He said flatly, “I want to know what you were holding back when we interviewed you this afternoon.”
That caught me off guard. “Nothing.”
“Bullshit. I know you. You were hiding something.”
Now that really was ironic. “You think?”
He just stared, immovable, implacable, impossible. “Yeah.”
“I guess some things never change.”
“Yeah,” he drawled. “Two years later I find you smack in the middle of another homicide investigation. Coincidence?”
“You think not?” I started coughing again, which was aggravating as hell.
He just stood there watching.
When I’d got my breath again, I rasped, “If I were hiding something I guess it was the realization that you and Paul Kane are also already…acquainted.”
He didn’t say a word.
“Same club, old chap?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You sound jealous, Adrien. And bitter.”
Did I? The thought startled me.
“Nah. Just curious.”
“About?”
I shrugged. “Not really my business.”
“You’ve got that right.” He was curt. After a moment he said slowly, “So that’s all it was? You guessed that Paul and I…knew each other.”
“In the Biblical sense?” I mocked. “Yeah.”
Silence.
After we’d parted company he’d called twice when I hadn’t been there to take his call. Or maybe I had been there, but just hadn’t picked up. Anyway, I knew from caller ID who the hang-up calls were from.
And then, eleven months after the whole thing was over, he’d called and actually left a message.
It’s Jake.
Like, did he think I’d forgotten his voice along with his number?
