The Sandman was waiting when Jack entered the room. One eye was still bandaged, and one side of his face was purple. It was hard to tell which of them looked worse. Prisoner John Doe was sitting in a chair, his arms loosely shackled to a belt that ran around his waist.
“Good of you to come, Jack. How’s the leg?”
“Hurts. How’s your face?”
“Hurts.”
“And your side?”
“Same.”
“I’m glad the knife didn’t do more damage. We had a hell of a time, didn’t we?”
“Is that what you call it?”
“For lack of a better expression. You enjoyed yourself, though, didn’t you? You felt alive when the game was on. Am I right?”
“You wanted to see me?” Jack said.
“As much as you wanted to see me. I felt I . . . owed it to you. We’re very much alike.”
Jack’s eyebrows rose.
“Come on, Jack. You know it’s true. I wanted to give you the opportunity to ask your questions. In return, I have a few of my own. Call it a quid pro quo.”
“Fair enough.”
“Right now you’re trying to place where my accent is from. Mid-Atlantic. California. Someplace in the midwest, perhaps.”
“Of course you are. But a little mystery in any relationship is a good thing.”
“Have you been in the business long?”
“About fourteen years. You?”
“Close to the same,” Jack said. “What about Leonard Walpole?”
“Not my idea,” the Sandman said, “but exactly what he appears to be, a harmless druggie. Basically, a puppy who wants to please.”
“And he really believed Thom Courtney’s story about making a movie?”
The Sandman turned his palms up. “From what I could see, Lenny is inclined to believe anyone offering a helping hand.”
“Which you made sure was held out to him.”
“Of course.”
“And you’re telling me this now because . . .”
“I’m not a monster, Jack. Sooner or later people will start looking for retribution. It’s human nature. When that happens, the innocents tend to get run over. It would be a shame if Lenny goes to jail.”
Jack nodded and looked around the conference room. Beside the two chairs and table they were sitting at, the only other object there was a small camera in the upper corner near the ceiling. The Sandman followed his gaze and asked if they were being filmed.
“Not to my knowledge. I asked the marshals to make sure it was off.”
“And I have your word as a gentleman on that?”
“You do. Where did you find Thom Courtney?”
“Ah, dear old, confused Thom. I was wondering when you’d get around to him. If you must know, I found him in France after placing an ad in a magazine. Soldier of Fortune, I think it was.”
“He answered it?”
“Complete with a resume. Very impressive. My turn. Thom was not particularly recognizable when he went into the river, so how did you identify him?”
“From a stain on his shirt and the general description we had. Also, the fillings in his teeth are mostly used in Europe.”
The killer laughed to himself and said, “A shirt stain. Really?”
“Tzatziki sauce. Walpole told you that he and his friend Rick had Greek food the night before.”
“Marvelous.”
While the Sandman was processing that information, Jack realized his questions weren’t based on idle curiosity. He was compiling a checklist to avoid future mistakes.
“You said Courtney was confused. About what?”
“Reality. Schizophrenia, I think you people call it. He had whole conversations on his cellphone with a dead priest named Father Michael.”
Jack thought back to the episode at Battery Park when the agents were approaching him. Courtney had been talking on his cellphone.
“Knowing he was wearing body armor, you were the one who opened fire. But you were using hollow point bullets, which wouldn’t penetrate the vest.”
The killer’s smile was self-effacing. “You’re quite good at this, Jack. Have you ever considered switching teams?”
“Not really. Is it profitable?”
“Oh, very. After expenses, I’ll still net a hundred thousand dollars.”
“Expenses?”
“Mr. Courtney? Fifty thousand dollars went to him.”
“I see. I suppose Borov can afford it.”
The Sandman frowned. “That last question was beneath you.”
Jack shrugged. “It was more of a comment. You obviously took a great deal of time putting this together. Objectively, I’d have to say the planning was meticulous. Brilliant even.”
The Sandman inclined his head at the compliment, then said, “Six months isn’t that great an investment.”
“But sufficient to recover from plastic surgery,” Jack said.
“As you say, these things take time.”
Both men regarded each other for several seconds. It felt much longer. Move—countermove. They were already past the midgame.
“Does your lawyer think he’ll be able to work a deal with the government regarding Borov?”
“Actually, it’s a she. And she’s quite intelligent. I imagine I’ll be inconvenienced for several months. But the prosecution is looking at the larger picture. Fortunately for me, they already have a scenario in place in their heads as to what the truth is. They want Borov so badly I imagine they’ll be quite receptive to our offer of cooperation. Negotiations are still ongoing. Perhaps when I’m free, you and I can sit down over a quiet dinner and explore an extended partnership.”
Something the Sandman said struck a chord in Jack’s mind, but he chose not to comment just then.
“Your record with partners isn’t encouraging,” Jack pointed out.
“Any successful partnership is based on mutual respect. When I say we’re much alike, I’m not merely flattering you. Kindred spirits tend to attract one another.”
Jack started to reply, but the Sandman held up a hand. “Everyone thinks your panic attacks grow out of what happened to your partner. Janet Newton shared a little bit about them with me. She was discreet, of course, but I learned enough and it fascinated me, so I began to study you. Certainly a simple explanation is possible. But if you’ll forgive my speculation, I’d say your fear goes far deeper.”
Jack nodded slightly acknowledging he heard the comment, but neither agreeing nor disagreeing with it.
“Here’s the way I see it,” said the Sandman. “You’ve never met a problem you couldn’t solve or an opponent you haven’t prevailed against and the possibility that either might happen one day terrifies you. Consider that some people define you, just as the right partner can complete you.”
The door opened before Jack could respond.
“Time’s up, Dr. Kale,” the deputy marshal said.
Jack stood.
“Come see me again,” the Sandman said. “Believe it or not, I enjoy your company. I think we’re going to spend a lot of time together.”