‘Reprisal? Who’s the tape maker? What type of guy? What type of killer? You know, background, motive?’ he asks, his tone serious now, his old NYPD instincts kicking back in and lifting Deonte from friendly greying retiree back to a force to be reckoned with.
‘He’s rich, well connected… incredibly powerful,’ I say carefully.
He winces. ‘Trump-y?’
‘Definitely not. Old, old money. Ingrained in everything. Establishment.’
Deonte studies my face for a moment and I suddenly wonder how much he knows about my private life. If he knows about Edward and the Holbeck family. If he does, he doesn’t mention the glaring equivalency. But then, why would he? Authors write close to home, and I am just an author with a few outlandish questions.
‘Damn. So, he’s playing cat ’n’ mouse, taunting her. Okay, now we’re talking. She can’t let on she knows, until she’s sure it’s real. Can’t tell the police, can’t be sure if this whole thing’s a scare tactic. And she’s got to be careful who she trusts, because if that tape’s real, and this guy is that powerful, anyone could be feeding what she does back to him. Leaks in departments, hired hands – yeah, got it: one false step and she’s toast.’
A flicker of doubt blossoms inside me. Leaks in departments, hired hands, trust. I suddenly wonder if I should even be speaking to Deonte. My connection to him comes through my publisher, after all, and the Holbecks have proved their reach on that front already.
I push the paranoid thought away. If push comes to shove, I’m confident Deonte’s got my back. ‘Exactly. She can’t trust anyone until she has real evidence that the tape is an actual confession. Then she can decide whether to hand it over to someone.’
‘Sensible. She’s got a job, reputation, I’m guessing? Doesn’t want to make a fool of herself if the tape maker refutes the validity of the recording.’ I nod. ‘So, seems reasonable she’d need to be sure the people mentioned in the confession are real people, and they’re dead people. Best not to go to the police until then, if she doesn’t want a libel case or worse hanging over her. Even then, if she does find a death, she’d need to find something suspicious about it; she’d need to look at cause of death. If it’s murky, though, or in keeping with that confession – well, then, she’s cooking with gas.’ He looks momentarily pained. ‘Thing is, if these victims are just missing, you got problems. That’s trickier. It’ll be easier for your plot if she finds an actual body, then they can exhume, run a fresh autopsy if there wasn’t one first time round. Things are much more accurate these days, if they got missed the first time – less cracks to slip down.’
‘And if the girl finds something? If the tape is real?’
Deonte lets out a puckish whistle. ‘If the confession is real. If she finds a body, and the circumstances of death are hazy, then it’s go-time; she needs to lawyer up and hunker down. Then it’ll be a legal battle there on out. Full OJ.’ He ends with a flourish before adding, ‘Oh, and wait, before I forget – this girl, she damn well better copy that tape cassette. I don’t wanna be screaming at this book: Why didn’t you copy the damn thing?’
‘Noted,’ I say gratefully. It hadn’t occurred to me until now, but the import of this hits home.
‘Why does he choose her? This cold-blooded killer?’ Deonte asks, catching me off-guard. It’s a good question, but then that’s Deonte’s profession, asking the right questions. And the answer to it is just a little too close to home for me.
Whether or not Robert knows what I am capable of isn’t clear, but what is clear is he knows I am the kind of person with more to lose than appearances might suggest. He sees me.
‘I can’t tell you that. It’d spoil the ending,’ I say with a grin, thinking on my feet.
His eyes sparkle in recognition at my swerve.