“Oh, you did. Mr. Malone himself personally oversaw the service you received.”
“I was his guest.”
“That was noted, too.”
“By whom? Who called you? Despite denying it, were you having me spied on?”
“This is my interrogation, not yours. Do you know any of Malone’s associates?”
She rolled her lips inward, sealing them. Then, “Take me home now. Right now.”
“Answer the question,” he said, raising his voice.
“I don’t have to,” she shouted back.
“You do if you want a ride home.”
That astounded her. She flung her arms wide to encompass the room. “What is this, house arrest? Before you start interrogating me, shouldn’t you flash your badge or read me my rights? Can I expect thumbscrews? An ankle bracelet?”
“It’s a simple yes-or-no question, Dylan. Do you know any of Malone’s—”
“No!Until tonight he and I have never even met outside my office.”
“Who was at the table with you?”
“I ate alone. That also should have been noted,” she said snidely. “There was no buzz. I didn’t even talk to anyone except for the maître d’, the waiter, and Roland. We chatted for a few minutes before I left.”
“Where?”
“He sat down at the table with me.”
“Just the two of you?” He crossed his arms over his chest, widened his stance, and cocked his head to one side. “What did you and Row-land talk about?”
His mocking tone pissed her off. If he’d been in her shoes, it would have pissed him off, too. She stretched up to her full height and narrowed her eyes. “Nothing that concerns you.”
“Don’t count on it.”
Her story coincided with what he’d been told about her evening. If she had been in someone’s company during dinner, Tucker’s informant would have told him. Although it turned his stomach to think of her in private conversation with Malone, how much significance should he give it? A host making certain his guest had been satisfied? Fine. But he didn’t like it, and his viewpoint wasn’t entirely objective.
She was still miffed. “Is that it? Did I pass? Are we done now?”
“No.”
He walked over to a three-legged end table that separated a pair of matching easy chairs. He picked up a baseball, which, for some unknown reason, was sitting in an ashtray from Pat O’Brien’s.
Casually bouncing the ball in his hand, he said, “You weren’t introduced to El Paso? He was around tonight.”
“So we’re back to that?” She looked helpless and bewildered. “Is that a trick question? Are you trying to lay a trap for me, or is that really someone’s name?”
He lifted the hem of his T-shirt. “He’s the guy who did this. He works for Malone.”
Taken aback by this new piece of information, her breath hitched, her indignant posture relaxed, and she turned her head aside as though needing time to process.
He continued bouncing the baseball in his palm. “After the scuffle, after the restaurant closed, after you and I were long gone, El Paso was seen clandestinely entering the restaurant through the kitchen door.”
“But if he works there—”
“He doesn’t wash dishes or sweep up, Dylan. He knifes people. There were two other assaults on homeless people tonight. While you were enjoying your dinner, that kid with the swagger and the switchblade was out doing your patient Roland’s dirty work. And El Paso, or someone of his ilk, may not be finished for the night. Which is why you’re staying here.”
