Hardwick suggested they listen to the Venus Lake recording one more time, which they did. He seemed especially interested in the section in which Alyssa claimed that Klemper had blackmailed her into having sex with him. “Beautiful! I love it! That fuckhead is done, cooked, finished!”
Now Gurney looked skeptical. “The recording of Alyssa won’t be enough by itself. You heard her—she was all over the place, not exactly sounding like a solid citizen. You’ll need a sworn statement from her—listing dates, places, details—which she’s unlikely to supply. Because she’s almost certainly lying. If anyone blackmailed anyone, I’m pretty sure it was the other way around. So she won’t want—”
Esti broke in. “What do you mean, the other way around?”
“Suppose Alyssa seduced Klemper while he was still conducting an objective investigation of the original shooting. Suppose she video-recorded their … encounter. And suppose the price she demanded for keeping the recording out of the hands of the state police was Klemper’s help in making the case turn out the way she wanted.”
“It doesn’t matter how they ended up in bed,” said Hardwick. “Blackmail, seduction, whatever. Who gives a shit who was blackmailing who? Fucking a potential suspect is fucking a potential suspect. Klemper’s career is going down the toilet.”
Gurney sat back. “That’s one way of looking at it.”
“And the other way is … what?”
“It’s a question of priorities. One way, we can pressure Alyssa to sink Klemper. The other way, we can pressure Klemper to sink Alyssa.”
Esti looked interested. “You like number two better, right?”
Before Gurney could answer, Hardwick interjected, “You think Alyssa’s the chief manipulator, but a minute ago you said she was all over the place, sounded less than solid—and I agree. She called you, she set up the meeting with you, but in that recording she comes across as pretty erratic—like she had no idea where the conversation might go, like she had no plan. This is a master manipulator?”
Esti spoke up with a knowing smile. “Maybe an overconfident manipulator. But she definitely had a plan.”
“What plan?”
“Probably the same as she had for Klemper. Her plan today was to get Dave into bed, get it all on a hidden camera, and get him to change his approach to the case.”
“Dave’s retired. Pension guaranteed. Doesn’t have a career to lose,” said Hardwick. “Where’s the leverage?”
“He has a wife.” She looked at Gurney. “A video of you in bed with a nineteen-year-old could create a problem, right?”
That didn’t require an answer.
Esti went on. “That was Alyssa’s Plan A. When that little sweetheart makes it clear that she’s available, I doubt many men turn her down. Dave not wanting to play her game probably came as a big surprise. She had no Plan B.”
Hardwick shot a nasty grin in Gurney’s direction. “Saint David here is full of surprises. But tell me something, ace. Why did she admit to you that she had sex with Klemper at all? Why not just deny the whole thing?”
Gurney shrugged. “Maybe someone else knows about it. Or she thinks someone knows about it. So she admits the fact, but lies about the reason. Common enough deception technique. Admit the external action but invent an exculpatory motive.”
“My ex was big on exculpatory motives,” said Esti to no one in particular. She checked her watch. “So what’s the next step?”
“Maybe a little blackmail of our own,” suggested Gurney. “Give Klemper a few shakes and see what comes loose.”
That put a smile on her face. “Sounds good. Anything that rattles that son of a bitch …”
“You want backup?” asked Hardwick.
“Not necessary. Klemper may be an asshole, but he’s not likely to pull a gun on me. Not in a public place, anyway. I just want to explain his situation to him, offer him an option or two.”
Hardwick stared down at the table intently, as if the possible results of such a conversation were listed there. “I need to give Bincher a heads-up on this, see what he thinks.”
“Go ahead,” said Gurney. “Just don’t make it sound like I’m asking for his permission.”
Hardwick took out his phone and entered a number. Apparently it went to voice mail. He made a disgusted face. “Fuck! Where the hell are you, Lex? This is my third attempt. Get back to me for Christ’s sake!”
He ended the call and made another.
“Abby, baby, where the hell is he? I left a message last night, another one first thing this morning, and another one thirty seconds ago.” He listened for a few moments, his frown shifting from frustration to puzzlement. “Well, as soon as he gets back, we need to talk. Things are happening.”
He listened again, longer this time, worry beginning to replace puzzlement. “You know anything more about that?… That was it, no explanation?… Nothing since?… I have no idea … The voice wasn’t familiar to you?… You think it was intentional?… Yeah, kinda strange … Right … Please, the minute he checks in … No, no, I’m sure he’s okay … Right … Yes … Good.”
He ended the call, laid his phone on the table, and looked at Gurney. “Lex got a call yesterday afternoon. Somebody who claimed to have major information on the Carl Spalter murder case. After the call, Lex left the office in a hurry. Abby hasn’t been able to reach him since. No answer on his cell, no answer at home. Fuck!”
“Abby is his assistant?”
“Yeah. Well, actually, his ex-wife. Don’t know how that works, but it does.”
“The caller was a man or woman?”
“That’s the thing—Abby said she couldn’t tell. At first she thought it was a kid, then a man, then a woman, some kind of foreign accent—didn’t know who the hell she was talking to. Then Lex took the call. Couple of minutes later he left the office. All he said was that it was about the Long Falls murder case, could be a breakthrough, he’d be back in a couple of hours. But he never did come back—at least not to the office.”
“Shit,” said Esti. “She can’t reach him anywhere?”
“She keeps getting his voice mail.”
She stared at Hardwick. “You getting the feeling too many people are going missing?”