“Any chance that Edgar has been playing you?” he asked.
“To what end? He’s the one who’s lost four million dollars.”
“Not if he’s the one who set it up.”
I made a face. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
Lenny didn’t like it, but he didn’t have a response either. “So where is Rachel now?”
“She’s not here?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I don’t know, then.”
We both went quiet a second.
“Maybe she went back to my house,” I said.
“Yeah,” Lenny said. “Maybe.”
There was nary a trace particle of conviction in his voice.
Tickner pushed open the door. His sunglasses sat atop his shaved head, a look I found disconcerting; if he bent his neck and drew a mouth on the lower part of his pate, it would look like a second face. Regan followed in a sort of hip-hop step, or maybe the soul patch was affecting the way I viewed him. Tickner took the lead.
“We know about the ransom demand,” he said. “We know your father-in-law gave you another two million dollars. We know that you visited a private detective agency today called MVD and asked about the password to a CD-ROM owned by your late wife. We know that Rachel Mills was with you and that she did not, as you told Detective Regan earlier, return to the Washington, D.C., area. So we can skip all that.”
Tickner moved closer. Lenny watched him, ready to pounce. Regan folded his arms and leaned against the wall. “So let’s start with the ransom money,” Tickner said. “Where is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did someone take it?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“He told me to put it down.”
“Who is ‘he’?”
“The kidnapper. Whoever was on the cell phone.”
“Where did you put it down?”
“In the park. On the path.”
“And then what?”
“He said to start walking forward.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
“That’s when I heard a child cry and someone start running. Everything went crazy after that.”
“And the money?”
“I told you. I don’t know what happened to the money.”
“How about Rachel Mills?” Tickner asked. “Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
I looked at Lenny, but he was studying Tickner’s face now. I waited.
“You lied to us about her returning to Washington, D.C., isn’t that correct?” Tickner asked.
Lenny put a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s not start by mischaracterizing my client’s statements.”
Tickner made a face as if Lenny were a turd that had plopped down from the ceiling. Lenny stared back, unfazed. “You told Detective Regan that Ms. Mills was on her way back to Washington, did you not?”
“I said I didn’t know where she was,” I corrected him. “I said shemight have gone back.”
“And where was she at the time?”
Lenny said, “Don’t answer.”
I let him know that it was okay. “She was in the garage.”
“Why didn’t you tell Detective Regan that?”
“Because we were getting ready for the ransom drop. We didn’t want anything slowing us down.”
Tickner folded his arms. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“Then ask another question,” Lenny snapped.
“Why would Rachel Mills be involved in the ransom drop?”
“She’s an old friend,” I said. “And I knew she’d been a special agent with the FBI.”
“Ah,” Tickner said. “So you thought maybe her experience could help you here?”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t call Detective Regan or myself?”
“That’s correct.”
“Because?”
Lenny took that one. “You know damn well why.”
“They told me no cops,” I said. “Like last time. I didn’t want to risk it again. So I called Rachel.”
“I see.” Tickner looked back at Regan. Regan looked off as if trying to follow a stray thought. “You chose her because she used to be a federal agent?”
“Yes.”
“And because you two were”—Tickner made vague hand gestures—“close.”
“A long time ago,” I said.
“Not anymore?”
“No. Not anymore.”
“Hmm, not anymore,” Tickner repeated. “And yet you chose to call her in a matter involving your child’s life. Interesting.”
“Glad you think so,” Lenny said, “By the way, is there a point to any of this?”
Tickner ignored him. “Before today, when was the last time you saw Rachel Mills?”
“What difference does that make?” Lenny said.
“Please just answer my question.”
“Not until we know—”
But my hand was on Lenny’s arm now. I knew what he was doing. He had automatically snapped into his adversarial pose. I appreciated it, but I wanted to get past this as quickly as possible.
“About a month ago,” I said.
“Under what circumstances?”
“I bumped into her at the Stop & Shop on Northwood Avenue.”
“Bumped into her?”
“Yes.”
“You mean, as in a coincidence? As in not knowing the other was going to be there, out of the blue?”
“Yes.”
Tickner turned around and looked at Regan again. Regan kept perfectly still. He wasn’t even toying with the soul patch.
“And before that?”
“What before that?”
“Before you ‘bumped’ ”—Tickner’s sarcasm spit the word across the room—“into Ms. Mills at the Stop & Shop, when was the last time you’d seen her?”
“Not since college,” I said.
Again Tickner spun toward Regan, his face lit up with incredulity. When he turned back, the glasses dropped down to his eyes. He pushed them back up onto his forehead. “Are you telling us, Dr. Seidman, that the only time you’ve seen Rachel Mills between your college days and today was just that one time at the supermarket?”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”