A few minutes later they pulled into a parking spot near the station. She turned off the engine and angled to face him. Her smile looked forced.
"Okay. Shoot. Don't forget—bad news can be considered good news in this case."
"Don't count on that."
The smiled faded. "Okay. Hit me."
"I'll tell you what I know for sure. First off, Gerhard is dead. Murdered."
She paled. "What? You're sure?"
He told her what he'd found.
"Oh, my God! Do you think Jerry did it?"
"I don't know, but even if he did I doubt there's a shred of evidence to prove it. Not even a body."
He went on to explain his 911 calls.
"But he might be involved?"
She'd wanted bad news about Bethlehem, but Jack could tell by her expression that she hadn't wanted it to be this bad.
"Yeah. Because he's violent."
Without mentioning Levy's name, he told her about witnessing his abduction.
"And this guy's not pressing charges?"
"He refused."
"For God's sake, why?"
"Not sure. He gave some lame excuse about working on a sensitive government project, but there's got to be more to it than that. He knows Bethlehem… but seems to know him by another name."
"Jerry's leading a double life? Poor Dawnie!" Christy slumped against the seat, head back, staring to the roof. "I had a feeling something was off with him, but never in my wildest dreams… I've got to get her away from him."
"Tread carefully here. Again, I can't be sure, but his MO for dealing with threats might be to eliminate them."
She looked at Jack, fear alive in her eyes. "You don't think he'd do anything to me, do you?"
"I don't think so—at least not as long as he wants to stay on Dawn's good side—but I'd play it cool for now anyway. Instead of you trying to break them up, let me see if I can arrange for the legal system to do the job for you."
"What do you mean?"
"During my first twenty-four hours of digging into this clown I found one man murdered and witnessed the abduction of another. I don't know if Bethlehem did the former, but there's no doubt about the latter, which I doubt very much was an aberrant event in an otherwise blemish-free life. Jerry Bethlehem—or whoever he really is—probably has a closet crammed with skeletons. I'll try to sniff out one of them. When I find one, I'll drop a dime. And then, as he's cuffed and led away to the hoosegow, you can be on hand to comfort Dawn."
"I don't think I can handle knowing she's with that kind of man… monster."
"Remember, we don't know he's a monster. And so far he's done nothing to harm her. So just hang in there. Come on too strong with nothing to back you up and you may only push her closer to him."
Listen to me: Family Counselor Jack.
"But—"
"Give me a chance to take care of this without wrecking your relationship with Dawn."
She stared at him. "I could bear Dawnie never speaking to me again if I knew she'd never speak to Jerry Bethlehem again either."
Jack nodded. A mother's love. Christy didn't look tough but he sensed a lioness beneath her skin… one whose cub was threatened.
"A couple of days… can you keep mum for a couple of days?"
"It won't be easy, but yes, I can give you a couple of days."
Jack hoped she could hold to that.
4
"Tell me about that cute little stick man on the cover of your book," Jack said.
Hank Thompson smiled. "I wouldn't exactly call the Kicker Man cute."
After returning from Queens, Jack had made a quick stop home for a tape recorder, notepad, and pens to help him look reporterish, then headed for Fifth Avenue.
Vector Publications occupied the fourth floor of an office building in the upper Thirties. He'd stepped out of the elevator and found himself in a bare, nondescript hallway painted a sickly green. To his left he spotted a pair of glass doors etched with VECTOR PUBLICATIONS, LLC. On the far side of those he found a book-lined reception area. The guy at the desk had paged Susan Abrams and she'd led him to the author.
"Hank gives a great interview," she'd gushed. "You're going to love him."
Apparently Ms. Abrams—black hair, black dress, and bare arms as pale and thin as dental floss—already did.
She'd ushered him into the conference room and introduced him as John Tyleski of the Trenton Times to a rangy six-footer leaning against an oval mahogany table. With obvious reluctance, Susan left them to get down to business.
Most of Thompson's responses so far had been virtually word for word the same as Jack had read in the first article. Thompson seemed to have memorized them. When pressed on how the world would be changed, he'd offered only vague platitudes.
The guy had charisma, Jack had to grant him that. An easy smile and a comfortable, confident way about him. In person he looked even more like a mid-thirties Jim Morrison than in his photo, except for the eyes—his were blue.
They sat facing each other across the conference table, the recorder midway between them. Jack had opened with a few typical questions he'd read in dozens of author interviews: Where did he get his ideas, how had the book's success changed his life, blah-blah-blah.
Then came the time to home in on the Kicker Man. He'd undoubtedlv been asked about it before, but Jack hadn't seen the answer.
"No, Hank"—Thompson had quickly established a first-name relationship—"I don't suppose he is. Not with four arms. Why four?"
"I don't know. The figure kept recurring in my dreams. I figured that meant it was important so I began to draw it on all my things. And every time I looked at it I had this strange feeling inside."
Jack swallowed. Like what he'd felt when he'd first seen it?
Thompson added, "And later I found out I wasn't alone. A lot of people have told me they feel something when they look at it." His gaze locked on Jack. "How about you? Get a little chill when you first saw it?"
Jack shook his head. "Afraid not."
He hoped he was convincing.
"Well, it still does something to me. So much so that I even put it on the cover of my book."
Time now for a little probing.
"I've heard it's an ancient symbol."
His eyebrows shot up. "Really? Of what? I'd love to know."
He seemed sincere on that point.
"I don't know, but I read somewhere that it appeared in an ancient book."
Jack noticed a slight lessening of Hank's easygoing manner, a minor tightening of his tone.
"What ancient book?"
Jack frowned and put on a puzzled expression. "I wish I could remember the title. But I recall something about it having a metal cover. You ever see a book like that, Hank?"
He sensed Thompson stiffen in his chair. "No, I don't believe I ever have. How about you?"
Jack kept his tone innocently blase. "I believe I heard that it once belonged to Luther Brady."
"The Dormentalist guy?"
"Yes. Did you ever meet him?"
"No. And if what he's accused of is true, I don't want to." Thompson's eyes narrowed. "You're not one of them, are you?"
"One of whom?"
"A Dormentalist?"
If you only knew…
"No. But if I were…?"
"Check out their Web site. See what lies they're spreading about me. Scientologists too."
"Why would they do that?"
"Because lots of their members are leaving to become Kickers. They're losing dues to my clubs and it's driving them crazy."
"Interesting. But back to the book: I think I saw it in a museum once, but I can't remember which one. I'll let you know if it comes to me."