Robert B. Parker’s Cheap Shot

23

“Play it again, Sam?” I said to Susan.

“How’d I know that was coming?”

“That’s not really the line, but it sounds better than ‘Play it, Sam. Play ‘As Time Goes By.’”

“Do you want to hear ‘As Time Goes By,’ or do you still want my professional opinion?”

We sat outside on Susan’s small wooden deck, drinking and listening to the phantom caller from a portable CD player. Susan drank a glass of Barolo while I worked on an Amstel. There was a pizza ordered and a quick meal planned before I’d drive back to Chestnut Hill. Being able to combine official work and time with Susan Silverman is always a perk of the job.

I played the message again. And then, to punctuate the question, raised my eyebrows.

Susan closed her eyes in thought. After taking a sip of the wine, she nodded. “I hear sexual repression, some Oedipal mother issues, and maybe some hypochondria mixed with erectile dysfunction.”

“Zowie.” I raised my brows again. “Really?”

“God, no,” Susan said. “Do you really expect a clue from a five-second threat as read by a computer?”

“Cops call it a synthetic computerized voice changer.”

“Can you even tell if it’s a man or woman?”

“I would hope you could tell me.”

“Erectile dysfunction would imply man,” Susan said.

“So, right.”

“Has this been the only contact with the kidnappers?” Susan said. “Or should I say alleged contact?”

“We believe,” I said, sipping the Amstel. “You take what you can get.”

“And the only thing Akira’s parents can do is sit around and wait,” she said.

“Separately,” I said. “They’ve been divorced for two years.”

“And there’s a new wife?”

I explained about Cristal Heywood and the little I’d learned from Lundquist and Ray. I told her Cristal had bragged earlier in the day to Z about how the kidnapping increased her Twitter followers.

“Did Nicole really try and attack her?”

“She did more than try,” I said. I pointed to the scratch on my cheek.

“Wow,” she said. “Not exactly the reaction of a parent who’d be in on the kidnapping.”

“No,” I said. “The state police ruled her out pretty quickly. As did I.”

“So why’s Hawk still following her?”

“Kinjo’s paying us to watch her.”

“Which she doesn’t know?”

I nodded and grinned. “I think Hawk is a bit smitten.”

Now was the moment for Susan to raise her eyebrows. The doorbell rang and Pearl launched into attack mode. Susan stood, placed her wine on the table, and turned to the door. “Smitten?” she said. “That word has never been used to describe Hawk.”

“Scary, isn’t it?”

Susan nodded and walked downstairs to grab the pizza. She returned in a few seconds with a pizza box and Pearl trotting enthusiastically behind her.

“She has a nose for wild game and anchovies,” I said.

Susan opened the box at the kitchen island and grabbed some good plates from the cupboards. We ate standing up at the island. Pearl sat at our feet, studying how we worked on each slice, waiting for one morsel to drop.

“Perhaps you should be watching Cristal instead?”

“Lundquist has it,” I said. “Even a super-sleuth like me can only follow so many leads.”

“You know much about wife two?”

I shrugged.

“And that’s why you will check her out, even if she comes up clean.”

“Being of a suspicious and doubtful nature has served me well.”

“I just hope whoever has Akira calls soon,” she said.

I nodded.

“The unknowing is the worst,” Susan said. “A parent’s mind will go to terrible places.”

“If it’s just money,” I said. “The kidnappers just want Kinjo to sweat a bit. And to throw off the cops.”

“And once they’re paid in full?” Susan said. She picked at the pizza, taking in little nibbles in a distinctly Susan Silverman way. Pearl seemed frustrated and annoyed by this. Gobbling was the appropriate course of action.

“Do you really want to know?” I said. I drank some beer and reached for another slice of pizza.

Susan waited, noticing something in my face with her large brown eyes. She wore a thin silver chain around her neck.

“There is a fifty-fifty shot whether they get the kid back. Even if they pay.”

“A brutal perspective,” she said.

“But true.”

“Cops say the same?”

“Cops know the same,” I said. “Only the child can identify who took him.”

“Are you going to tell the family this?” Susan said.

“Not my job.”

“I think you should tell them.”

“They have hope right now,” I said. “And knowing the odds will only take that away. We’ll talk when the time is right. When we know more about the people who took him.”

“Any other theory besides just greed?” Susan said.

“I thought I had one,” I said. “That’s why I went to New York.”

“And now?”

“I’m not so sure,” I said, shaking my head. I told her about the Limas and my conversation with Kinjo’s teammates. I had spoken to Robey in Miami an hour earlier and came up with identical answers as those of Logan Wheeler. There was a scuffle, it was broken up, and they went back to the Trump.

I mentioned to Susan that I had confronted Kinjo about the payoff to the family.

“And what do we know about Akira?” she said.

“I only met him briefly,” I said. “Smart. Curious. Seems to idolize his father. Had a lot of astute questions about my chosen profession.”

“And scared to death.”

I nodded.

“He’s old enough to know exactly what is going on and is probably wondering if he’ll live through it. Can you imagine being that age and contemplating death? Or wondering if you’ll ever see your parents again? We create these safe, warm places for children. Despite a divorce or animosity with the parents, his world is probably a good one.”

“And so we wait.”

I checked my phone again.

Susan moved in next to me. I put down my pizza and my beer and wrapped my arm around her. She rested her head on my shoulder. Her curly hair was very shiny and black. She smelled like lavender and the lightest trace of perfume mixed with lovely sweat.

“Call if you need me,” Susan said.

I pulled her in closer and kissed the top of her head. As I did, I saw her drop a pepperoni slice for Pearl.