“I might have.”
“Travis...man, I could say a lot of things you already know. But only one of them really matters. That woman is our prime suspect.”
“She’s your prime suspect.”
“And who’s yours?”
“I’m not there yet.”
After a moment’s silence, Hank said, “Hey, buddy, you realize you’re not acting like yourself, don’t you? It’s as if you met Celeste Langley and something short-circuited in your brain.”
Ignoring that, he said, “Let’s go.”
Hank shook his head. “There’s no point in both of us wasting our time with Reese.”
He bit his tongue to keep from saying he didn’t consider it a waste of time.
“So why don’t I take care of some other stuff while you go talk to him. We can start in on the rest of the people on our Parker list later.”
“Yeah. Why not. Good idea.”
Travis turned and started away, unable to stop himself from thinking about what Hank had just said—and worrying that he was right.
Scientifically improbable as it might be, maybe meeting Celeste Langley really had short-circuited something in his brain.
What else would explain why he couldn’t stop thinking about her for more than two seconds straight?
CHAPTER FOUR
Tuesday, October 5, 11:31 a.m.
EVAN REESE LIVED on the Upper East Side, in an apartment not far from Steve Parker’s, which meant that by driving through Central Park Travis made the trip from Reese’s to West Seventy-fourth in only a few minutes.
Even so, by the time he reached Celeste’s block he’d told himself twelve dozen times that he shouldn’t be going to her place. He could keep his promise to “get back to her” simply by phoning.
Of course, the problem with that was he wouldn’t get to see her. And he wanted to—despite knowing it was a bad idea.
He shook his head, thinking how his sister was forever telling him that sooner or later he’d meet a woman who’d knock him off his feet. And that the longer it took, the harder he’d fall.
His response was always just to laugh, yet now he was wondering if she’d been giving him a female version of Hank’s short-circuit theory.
Maybe so. But regardless of anybody’s theory, he knew that if he was smart he wouldn’t go near Celeste again without Hank along. Not until they’d established who killed her brother.
After that, he could see as much of her as he liked. Assuming he was still interested. However, until then...
He almost managed to make himself drive straight past her building. He would have, except for the empty parking space directly across the street. In Manhattan, if that wasn’t an omen he didn’t know what would be.
He wheeled into it, cut the ignition and got out of the car—glancing up at her living room window, half expecting to see her standing there.
She wasn’t, but she was home. And just the sound of her voice, when she responded to his buzz, was enough to make his pulse skip.
Telling himself he was here on police business, he started up the stairs to the third floor.
She was waiting for him in the doorway again, wearing a pale yellow sweater and jeans.
As absurd as it might be, the mere sight of her warmed him. Then she smiled and his temperature rose another couple of degrees.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi. I’ve been to see Evan Reese, so I figured I’d stop by for a minute.”
“I’m glad you did.”
As he passed her on his way into the apartment, he caught the faint scent of her perfume. It put him in mind of a sultry summer night—which did absolutely nothing to cool him down.
“Coffee?” she asked, gesturing him toward the living room.
“No, thanks. I won’t stay long. I just wanted to tell you about Reese face-to-face, because...”
He paused, gathering his thoughts. There was a fine line between warning someone to be careful and scaring the wits out of her.
“Because?” she prompted.
“Because he told me it never even occurred to him that he’d make you nervous by calling. And that since he had, he wouldn’t do it again. But I don’t think you should count on it.”
“Ah. And is he...should I be seriously worried about him?”
“It’s hard to know. He lied when I asked why he’d told you we gave him your number. So we obviously can’t believe anything he says.”
“What was his story?”
“That he didn’t say a word about how he’d gotten it.”
“He did.”
“I know. But that’s not what he said this morning. He claimed he simply got it from Information.”
“Did you tell him it’s unlisted?”
“Uh-huh. He just shrugged and said they must have given it out by mistake.”
“Is that possible?”
“It’s very unlikely. And...look, he didn’t mention anything about why he was seeing a psychiatrist. And I can’t go rummaging through your brother’s medical records without a search warrant, but...”
“Should you get one?” she asked quietly.
He’d love to. But it wasn’t really an option.
“That’s not as easy to do as TV makes it seem,” he told her. “I’d need a good reason. One specifically related to the case, I mean. But even without knowing exactly what his problem is... Well, I think he’s pretty unbalanced.”
“Then I should be seriously worried.”
“You should be seriously careful. If you notice anything suspicious... He’s in his late thirties, short and slightly built, with dark hair and glasses. If anyone who fits that description shows up here or seems to be following you, phone me right away.”
“Following me,” she murmured.
“I’m not saying he will. I’m only saying it’s possible he’ll call again. Or try to see you. With any luck, though, you’ve heard the last of him.”
Celeste slowly pushed her hair back from her face. “What about his saying he’s a writer? Is he? Or was that just part of his cosmic gibberish?”
“It might be true. At least it’s consistent with what he told Hank and me yesterday. He said his work’s published in small, esoteric magazines.”
“They don’t pay much.”
“No, we already thought of that. He probably tips the concierge in his building more at Christmas than that sort of writing would bring in. So whether he actually writes or not he must have another source of income. A trust fund or something was our best guess.”
Celeste said nothing more, and as the silence grew Travis made himself say, “I’ve got to go. I just wanted to bring you up to speed.”
“Thanks,” she said, rising when he did. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. And...I did what you suggested and made the basic arrangements for Steve’s service. But until I can tell them...I guess you still haven’t heard when the autopsy will be?”