“I said no deal.”
“Really good.”
Squinting, Mitch pretended to think on it. He looked up at John. “What do you think?”
John shrugged as though bored with the conversation. “I don’t know. Maybe. Depends on how good it is.”
Mitch went back to El Paso. “Maybe I could help you out.”
“Okay, okay.”
“But only if you give me Oz. You have thirty seconds to tell me who he is.”
El Paso gaped. “That’s what you want from me? Look, man, I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” Mitch laughed. “Do you think Lieutenant Bowie and I are stupid? Of course you know.”
“I’m telling you, I don’t even know what he looks like. I never saw him. I only heard his voice.”
“Where, when?”
“Last night. In that meat locker.”
“Where you slaughtered Malone?”
More eye darting. “I want a lawyer.”
“Fine, I’ll get you one. And, anyway, your time’s up.” Mitchmade to stand, but El Paso cried, “Wait!” Mitch stayed as he was. “Who is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“Malone never told you Oz’s true identity? Ten seconds.”
“No, no never.”
“Come on, David. Is that your real name? Never mind. I don’t give a shit. I just want Oz’s real name. Five seconds.”
“I don’t know!” he shouted. “That’s the truth! I swear I don’t. I swear on the soul of my mother.”
Mitch laughed again. “You swear on your mother’s soul?”
“Yes, yes.”
Mitch abruptly stopped laughing. His eyes went cold. “One last chance. In one second, tell me who Oz is.”
“I don’t know.”
The thing was, Mitch believed him. He looked up at John, who, with a subtle nod of his head, conveyed that he believed him, too.
Mitch turned back to David Rodriguez. “Then we can’t help each other.”
He patted El Paso on the knee as he stood up and turned him over to Lear, who had returned with two patrol officers. As they escorted him out, he resumed his chorus of obscenities.
Dylan came into the lobby, waving a sheaf of papers, her face alight. “I may have something.” He and John gave her their immediate attention. “I ran a word search through the entirety of Malone’s file and printed out every place that he referred to his evil twin or Oz.”
“Did he ever mention Busby by name?”
“No,” she said, her expression sharing his disappointment. “And he never confessed to a crime. But the psychological interpretation of things he told me could be significant. Duringour sessions, I was thinking in conceptual terms, that Malone was subject to negative impulses that were in conflict with his conscience.”
