“Now, we don’t know who Mr. Page is,” says Lissa. “Or why he seems to be ordering all these random murders. But we do know he’s doing it on a city-by-city basis. He’s been working inbatches, geographically speaking: Amsterdam, Moscow, Nairobi, Hong Kong. Sweeping the globe, all the way to Boston.”
“Okay,” I say. “So, just to be clear: killing me would have been Jack’s contribution to the New England leg of this little murder world tour.”
“Correct,” says Lesley.
“Cool,” I say. “So I guess my question is:Why the fuck were you helping him?”
He cringes. “Ah. Thought that might come up. See, ever since the murder posts turned predictive, we’ve been chasing them around the world.”
Lissa jumps in. “The idea is, stop the crime, catch the would-be murderer and find out what they know so we can get right to the source and stop Mr. Page.” She hesitates. “So far, though … haven’t exactly had luck with the actual crime-stopping part.”
“It was looking good for intercepting the Dewey Decimal Demon,” Lesley says. I must look baffled, because he rolls his eyes and adds a conciliatory “OrJack, if you want to be boring about it. It was a stroke of luck, at first. As soon as his post went live, we went to the library disguised as employees to scope the place out, figure out how one might sneak in to kill someone late at night. Then who should tap on my shoulder, bashfully asking if I knew anything about after-hours library access?”
A shudder of revulsion rumbles through me, picturing that bashful smile. I’m furious that it worked on me. That I never once recognized it as the weapon it was.
Grant shakes his head. “So he had already committed to the murder before he worked out the logistics? Why would he do that?”
“Audacity,” I say bitterly.
He turns back to Lesley. “How did you get him late-night access if you don’t work there?”
Lesley waves a dismissive hand. “I bribed the security people. I’m a very rich man. You know Banksy?” He points to himself and whistles, a two-note little ditty like a birdcall.
“No,” I half gasp.
“No,” says Grant, more decisively. “That’s definitely not true.”
Lesley gives a little raised-brow shrug that neither confirms nor denies, and there’s a knowing glimmer in his eyes that reminds me of when we first met. Which reminds me to be angry with him. “What I still don’t understand is why, after identifying the killer, you welcomed him to his crime scene and did exactly fuck all else.”
Lesley steeples his hands over the grimy table. “It was very much a case of keeping one’s friends close and enemies closer. The idea was to intercede right at the crucial moment, nabbing Triple D and saving your life.” He adjusts his glasses and clears his throat. “Only … that crucial moment was, er, complicated by unseen factors of … location.”
I think back to that moment—right before one jab of a knife split the night in two. I think of the moonlight streaming into the room. The lingering kisses in the dark. The adrenaline rush before that, the searching, the mystery …
I laugh. It’s a humorless burst of surprise at first but soon builds into a whole-body shoulder-shaking cackle.
“We were playing hide-and-seek,” I wheeze. “And youcouldn’t find us.” I’m trying to catch my breath, but each time I get a fresh image of a disgruntled Lesley running around the dark library, failing miserably at a game he wasn’t even invited to. Checking under tables and behind books. Shouting an exasperatedOLLY OLLY OXEN FREEinto the silence. And the hysteria grips me all over again.
“Oh my God,” I say, wiping my eyes with a napkin. “You are the worst detective I’ve ever heard of.”
Lesley scoffs at me. “And just how many detectives do you know?”
Grant puts in, “I’ve read about several, and I have to say this doesn’t look great.”
“Well, come on, give himsomecredit,” says Lissa, crossing her arms. “From an intel perspective, you’ve got to admit this is all very impressive. It’s just … we tend to fall a bit short in the footwork.”
“In my defense,” interjects Lesley, “I’ve got a bad knee.”
“And I’m this,” Lissa adds, gesturing vaguely to her petite frame. Even seated, Lesley towers over her. “We’re quite a team when it comes to getting the scoop. Not so much in actually apprehending criminals.”
“We’d all but given up on catching Jack after you both fled the library,” Lesley says to me. “We spent the morning scouring downtown for his car, thinking maybe he’d return to the scene of the crime, but it wasn’t looking good. Until … there it was. Likefate.”
Fate.That’s a nice word for Anna refusing me even one morning of peace.
“Imagine our surprise when we realized you were at the wheel, and Jack had been dealt with,” Lissa says.
“So then, what do you want with us?” I ask. “We’ve told you everything we know about Jack. It’s not like we had a heart-to-heart before Grant bashed his head in.”
Grant winces next to me. “Comeon,” he mutters.
