that displayed the Wheatley china. The pattern was distracting at first, as no two plates looked alike. Then Andie realized that each plate was a small piece of a larger picture, Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. It was as though someone had cut twelve perfect circles from a huge painting, keeping the plates and discarding the rest. It was a spectacular effect, like something out of a museum. That alone could cover a good chunk of the reward.
"Did you see my ad in this afternoon's paper?" Gus asked as he returned to his chair.
"Yes," she said, startled. "I'm glad you brought that up." "I thought you'd be pleased."
"A quarter-million-dollar reward seems a little hefty, don't you think?"
"If it brings Beth back, I can afford it."
"I'm sure you can. But maybe a hundred thousand would have been enough."
"I'm not looking for the blue light special here. I'm trying to get my wife back."
"I know that. But an overly generous reward can make the bad guys see dollar signs."
"I don't understand:'
"That's because you're thinking like a victim. You need to think like a criminal--like a kidnapper. There's been no ransom demand yet, but you could get one any day. Imagine him sitting out there somewhere trying to figure out how much to demand. There's no science to this. Maybe to him a quarter million sounds like a good number. He thinks that's a ton of money. Then he picks up today's newspaper and sees you offering two-fifty as a reward to any Joe Blow off the street. Suddenly, his sights are much higher."
"I hadn't thought of that."
"That's why it's so important that you never do anything like this again without calling me first."
It was a little harsher than she'd intended. Gus said, "You sound ticked off."
"I just want us to communicate better. I know it's your personality to be proactive, but I'd like you to check with me before you do anything. Agreed?"
Gus nodded, but she'd clearly put him on the defensive. "All right. I can agree to that. So long as the communication flows both ways."
"I've been keeping you informed."
He raised an eyebrow. "Have you?"
"Yes, as best I can."
"Then tell me what's going on with Beth's fingerprints." "I told you. We found a match on the phone."
"Thank you, Joe Friday. Now can you get beyond the facts and tell me what you're thinking?"
"We think they're hers."
"Come on," he said, eyes narrowing. "Don't be cute. Surely you must have developed some theories as to how they got there."
"Gus, some aspects of an investigation have to remain confidential."
"I promise, I don't work for Newsweek."
"I'm serious. Some things I can't share with anyone. Not even the victim's family."
"Ah, yes, I forgot. That's the eleventh commandment, isn't it? Or perhaps it's an addendum to the Magna Carta. Or no--I remember now. It's just administrative bullshit some law enforcement bureaucrat made up."
Andie nodded, unoffended by his wit. "Touche."
He sipped his wine, then turned more serious. "You must be able to understand my need to know."
"Of course I do."
His gaze tightened. It wasn't a stare, or even a glare. It was just a long, hard look. "I didn't sleep a wink last night. Up all night after you called. I kept thinking about those prints, wondering how the hell they got there. My first thought was that the worst had happened. Kept thinking he brought her there, forced her to dial, then killed her, too."
Andie couldn't tell him much, but she couldn't let him twist in the wind either. "We searched for any signs of a second victim at the site. Nothing, beyond Beth's prints."
"Which triggers a number of other not so pleasant possibilities."
"Such as?"
"He brought her there to terrorize her. He let her call home, dial up her daughter's line and punch out their secret message. Just when she thinks maybe he'll set her free, he shows her the other victim hanging in the tree, his way of telling her how she'll end up if her husband doesn't meet his demands."
"What demands?" she asked, alarmed. "You didn't say anything about any demands."
"Relax. There are none yet. But like you said, a ransom note could arrive any day."
"That's true."
He finished his wine, a long sip. "So, for a guy whose stomach is tied in knots, I've come up with some pretty good theories. Don't you think?"
"Pretty good."
"You got any better ones?"
Andie didn't have to answer, but she suddenly felt as though he had a right to know. Suffering was its own right of passage. "None better," she replied. "Just different."
"How so?"
"You're not going to like it."
"Try me."