Part 14 (1/2)
”At home,” he answered. ”They patched the call from the precinct. Where are you?”
”At home as well.”
”I tried calling.”
”I just got here,” I said. ”More importantly, how fast can you get here?”
”Why?”
”Because you're not going to believe this.”
”You might be surprised,” he said.
”Not as much as I was. Claire's killer is in my bathtub.”
I was expecting any number of responses from Lamont, all of them falling under the heading of disbelief. Instead, I got sarcasm.
”Is the guy still dead or is he doing the backstroke now?” he asked.
”You think this is funny?”
”Do you hear me laughing?”
No, I didn't. This was about more than Bethesda Terrace. I was missing something.
”They must have put him there,” I said. ”They're trying to frame me.”
”They, as in the two federal agents who just left my apartment twenty minutes ago?” he asked. ”The ones you shot at in Central Park?”
”They were there to kill me. Christ, what the h.e.l.l did they tell you?”
”I think you're going to need a lawyer, Mr. Mann.”
”I am a lawyer, Detective Lamont.”
”You know what I mean,” he said. ”We're going to need a formal statement from you regarding Claire Parker's murder.”
”Are you saying I'm a suspect?”
”More like a person of interest,” he said. ”And I'm hopeful you'll cooperate with us.”
”This is crazy.”
”With all due respect, Mr. Mann, I'm not the one with a dead guy in my bathtub.”
”But I can prove-”
He shut me down so fast I was actually startled. ”You'll have your chance, I a.s.sure you,” he said.
I was back to my original question. ”Fine. Then when can I expect you here?”
”You can't,” he said. ”It's not my s.h.i.+ft. Detectives Charrington and Goldstein will be there soon. We've got to do things by the book, Mr. Mann.” He paused. ”Do you understand?”
”Yes,” I answered. I finally did understand. Or, at least, I was pretty sure I did. A lot of years had pa.s.sed since I'd read the book he was referring to. It was the one we had in common.
Lamont wasn't ticked off. He was tipping me off. The faster I got off that phone ...
The better my chances of staying alive.
CHAPTER 43.
”STUPID, STUPID, stupid ...” I muttered, berating myself as I quickly hung up the phone.
In the heat of the moment, at the shock of seeing Claire's killer in my own bathtub, I'd gotten sloppy. Leave it to Lamont to catch my mistake.
He was now the official study guide-the human SparkNotes-for 1984. The two detectives he told me were coming to my apartment instead of him had the names of two other characters from the novel. Had he said one without the other, I probably never would've made the connection. But the two together? Charrington and Goldstein?
By the time he tacked on, ”We've got to do things by the book,” I knew what Lamont was trying to tell me, the clever to my stupid. Big Brother was most likely listening in. My phone line was tapped.
So now they knew where I was. Where are they?
I dashed from the phone to my living room window, which faced the street below, pressing my nose against the gla.s.s. There was a windowless white van double-parked directly in front of the building. They hadn't exactly spray-painted BAD GUYS on the hood, but I just had a feeling. This wasn't the dry cleaners or a florist making a delivery. Nor was it the cable guy.
Time to pare down.
I kicked off my shoes, threw them in the duffel along with one of the guns-the Glock-and bolted from my apartment. Once in the stairwell, I silently stepped along the concrete in my socks for a peek over the railing, five flights down. One of the two guys from Bethesda Terrace was turning the corner to the second floor. It was only a glimpse, but that was all I needed.
Where's the other one?
I ducked back into the hallway, eyeing the elevator. The floor light moved from 2 to 3, and it wasn't stopping. There was my answer.
The options were shrinking fast as I ruled out the roof. The closest I'd ever gotten to jumping from one building to another was watching a Nike parkour commercial. With the alleyways on both sides of me measuring at least ten feet wide, this was no time for a crash course, emphasis on crash.
The only remaining option seemed to be standing my ground and letting the bullets fly. It was two against one-not the best odds-but probably my best chance.
Unless.