“What kind of bomb?”
“The kind he’ll want to talk to me about.”
“This some kind of game, Gurney? I had a long day. I’d like some facts.”
“You sure about that?”
Becker was silent.
“Look, if I can knock this scumbag off balance, that’s a plus for everyone. Worst case, we’re maybe back where we started. All you’re giving me is a phone number, no official authorization to do anything, so if there’s any fallout at all, which I don’t think there will be, it doesn’t land on you. In fact, I’ve already forgotten in advance where I got the number from.”
There was another short silence, followed by a few clicks on a keypad, followed by Becker’s voice reading off a number that began with a Palm Beach area code. Then the connection was broken.
Gurney spent the next several minutes picturing and then immersing himself in a simple version of the kind of layered undercover persona he advocated in his academy lectures-in this case a reptilian ice man, lurking under a thin veneer of civilized manners.
Once he was satisfied with his sense of the attitude and tone, he activated the ID blocker on his phone and made the call to the Palm Beach number. It went straight into voice mail.
A spoiled, imperious voice announced, “This is Jordan. If you wish to receive a response, please leave a substantive message regarding the subject of your call.” He managed to imbue the please with a grating condescension that reversed its normal meaning.
Gurney spoke deliberately and a little awkwardly, as though he found the intricacies of polite speech a strange and difficult dance. He also added the subtlest hint of a Southern European accent. “The subject of my call is your relationship with Karnala Fashion, which I need to discuss with you as soon as possible. I’ll call you back in approximately thirty minutes. Please be available to answer the phone, and I’ll be more… substantive… at that time.”
Gurney was making some major assumptions: that Ballston was at home, as the stipulations of his bail arrangement required, that a man in his perilous position would be screening his calls and checking his messages obsessively, and that how he chose to handle the promised call thirty minutes later would reveal the nature of his involvement with Karnala.
Making one assumption was risky. Making three was crazy.
Chapter 58
At 10:58 P.M., Gurney made his second call. It was picked up after the third ring.
“This is Jordan.” The live voice sounded stiffer, older than the one on the recorded greeting.
Gurney grinned. It appeared that Karnala was indeed the magic word. Having hit it on the first shot gave him a burst of adrenaline. He felt like he’d gained entry to a high-stakes tournament in which the challenge was to deduce the rules of the game from the behavior of your opponent. He closed his eyes and stepped into his snake-pretending-to-be-harmless persona.
“Hello, Jordan. How are you this evening?”
“Fine.”
Gurney said nothing.
“What… what’s this about?”
“What do you think?”
“What? Who am I speaking to?”
“I’m a police officer, Jordan.”
“I have nothing to say to the police. That’s been made clear by-”
Gurney broke in. “Not even about Karnala?”
There was a pause. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Gurney sighed, made a bored little sucking noise with his teeth.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ballston reiterated.
If he really didn’t, thought Gurney, he’d have hung up by now. Or he never would have taken the call. “Well, Jordan, the thing is, if you had any information you were willing to share, perhaps something could be worked out to your advantage.”
Ballston hesitated. “Look… uh, why don’t you give me your name, Officer?”
“That’s not a good idea.”
“Sorry? I don’t…”
“See, Jordan, this is a preliminary exploration here. You understand what I’m saying?”
“I’m not sure I do.”
Gurney sighed again, as though speech itself were a burden. “No formal offer can be made without some indication that it would be seriously considered. A willingness to provide useful information about Karnala Fashion could result in a very different prosecutorial attitude toward your case, but we would need to feel a sense of cooperation from you before we discuss the possibilities. I’m sure you understand.”
“No, I really don’t.” Ballston’s voice was brittle.
“No?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I never heard of Caramel Fashion, or whatever the name of it is. So it’s impossible to tell you anything about it.”
Gurney laughed softly. “Very good, Jordan. That’s very good.”
“I’m serious. I know nothing about that company, that name, whatever it is.”
“That’s good to know.” Gurney let a glimpse of the reptile creep into his voice. “That’s good for you. Good for everybody.”
The glimpse seemed to have a stunning effect. Ballston was absolutely quiet.
“You still with us, Jordan?”
“Yes.”
“So we got that piece of it out of the way, right?”
“Piece of it?”
“That piece of the situation. But we got more to talk about.”
There was a pause. “You’re not really a cop, are you?”
“Of course I’m a cop. Why would I say I was a cop if I wasn’t a cop?”
“Who are you really, and what do you want?”
“I want to come see you.”
“See me?”
“I don’t like the phone so much.”
“I don’t understand what you want.”
“Just a little talk.”
“About what?”
“Enough bullshit. You’re a smart guy. Don’t talk like I’m stupid.”
Again Ballston seemed stunned into silence. Gurney thought he could hear a tremor in the man’s breathing. When Ballston spoke again, his voice had dropped to a frightened whisper.
“Look, I’m not sure who you are, but… everything is under control.”
“Good. Everyone will be glad to hear that.”
“Really. I mean it. Everything… is… under… control.”
“Good.”
“Then, what more…”
“A little talk. Face-to-face. We just want to be sure.”
“Sure? But why? I mean…”
“Like I said, Jordan… I don’t like the fucking phone!”
Another silence. This time Ballston hardly seemed to be breathing at all.
Gurney brought his tone back down to a velvety calm. “Okay, nothing to worry about. So here’s what we do. I come up to your place. We talk a little bit. That’s all. See? No problem. Easy.”
“When do you want to do this?”
“How about half an hour from now?”
“Tonight?” Ballston’s voice was close to breaking.
“Yeah, Jordan, tonight. When the fuck else would half an hour from now be?”
In Ballston’s silence, Gurney imagined he could sense pure fear. The ideal moment to end the call. He broke the connection and laid the phone down on the end of the dinner table.
In the dim light beyond the far end of the table, Madeleine was standing in the kitchen doorway in her pajamas. The top didn’t match the bottom. “What’s going on?” she asked, blinking sleepily.
“I think we have a fish on the line.”
“We?”
With a twinge of annoyance, he rephrased his comment. “The fish in Palm Beach seems to be hooked, at least for the moment.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “Now what?”
“Reel him in. What else?”
“So who are you meeting with?”
“Meeting with?”
“In half an hour.”
“You heard me say that? Actually, I’m not meeting with anyone in half an hour. I wanted to give Mr. Ballston the idea that I was in the neighborhood. Ratchet up the uneasiness. I also said that I’d come up to his place, create the impression that I might be driving up from Lake Worth or South Palm.”