I pause once I’m inside, raking my gaze over the counter, as well as every table and booth. There’s no sign of Mulroney. I turn and retreat outside.
Standing on the sidewalk, I feel the oddest urge to cry. Not because I’ve possibly lost a thousand bucks or fallen prey to a scam. But because my quest to know the truth seems hopelessly stunted, and some of what I’ve learned so far might not even be true.
But surely, I chide myself,I’m overreacting. It’s only been eight hours since I first tried Mulroney and he might be doing a surveillance job that demands every ounce of his attention.
Except he said he would be on his cell.
I hurry the two blocks to Ninety-Seventh Street and wander between Broadway and Amsterdam Avenue. Hours ago, I was scared to be on the street alone, and now here I am casingan unfamiliar block at dusk. When I don’t have any luck, I try the other side of Broadway next, swiveling my head as I walk to West End Avenue and then toward Riverside Drive. It’s more deserted in this area, and a couple of times I turn to look behind me.
There’s no sign of Mulroney here either. Did I honestly think I’d simply bump into him as he was headed home?
I try him one more time and hear the same message about the mailbox being full. If he’s ridiculously tied up, why not have his partner cover for him?
His partner. He must have a phone as well. As I reverse course and hurry back toward Broadway, I pull up the company website and see that a second number is listed. Maybe it belongs to Williams. I pause just long enough to tap the hyperlink.
Two rings. And then a deep male voice.
“Jay Williams,” he answers without enthusiasm.
“Thank god,” I blurt out. “Jay, it’s Ally Linden, your client. We met at the diner.”
“Of course.”
“I’ve been trying to reach Kurt all day, but he hasn’t returned my calls. Do you have any idea why?”
“Where are you at the moment?” he asks. His voice sounds hoarse, constricted actually.
“I’m not far from Broadway Diner. I went there looking for him.”
“Go back to the diner and I’ll meet you there.”
“What’s going on?”
“Let’s talk in person, okay?” he says.
I feel like I’m getting the runaround yet again.
“Jay, I need to know what’s happening. Where’s your partner?”
“I’m sorry to tell you this,” he says. “But Kurt’s been killed. He died yesterday evening.”
The news nearly knocks me off my feet.
“No, it can’t be,” I say in stupid protest. “Ispoketo him last night.”
“What time?” Williams says.
“Uh, around seven or so. He was in his car. Driving.”
“He died around eight or nine o’clock.”
I can hear Mulroney’s voice in my head, see his face as he sat across from me, scribbling notes with his big hands. How horribly sad.
“What happened to him?” I plead, the words catching in my throat. “Was it an accident?”
“No, that’s not it. Kurt was shot to death.”
26
