“I’m not sure that would make any difference at this point.”
“What are you telling me? That you’ve managed to set yourself up—once again—in front of some lunatic murderer? That there’s nothing to do now but wait for some horrible confrontation?”
“That’s what I’m trying to avoid—by getting to him before he can get to me.”
“How?”
“By finding out everything I can about him. So I can predict his actions better than he can predict mine.”
“That’s the pattern, isn’t it? You and him.”
“Pardon?”
“You and him. One on one. It’s the same life-or-death contest you always seem to get yourself into. It’s the reason I wanted you to see Malcolm.”
He felt numb. “It’s not the same this time. It’s not just me. I have people on my side.”
“Oh, really? Who? Jack Hardwick, who dragged you into this mess to begin with? The state police, whom your investigation is undermining? Those are your friends and allies?” She shook her head in a way that looked like a shudder, then went on. “Even if the whole world was willing to help you, it wouldn’t matter. It would still be just you against him. It always comes down to that. High Noon at the O.K. Corral.”
He said nothing.
Madeleine sat back in her chair, watching him. Gradually, a look of discovery changed her expression. “I just realized something.”
“What?”
“You never really worked for the NYPD, did you? You never saw yourself as their employee, as a tool of the department. You saw the department as your tool—something to be used on your terms, if and when you felt like it, to achieve your goals.”
“My goals were their goals. Catch the bad guys. Get the evidence. Lock ’em up.”
She continued as though he hadn’t spoken. “For you, the department was really just backup. The real contest was always between you and the bad guy. You and the bad guy on the way to the showdown. Sometimes you took advantage of department resources, sometimes you didn’t. But you always saw it as your battle, your call.”
He listened to what she was saying. Maybe she was right. Maybe his approach to things was too limited, too restricted to his own point of view. Maybe that was a big problem, maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was just the natural product of his brain chemistry, something over which he would never have any control. But whatever it was, he had no desire to keep talking about it. He suddenly found the whole topic exhausting.
He wasn’t sure what to do next.
But he had to do something. Even if it led to nothing.
He decided to call Adonis Angelidis.
Chapter 41. A Cautionary Tale
Gurney’s call to the cell number given him by Angelidis had been answered immediately by the man himself. Gurney’s brief description of a rapidly developing situation that could be of mutual interest resulted in an agreement to get together at the Aegean Odyssey in two hours.
Not wanting to leave before making sure that Madeleine was ready to go to the Winkler farm in Buck Ridge, he was pleased to find her in the bedroom, packing a big nylon duffel bag.
She spoke as she stuffed a pair of socks into a sneaker. “The hens have enough of their regular food and plenty of water, so you don’t have to bother with that. But maybe in the morning you could bring them some chopped strawberries?”
“Sure,” he said vaguely, the request hardly registering. He was caught up in conflicting feelings about her whole involvement in this Winkler business at the fair. He found it both annoying and fortuitous. Annoying because he’d never much liked the Winklers, and liked them less now for their having talked Madeleine into spending a week as an unpaid alpaca wrangler to make their lives easier. But he had to admit it was fortuitous as well, since it provided a safe place for her at the very time it was needed. And, of course, the work with the animals was something she’d enjoy doing. She just plain liked to be helpful, especially if feathered or furry creatures were involved.
In the midst of these thoughts, he found her looking at him with one of her gentler, more impenetrable expressions.
Somehow it relaxed him and made him smile.
“I love you,” she said. “Please be careful.”
She put out her arms, and they embraced—so long and so tightly, it seemed to leave nothing that needed to be put into words.
When he arrived in Long Falls, the restaurant block was deserted. Inside the restaurant there was only one employee in sight, a muscular waiter with expressionless eyes. There were no diners. No one at the unlit bar. Of course, it was barely ten-thirty, and it was highly unlikely that the Aegean Odyssey served breakfast. It occurred to him that the place might be open that morning only as a convenience to Angelidis.
The waiter led Gurney through the bar down a dim hallway, past two restrooms and two unmarked doors, to a heavy steel exit door. He gave it a hard shove with his shoulder, and it swung open with a metallic screech. He stepped to the side and motioned Gurney into a colorful walled garden.
The garden was the same width as the building, forty or fifty feet, and extended out at least twice that distance in length. The only break in the redbrick walls enclosing it was a set of large double doors in the far end. They were wide open, framing a view of the river, the jogging path, and the manicured tranquillity of Willow Rest. The view from here was similar to the view from the problematic apartment three blocks away. Only the angle was different.
The garden itself was a pleasant combination of grass paths, vegetable beds, and herbaceous borders. The waiter pointed to a shaded corner, to a small white café table with two wrought-iron chairs. Adonis Angelidis was sitting in one of them.
When Gurney arrived at the table, Angelidis nodded toward the empty chair. “Please.”
A second waiter materialized and placed a tray in the center of the table. There were two demitasse cups of black coffee, two cordial glasses, and an almost full bottle of ouzo, the anise-flavored Greek liqueur.
“You like strong coffee?” Angelidis’s voice was low and rough—like the purring of a large cat.
“Yes.”
“You might like it with ouzo. Better than sugar.”
“Perhaps I’ll try some.”
“You have an okay drive here, yes?”
“No problem.”
Angelidis nodded. “Beautiful day.”
“Beautiful garden.”
“Yes. Fresh garlic. Mint. Oregano. Very good.” Angelidis shifted slightly in his seat. “What can I do for you?”
Gurney took the cup of coffee closest to him and sipped it thoughtfully. On the drive up from Walnut Crossing he’d concocted an opening gambit that now, as he sat facing this man who might well be one of the cleverest mobsters in America, struck him as rather feeble. But he decided to give it a shot anyway. Sometimes a Hail Mary pass is all you’ve got left.
“Some information came my way that might interest you.”
Angelidis’s gaze was mildly curious.
Gurney went on. “Just a rumor, of course.”
“Of course.”
“About the Organized Crime Task Force.”
“Rotten shits. No principles.”
“What I heard,” said Gurney, taking another sip of his coffee, “is that they’re looking to pin Spalter on you.”
“Carl? You see what I mean? Bunch of shits! Why would I want to lose Carl? I told you before, like a son to me. Why would I think to do such a thing? Disgusting!” Angelidis’s big boxer’s hands had closed into fists.