“It’s not a big deal,” I said.
“It was the drawing.”
“I know.” I did know. I’d been there.
He fumbled with his pack of cigarettes but didn’t light another one, setting it aside. “I feel like I cheated on her.”
“Who?”
“My Echo.”
I twisted around to look at him, ignoring the protest from my spine. “That’s who you’re saving yourself for? It’s a she?”
“I don’t know. I think it is. I don’t care. It isn’t always like that with Echoes, but it is with us. I don’t even know who it is, I just know I don’t want anybody else. And I know that she—or he, or whatever—feels the same way. I don’t know how I know; I just know.”
“That’s the dumbest and sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.” I looked down at the drawing in my hands. Now that I’d destroyed it, I was allowed to keep it.
What preoccupied me most about this particular piece was a nagging, inchoate sense of familiarity. Even more than his others, this particular sketch gave me an urgent sense that there was a clue in it I should be able to place, an element that I should recognize—besides myself, of course.
I should have been disturbed to know that Rivenholt had somehow managed to observe me without my seeing him, but I wasn’t. I had no room to question his motives; I’d felt them. He respected and cared about me on a level that didn’t make any sense, given that I had no memory of meeting him. I put the drawing away and stared at Rivenholt’s photo instead. It was starting to seem familiar too, but was that just because I’d seen Accolade? Or did I have some preexisting relationship with the man that was now lost to my head injury?
“Is it possible Rivenholt isn’t really Berenbaum’s Echo?” I asked Teo.
“You’re thinking he’s yours? He doesn’t have to be your Echo to have feelings for you.”
“But we’ve never met.”
“I dunno. Maybe his connection to Berenbaum gives him some way of observing you. Hell, maybe he’s been hiding nearby every time you and Berenbaum talked.”
I frowned. “Clay said something like that. That he thought Berenbaum knew where Rivenholt was. I just don’t want to think Berenbaum would lie to me.”
“Who is Clay again?”
“The cop who just arrested him, I’m pretty sure.” On that note, I dialed Clay’s number for the eighth time. Still nothing. Finally I gave up and dialed ASK-LAPD, choosing dispatch from the menu options.
“Hey,” I said to the woman who answered the phone. “I’ve been working with Brian Clay on a missing persons thing, and he’s not answering his phone. I wondered if you have some way to get in touch with him? It’s urgent.”
“Can you give me the name again?” Her tone was crisp and competent, and there was a trace of Mexico in her accent.
“Brian Clay.” I spelled it for her.
For a moment I heard nothing but background chatter. Then, “We have no officer by that name. Did this person specifi-cally claim to be with the LAPD?”
The bottom dropped out of my stomach. “He did.” Too many paradigm shifts in one hour; I was getting queasy.
“Was he in uniform?”
“No, but his badge looked legit.”
“Did he stop your vehicle or act as a police officer in any capacity?”
“All he did was ask me some questions about a friend of mine, but I’m pretty sure he just, ah, arrested someone at Union Station and hurt the man pretty badly in the process.”
“We’ll send someone to investigate. If he contacts you again, please call us right away. You can even use 911 for this. Authentic-looking badges are not hard to come by, so in future if you have doubt,s it’s always okay to call us and confirm identity before giving an officer any information.”
But I hadn’t had doubts. That was the part that bothered me most. I’d been so distracted with magic and fairies that it hadn’t even occurred to me to apply a healthy dose of skepticism to the mundane stuff.
I described Clay in as much detail as I could and gave the nice lady my contact information in a kind of shame-haze. I’d sent this guy after Rivenholt; I might as well have spilled the blood on the tracks with my own hand.
“Was that what I think it was?” Teo said when I hung up.
“If you think I found out Brian Clay is a lying, thieving piece of shit with a fake badge, then yes.”
I called Berenbaum’s mobile, but he wasn’t answering. I tried his office number, but Araceli didn’t answer either, and with so much up in the air, leaving a message seemed pointless.
“Teo, give me Caryl’s number,” I said.
“Only Caryl is authorized to do that.”
“For God’s sake, Teo, this is a disaster of epic proportions. Exceptions can be made.”
“No. She can’t have just anyone calling her when she might not have Elliott out. But more importantly, it’s the rules. Once you sign the contract, you don’t ever break the Project rules, Millie. Instant termination.”
“I hope you mean firing.”