Win took a dainty bite out of the corner of the Saltine. “Before I get into that, I should point out that Mr. Landreaux was escorted from the building by a large man who fit the description of your friend Aaron. Large. Confident. Athletic. Suit with no shirt. Sunglasses, though the sun had already set.”

“Sounds like Aaron.”

“They split up on the street. Aaron got into a stretch limousine. Chaz Landreaux walked to the Omni Hotel.”

“Which Omni?” Myron asked. Manhattan had several.

“The one near Carnegie Hall. Landreaux met up with his mother in the lobby. Their reunion was rather moving. Mother and son embraced. Both were crying.”

“Hmm,” Myron said.

The waitress arrived with the food and drinks. She put them down, scratched her butt with a pencil, and returned to the kitchen.

“So where did they go after that?”

“Upstairs. They ordered room service.”

Myron thought a moment. “What is Chaz’s mother doing up from Philadelphia?”

“I would assume,” Win said, pulling a napkin out of the dispenser and spreading it on his lap, “based on their mutual anguish, that Frank Ache reached Chaz Landreaux through a family member.”

“A kidnapping?”

Win shrugged. “A possibility. Frank just sent two men to try to kill you. I highly doubt he is going to become squeamish over a ghetto abduction.”

Silence.

“We’re wading in some deep doo-doo,” Myron said.

“Indeed. Too deep.”

Chaz had a big family. If Frank really wanted to hit him where he lived, he’d take one of his siblings. “We’ll settle it tomorrow,” Myron said. “I scheduled a meeting with Herman Ache. Two o’clock. Usual place.”

“Should I attend?”

“Most definitely.”

Win ate his salad. “You do know that this won’t be easy.”

Myron nodded.

“Herman Ache does not like to intervene in his brother’s business.”

“I know.”

Win put down his fork. “If I may be so bold as to offer a suggestion.”

“I’m listening.”

“Frank Ache sent two professionals after you. Their untimely deaths will not dissuade him from trying again.”

“Uh-huh. So what’s your suggestion?”

“Cut your losses now. Make an exchange. You let them keep Landreaux. They call off the contract on your head.”

“I can’t do that.”

“You can. You choose not to.”

“Semantics.”

“You don’t have to help him.”

“I want to help him,” Myron answered.

Win sighed. “A man must try to illuminate even those who prefer to sit in the darkness. Do you have a plan yet?”

“I’m still working on it.”

“Feverishly?”

Myron nodded.

“In the meantime,” Win said, “what did you learn from the photographer?”

Myron filled him in on the meeting with Lucy.

“So who bought the nude pictures?” Win asked.

“A name springs to mind,” Myron said.

“Who?”

“Adam Culver.”

“Kathy’s father?”

Myron nodded. “Think about it. The buyer was in his fifties. He wanted all copies and all negatives on the spot. He left nothing to chance.”

“The father protecting the daughter?”

“It makes sense,” Myron said.

“But Kathy was missing for over a year. How did Adam Culver suddenly learn about the photographs?”

“Maybe he knew about them all along.”

“Then why did he wait so long to buy them?”

Myron shrugged. “We’ll know more tomorrow. I’m going to send Esperanza over to the studio with a picture of Adam, see if Lucy recognizes him.”

Win took another bite of his salad. “It’s a rather strange development.”

“Yes.”

“But”—Win stopped to finish chewing—“here is something else you may not have considered: If Adam Culver purchased all the pictures and negatives in order to protect his daughter, how did her photograph end up in the magazine?”

Myron had considered that. He just didn’t have an answer.

The waitress put down the check. Myron picked up the tab for both of them. The total was $8.50. Mr. Magnanimous. They drove uptown. Win lived in the San Remo building overlooking Central Park West. Very fancy address. They were on Seventy-second Street when the car phone rang.

Myron looked at his multicolored Swatch. A gift from Esperanza.

Past midnight.

“Rather late for a call to your car,” Win noted.

Myron picked up the phone. “Hello?”

The voice came fast. “Bolitar, it’s Jake Courter. Get your ass down to St. Barnabas Hospital in Livingston right away.”

“What happened?”

“Just get down here. Now.”

Chapter 27

“We got the call around eleven-thirty,” Jake said, ushering Myron through the lobby of St. Barnabas. Jake’s face was set, his eyes red and puffy. They hurried past the circular visitors’ desk and waited for an elevator.

“Is Jessica okay?” Myron asked.

“She is going to be fine,” he said. Then he added, “Wish I could say the same about Nancy Serat.”

“What happened?”

“She was garroted with a wire.” The elevator arrived. Jake pressed the button for the fifth floor. “When no one answered the door, Jessica let herself in through the back. The killer must have still been there. He knocked her over the head and ran. When she came to, she called us. I’d say she’s pretty lucky the perp didn’t waste her.”

The elevator opened with a ding. “What room is she in?” Myron asked.

“Five fifteen.”

Myron sprinted down the corridor. He turned the corner. Jessica was in the bed, her face ashen. A doctor stood next to her, preparing a needle. Jake came up behind Myron but stayed in the doorway.

Her voice was wobbly. “Myron?”

“I’m here,” he said, taking her hand. She looked small and frail and alone. “I won’t leave.”

The doctor pricked her with the needle. “You need your rest,” he said.

“I’m fine,” Jessica insisted weakly. “I want to get out of here.”

“We think it’s best if you stay overnight for observation.”

“But—”