“Is that relevant?”
“Did you go to Minnesota to see Strobekker’s body exhumed?”
“Do you doubt that I did?”
“I think you went straight to New York to try to crack Jan Krislov. Didn’t you?”
“As a matter of fact, I personally observed the postmortem on David Strobekker.”
“Was he missing his pineal gland?”
“Oddly enough, no. Now, what was the purpose of your call?”
“Am I a prime suspect in these murders, Doctor?”
Lenz pauses. “You’re a suspect, yes.”
“Why?”
“You have access to EROS’s master client list. That makes you a member of a very exclusive group.”
“Have you got access to the list yet?”
“No.”
“Maybe I can help you.”
“How?”
“Maybe I have a copy of the list.”
“Do you or don’t you?”
It’s my turn to play coy.
“What do you want?” Lenz asks.
“I want the FBI to stop hassling my wife.”
“Ah. Daniel’s agents can be clumsy on occasion. They are causing you problems?”
“They’re bothering my wife at work.”
“I see.”
“And anybody who bothers my wife de facto pisses me off.”
“Yes.”
“What can you do about that?”
Lenz says nothing for a while.
“You realize I could go public with all this at any time,” I tell him.
“That would only aggravate the very situation you seek to alleviate. The disruption of your wife’s life would increase exponentially.”
He’s right, of course.
“But perhaps I can be of assistance,” he says. “It’s true that the various police departments involved in the case—particularly the Michigan department—are ready to have both you and Mr. Turner arrested. I, however, do not share their enthusiasm.”
“Get to it, Doctor.”
“I think perhaps we can help each other, Mr. Cole. If you will agree to help me in a limited capacity, I think I could have both Bureau and police pressure removed from your life.”
“What kind of capacity?”
“I want the master client list, of course. Can you get it?”
“Maybe.”
“I’ll take that as a no.”
Damn this guy. “Why take that as a no?”
“If you had a copy of your own, you would have destroyed it by now. And you no longer have access to the accounting database, which you would need to get a new copy.”
How does he know that?
“However, you still have something I want.”
“What’s that?”
“Your thoughts.”
“What?”
And then he tells me. How long he has been planning this, I don’t know. Maybe this was the whole point of putting pressure on Drewe. Of not throwing me to the Michigan police. Because Lenz wants exactly what they want. To fly me up to Washington so he can question me with no one else around. He says something about “an informal version of his standard criminal-profiling technique,” but I don’t really listen. We both know the bottom line. If I want the pressure taken off, I’ve got to play his game.
“How soon do you want to do this?”
“I’ll have a ticket for you waiting in Jackson, Mississippi. It’s 10.50. Can you get to the airport by noon?”
“Noon today?”
“Of course.”
If I drop everything and walk out the front door without a toothbrush. Then I remember Drewe’s voice, tight with anxiety. “Yeah, I can get there. You think there’s a flight?”