“What, your book?” asked Livingston.
“I was thinking more about the back of my book. The author photo,” I said.
I waited for that spark of recognition to ignite their eyes. Together the mayor and his chief of staff would nod and realize that out of everyone in the room, I was the only one who had a target on his back.
But the spark never came. Or the nods.
“What’s so funny?” I asked Livingston.
Chapter 42
HE WASN’T actually laughing. It was worse. It was that Livingston wanted to laugh and knew he shouldn’t. The result was somewhere between a canary-eating grin and whatever you call that look people give you right before they tell you that your fly is open.
“Yeah, about your author photo,” said Livingston. “Sorry about that.”
Elizabeth took the words straight out of my mouth. “Sorry about what?” she asked.
Meanwhile, Deacon less than subtly turned to look out the window behind his desk, as if by not actually watching Livingston explain what he’d done he couldn’t be held accountable.
Mark Twain had it right. Politicians and diapers must be changed often, and for the same reason.
“Naturally, when Allen Grimes showed me the envelope containing your book and that bloody playing card, we wanted your help,” said Livingston. “We enlisted Elizabeth, and off she went to ask you. All I did was increase the odds that you would say yes.”
At that point, it would’ve been redundant of him to elaborate. I was already picturing him getting all arts-and-craftsy with my author photo. He must have used an X-Acto knife not only to slice up my face but also to cut up a magazine and pull out the letters that spelled Dead Wrong across my forehead. Nice touch underlining Dead with that red pen, too. A real thorough job.
The worst part? The thing that really pissed me off?
It was clever.
Although Elizabeth hadn’t quite gotten that far yet. To look at her was to know exactly what she was thinking. She wanted to kill Livingston with that same X-Acto knife.
“Are you kidding me? Do you know how fucked up that is?” she said to him, her cheeks burning red.
Apparently only Mayor Deacon himself was allowed to swear like that in his office. He spun around from his conveniently long stare out the window. “Cool it,” he warned her.
All that did was redirect her anger.
“You okayed this?” she asked the mayor.
“First off, I didn’t okay anything,” he insisted, each word more clipped than the next. “Second, you don’t get to ask me that.”
“But I do,” I said.
While Deacon was as politically savvy as they come, even the best of them lead with their chins from time to time. This was one of those times. Whatever hold the mayor had on Elizabeth, it didn’t extend to me. I was a free agent. If he didn’t realize it, his chief of staff certainly did.
“Dr. Reinhart, I hope you can understand that we simply couldn’t afford your turning us down,” said Livingston, coming to his boss’s rescue. “I know how tempting it is to be upset. What you should be is relieved.”
“That’s really how you’re going to spin this?” I asked.
“I’m serious,” said Livingston, doubling down. “If you really think about it, it never made sense. This guy clearly wants us to guess his next victims. Why would he so overtly announce you as a target?”
“That’s brilliant,” I said. “Did you major or minor in psychology?”
“Actually, the psych department at Harvard sucked when I was there,” he shot back.
The only thing worse than a Harvard guy is a guy who goes out of his way to tell you that he went to Harvard.
“Yes, you’re right. It’s my fault that I couldn’t figure out what you’d done,” I said with all the sarcasm I could muster. “Instead of a deranged serial killer slicing up a picture of me, it was actually you. To think I couldn’t tell the difference.”
Since I didn’t have a mike in my hand to drop, I did the next best thing. I stood up to leave.
“Mr. Mayor, good luck catching your serial killer,” I said. “And good luck in November with your reelection.”
Then I walked out.
Chapter 43
ELIZABETH RAN after me, the pounding of her heels echoing up and down the hallway outside Deacon’s office as I headed for the stairs. I could almost picture her timing the sprint, staying behind a few extra angry seconds to give the mayor and Livingston a little more grief while still leaving herself enough time to catch up to me. Advanced multitasking.
“Dylan, wait!” she called out. “Wait!”
I didn’t wait. But only because I wanted to get the hell out of the building. When I’d first walked in, it was City Hall. The City Hall. When I walked out, it was just another building in the city. Not even.
I stopped on the sidewalk when I got to Park Row. Then I turned around and waited.
“I know,” I said the second Elizabeth reached me.
“You know what?” she asked, catching her breath.
“I know you obviously had no idea what Livingston had done, and I know how sorry you are nonetheless,” I said. “I also know what you’re going to tell me now, so go ahead.”
“You can’t just walk away,” she said.
I watched her jaw tightening as she braced for an argument, most likely kicked off by some snappy retort on my part, like “I just did.”
But I was all out of snappy, at least for the day. Besides, if there’s a curse to studying human behavior it’s that you always start with yourself. I knew it wasn’t in me to walk away, not a chance. I couldn’t abandon Elizabeth.
“Do you really think I’d do that to you?” I asked.
“No, I really didn’t,” she said. Then, of all things, she leaned in and kissed my cheek.
“What was that for?”
“Proving me right,” she said, “and not leaving me hanging.”
“I am leaving you, though.”
“Wait—what?”
“Only for a couple of days,” I said. “I’m back Thursday night.”
“But—”
“Don’t worry. The nine of diamonds—whoever he or she is—will still be alive when I return.”
“How can you be so sure?” she asked.
“Because I saw it on the news,” I said. “Which means the Dealer has, too. This is everything he wants.”
“Publicity.”
“No,” I said. “Fear. It might be September, but it’s about to be the summer of Sam all over again in this city, and our guy is going to milk it for a bit now that he has everyone’s attention. In fact he was probably wondering why it took so long for Grimes to break the story. No wonder he put that nine of diamonds where he did.”
“Not to sound like Livingston,” she said, “but what if you’re wrong? What if he’s killing that nine of diamonds right now?”
“Trust me; he’s not.”
“I don’t trust anyone, in case you haven’t noticed,” she said. “What if I need to reach you? Can I call your cell?”
“Sorry: no cell phones.”
“What do you mean?”
“There are two rules where I’m going, and that’s the first,” I said. “No cell phones.”
“What’s the second rule?”
“No food.”
“No food?”
“You can’t bring food, and you can’t buy any once you’re there.”
“You’re kidding me, right?”