Wilde said, “Okay.”
“See the inscribed book he’s holding above Washington’s head?”
Wilde nodded and read the inscription out loud. “EXITUS ACTA PROBAT.”
“Latin,” the woman said.
“Yeah, thanks.”
“Sarcasm. I love it. Do you know what it means?”
“‘The outcome justifies the means,’” Wilde said.
The woman nodded, adjusting her tortoise-framed glasses. “Amazing when you think about it. You build this giant monument to the father of our country. And what quote do you use to honor him and his work and his memory? Basically, ‘The ends justify the means.’ And even stranger, who is giving George Washington this somewhat amoral advice?” She pointed to the figure over Washington’s left shoulder. “Justice. Justice isn’t telling us to be fair or honest or truthful or law-abiding or impartial. Justice is telling our first president and all the park’s millions of visitors that the ends justify the means.”
Wilde turned to her. “Are you RJ?”
“Only if you are PB.”
“I’m not PB,” Wilde said. “But you know that already.”
The woman nodded. “I do indeed.”
“And you’re not RJ.”
“That’s also correct.”
“Do you want to tell me who you are?” Wilde asked.
“You first.”
“My guess is,” Wilde continued, “PB reached out to you—or should I say RJ?—before he closed down his account. Then he disappeared on RJ the same way he disappeared on everybody else. When I reached out last night, it made RJ curious.”
“All true,” the woman said.
“So who are you?”
“Let’s just say I’m a colleague of RJ’s. Do you know who PB really is?”
“Yes. You don’t?”
“No,” she said. “He insisted on anonymity. We told him the truth. I shouldn’t say ‘we.’ I wasn’t really involved. It was my colleague.”
“RJ?”
“Yes.”
“Who’s your colleague from Memphis.”
“How did you know that?”
Wilde did not reply.
“What do you say we cut to the chase?” the woman asked. “My colleague told PB what he wanted to know. In exchange, your friend PB promised to cooperate.”
“But he didn’t.”
“That’s right. Instead, he closed down his account. We never heard from him again.”
“What did you tell him?” Wilde asked.
“Oh, I don’t think we will play that game again,” the woman said. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…” She stopped. “What’s your real name?”
“I’m Wilde.”
The woman grinned. “I’m Danielle.” She took out a police badge. “NYPD Detective Danielle Sheer, retired. Do you want to cooperate with us?”
“Is this an official investigation?”
Danielle Sheer shook her head. “I said I was retired, didn’t I? I’m helping a colleague.”
“The colleague from Memphis.”
“That’s right.”
“And PB promised to help him too.”
“I didn’t say it was a him.”
“Sorry. Is it a her?”
“No, it’s a him. I’ll tell you what, Wilde. You give me PB’s real name, and I’ll spill all. Believe me, you’ll be interested.”
“And if I don’t give the name?”
“We say buh-bye.”
“Peter Bennett.”
“Hold on.” Danielle typed something into her phone. “I’m just texting the name to my colleague.”
“Do you want to tell me about RJ now?”
She finished texting and smiled up into the morning sun. “Do you know you can go inside this arch? There’s a door on the east side of the other column. It’s not open to the public, but when I was a cop, well, there were perks. You can actually go in and walk up these spiral stairs and stand on top of the arch. It’s a one-of-a-kind view.”
“Detective Sheer?”
“Retired. Call me Danielle.”
“Danielle, what’s going on?”
“What’s your interest in this, Wilde?”
“It’s a long story. But in short, I’m looking for Peter Bennett. We matched as relatives on the same site.”
“Interesting. But you didn’t match RJ?”