Bethlehem closed the Riv's trunk, then the Infiniti's. But instead of getting into one or the other, he started toward the restaurant area. Jack watched in confusion.
What the—?
And then he realized that Bethlehem might have a dire need for a pit stop. He'd probably been hiding in Levy's garage for hours. Couldn't relieve himself there without leaving damning evidence. This rest stop was probably his first opportunity.
And gave Jack an opportunity too.
Pulling on a pair of driving gloves, he watched Bethlehem enter the food court, then eased his ear toward the Riviera, backing in next to it. He popped his trunk and raced around to the rear. He kept a collection of burglar tools in the spare tire well. He could hear Levy banging and shouting within the neighboring trunk. No one but Jack was near enough to hear. He pulled an eighteen-inch gad pry bar from the kit, jammed the flat end under the lip of the Buick's trunk lid, and threw his weight down on it.
The lid popped up revealing a disheveled, frightened-looking man with his hands raised before him as if to ward off a blow. Aaron Levy's hair was longer now than in the online photo, and he had heavy five-o'clock shadow, but it was him.
"Get out of there!" Jack said, reaching a hand toward him. "We haven't much time!"
Levy grabbed Jack's hand and levered himself out.
"Who—?"
"The guy who's saving your ass." He pointed to the Crown Vic. "Into the passenger seat. Move!"
Levy hesitated a second, then leaped toward the door. Jack memorized the Riv's license plate as he closed the trunk, then ran around to the driver seat. As soon as he was in he threw the Vic into gear and roared off.
He was a hundred yards away from the other cars when he saw Bethlehem step out of the food court.
"Down!"
Levy ducked as they raced past. Bethlehem didn't so much as glance in their direction as he hurried back toward his car.
As Jack pulled into the southbound traffic, he said, "Okay, we're clear now."
Levy straightened and stared at him. "Who are you?"
"Never mind that. What's Jerry Bethlehem have against you?"
"Jerry Bethlehem? That wasn't—" And then suddenly he clammed.
Wasn't Bethlehem? That meant Levy knew his attacker and knew him as someone else.
Will the real Jerry Bethlehem please stand up?
"Well, if he wasn't Jerry Bethlehem, who was he?"
Levy ran a shaking hand over his face. "I don't know."
"You're a lousy liar. Do you or don't you know Jerry Bethlehem?"
"Never heard of him."
Another lie.
Levy turned toward him. "But never mind this Bethlehem or whoever he is. Who are you and why did you—?"
"Pluck you from the slavering jaws of death? Name's John Robertson. I'm a private investigator. I've been trying to talk to you for two days now but you keep ducking me. Why is that, Doctor Levy?"
"1 remember. You called my office today. Look, I'm sorry, but I'm very busy lately and—"'
"1 also called your house last night—and no, I'm not the guy who's been hanging up on you. That was most likely your friend Bethlehem."
"He's not my friend! I—"
Jack watched out of the corner of his eye as he asked, "Ever hear of a guy named Gerhard—Michael Gerhard?"
"No. Never."
The sudden stiffening of Levy's posture said otherwise.
"He's dead. Murdered."
Further stiffening. His voice dropped to a whisper. "My God! That's… awful. I mean, it's awful for anyone to be murdered, but what's this got to do with me?"
"Because there's a chance Bethlehem did it and I think you were going to end up the same way."
Jack then proceeded to describe the scene in Gerhard's bathroom and the man's ordeal before he drowned.
"But-but what makes you think it was him—this Bethlehem?"
"Because Gerhard was hired—just as I was—to investigate him. And I found your name connected to Bethlehem in Gerhard's files. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to add that up."
Levy slumped in his seat. "What… what did I ever do to him to make him want to…?"
For once he seemed sincere. Question was: Who was the him he was referring to?
"Only he knows that—and maybe you do too. But I think you'd better do something to keep him from trying again."
"What?"
"I don't suppose you've got your cell phone."
"No. He took it."
Jack pulled his out and handed it across.
"Use mine. Call the cops. Tell them you were abducted and escaped from an old-model Buick Riviera car headed south on the Thruway."
"But surely he'll have ditched the car by now."
"Why? There's a pretty damn good chance he thinks you're still in the trunk and he's finalizing his plans for you as he drives."
Levy took the phone, then handed it back.
"No. Thanks, but no."
"You've gotta be kidding!"
"Sorry. I can't."
"Why the hell not?"
'Tin…"
He paused and Jack could hear the falsificator start to bubble.
"You're what?"
"I'm involved in some sensitive research—federally funded research. I can't have police involved in my activities."
"So instead of pressing charges you're just going to sit back and wait for him to try again?"
"No, I'll have federal authorities look into the matter. They'll take care of it."
"By federal you mean the DoD?"
Levy's head snapped around. "What did you say?"
"You heard me."
He turned and stared out the side window. "Please take me back to my car. Or if you can't do that—"
"I'll take you back."
The Bronxville exit was coming up. Jack could get off there and swing onto the northbound side.
Or he could pull off onto a deserted country road—no shortage of those near Rathburg—and put the screws to Levy until he came across with something straight about Bethlehem.
Because that guy was a bad actor. Jack was now ninety-nine percent sure he'd killed Gerhard. He hoped when the cops worked the murder scene they'd come up with something to connect him. If not, maybe Jack would drop a dime and help them along.
One thing he knew, this was no guy to be messing around with an eighteen-year-old girl. Jack had never met Dawn Pickering but he'd decided to help Christy build a wall between her daughter and Bethlehem.
As for the doc… he'd take him to his car. That would create another deposit to his good-will account in the Bank of Levy. He might need to draw on that someday.
On the ride back he let Levy use the phone to call his wife to reassure her that he was fine and would be home soon. After that he pressed the guy for more information but could pry loose nothing about Bethlehem.
On the subject of his research, however, Levy was a little more forthcoming. But not much.
"It involves genetics."
"Looking for an insanity gene?" Jack couldn't resist: "Or creating mutants'?"
"Don't be silly. They're not insane—at least not most of them. We're not altering genes or rearranging them or doing anything but studying them—lots ot looking but no touching. Our findings, when we finally publish them, will have global repercussions."
Oh, no. Another one like Hank Thompson and his Kick.
"Don't tell me: You're gonna change the world."
Levy shook his head. "Not the world, just the way people see themselves and others. I'm talking a paradigm shift."
"Fine. But how does that prevent you from calling in the locals to take care of Bethlehem."
"It does. Trust me, it just does."
That was just it though: Jack didn't trust him.