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Authors: John Verdon
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happened.”
“Why?”
“So you understand what he had going for him. Carl was made for politics. Sold his soul to the devil—with a smile made in heaven.”
“How come you didn’t leave him when things got ugly?”
“Because I’m a shallow little gold digger, addicted to power and money.”
“Is that true?”
Her answer was a brilliant, enigmatic smile. “You have any more questions?”
Gurney thought about it. “Yeah. What the hell is the Cyberspace Cathedral?”
“Just another God-free religion. Type the words into a search engine, you’ll find out more than you ever wanted to know. Anything else?”
“Did Carl or Jonah have any kids?”
“Not Jonah. Too busy being spiritual. Carl has one daughter, from his first marriage. A demented slut.” Kay’s voice sounded as flatly factual as if she’d been describing the girl as “a college student.”
Gurney blinked at the disconnect. “You want to tell me more about that?”
She looked like she was about to, then shook her head. “Better that you look into it yourself. I’m not objective on that subject.”
After a few more questions and answers and after arranging a time for a follow-up phone call, Hardwick and Gurney stood to leave. Hardwick made a point of looking again at Kay’s bruised cheek. “You sure you’re all right? I know someone here. She could keep an eye on you, maybe separate you from the general population for a while.”
“I told you, I’ve got it covered.”
“Sure you’re not putting too many eggs in Crystal’s basket?”
“Crystal’s got a big, tough basket. And my nickname helps. Did I mention that? Here in the zoo it’s a term of great respect.”
“What nickname?”
She bared her teeth in a quick, chilly smile. “The Black Widow.”
Chapter 10
The Demented Slut
Once they’d put the Bedford Hills Correctional Facility behind them and were heading for the Tappan Zee Bridge, Gurney brought up the subject that was eating at him. “I get the impression you know some significant things about this case that you haven’t told me.”
Hardwick gunned the engine and veered around a slow-moving minivan with an expression of disgust. “Obviously this asshole has no place to get to and doesn’t care when he arrives. Be nice to have a bulldozer, push him into a ditch.”
Gurney waited.
Hardwick eventually responded to his question. “You’ve got the outline, ace—key points, main actors. What more do you want?”
Gurney thought about this, thought about the tone. “You seem more like yourself than you did earlier this morning.”
“Fuck’s that supposed to mean?”
“You figure it out. Remember I can still walk away from this, which I will do if I don’t get the feeling that I know everything you know about the Spalter murder case. I’m not playing front man just to get that woman to sign on with your lawyer. What did she say his name was?”
“Take it easy. No sweat. His name is Lex Bincher. You’ll meet him.”
“See, Jack, that’s the problem.”
“What problem?”
“You’re assuming things.”
“Assuming what things?”
“Assuming that I’m on board.”
Hardwick fixed a concentrated frown on the empty road ahead of them. The tic was back. “You’re not?”
“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. The point is, I’ll let you know.”
“Right. Good.”
A silence fell between them that lasted until they were across the Hudson and speeding west on I-287. Gurney had spent the time reflecting on what it was that had him so upset, and had come to the conclusion that the problem wasn’t Hardwick. It was his own dishonesty.
In fact, he
was
on board. There were aspects of the case—beyond the appalling photograph of Carl Spalter—that had him intrigued. But he was pretending to be undecided. And the pretense had more to do with Madeleine than with Hardwick. He was pretending—and letting on to her—that this was a rational process he was conducting according to some objective criteria
“Why?”
“So you understand what he had going for him. Carl was made for politics. Sold his soul to the devil—with a smile made in heaven.”
“How come you didn’t leave him when things got ugly?”
“Because I’m a shallow little gold digger, addicted to power and money.”
“Is that true?”
Her answer was a brilliant, enigmatic smile. “You have any more questions?”
Gurney thought about it. “Yeah. What the hell is the Cyberspace Cathedral?”
“Just another God-free religion. Type the words into a search engine, you’ll find out more than you ever wanted to know. Anything else?”
“Did Carl or Jonah have any kids?”
“Not Jonah. Too busy being spiritual. Carl has one daughter, from his first marriage. A demented slut.” Kay’s voice sounded as flatly factual as if she’d been describing the girl as “a college student.”
Gurney blinked at the disconnect. “You want to tell me more about that?”
She looked like she was about to, then shook her head. “Better that you look into it yourself. I’m not objective on that subject.”
After a few more questions and answers and after arranging a time for a follow-up phone call, Hardwick and Gurney stood to leave. Hardwick made a point of looking again at Kay’s bruised cheek. “You sure you’re all right? I know someone here. She could keep an eye on you, maybe separate you from the general population for a while.”
“I told you, I’ve got it covered.”
“Sure you’re not putting too many eggs in Crystal’s basket?”
“Crystal’s got a big, tough basket. And my nickname helps. Did I mention that? Here in the zoo it’s a term of great respect.”
“What nickname?”
She bared her teeth in a quick, chilly smile. “The Black Widow.”
Chapter 10
The Demented Slut
Once they’d put the Bedford Hills Correctional Facility behind them and were heading for the Tappan Zee Bridge, Gurney brought up the subject that was eating at him. “I get the impression you know some significant things about this case that you haven’t told me.”
Hardwick gunned the engine and veered around a slow-moving minivan with an expression of disgust. “Obviously this asshole has no place to get to and doesn’t care when he arrives. Be nice to have a bulldozer, push him into a ditch.”
Gurney waited.
Hardwick eventually responded to his question. “You’ve got the outline, ace—key points, main actors. What more do you want?”
Gurney thought about this, thought about the tone. “You seem more like yourself than you did earlier this morning.”
“Fuck’s that supposed to mean?”
“You figure it out. Remember I can still walk away from this, which I will do if I don’t get the feeling that I know everything you know about the Spalter murder case. I’m not playing front man just to get that woman to sign on with your lawyer. What did she say his name was?”
“Take it easy. No sweat. His name is Lex Bincher. You’ll meet him.”
“See, Jack, that’s the problem.”
“What problem?”
“You’re assuming things.”
“Assuming what things?”
“Assuming that I’m on board.”
Hardwick fixed a concentrated frown on the empty road ahead of them. The tic was back. “You’re not?”
“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. The point is, I’ll let you know.”
“Right. Good.”
A silence fell between them that lasted until they were across the Hudson and speeding west on I-287. Gurney had spent the time reflecting on what it was that had him so upset, and had come to the conclusion that the problem wasn’t Hardwick. It was his own dishonesty.
In fact, he
was
on board. There were aspects of the case—beyond the appalling photograph of Carl Spalter—that had him intrigued. But he was pretending to be undecided. And the pretense had more to do with Madeleine than with Hardwick. He was pretending—and letting on to her—that this was a rational process he was conducting according to some objective criteria