Now, half an hour later, sitting at the desk in his den, he called the personal one.

Klemper picked up on the third ring, but evidently not before seeing Gurney’s ID.

“How the hell did you get this private number?”

Gurney smiled, pleased at getting the reaction he’d expected. “Hello, Mick.”

“I said, how the hell did you get this number?”

“It’s all over the billboards on the Thruway.”

“What?”

“There’s just no privacy anymore, Mick. You ought to know that. Numbers get around.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“There’s so much information floating around. Information overload. That’s what they call it, right?”

“What? What the fuck is this?”

“I’m just thinking out loud. Thinking what a treacherous world we live in. A man might think he’s engaging in a private activity, and next day on the Internet there’s a video of him taking a crap.”

“Yeah? You know what? That’s disgusting. Disgusting! What do you want?”

“We need to talk.”

“So talk.”

“Face-to-face would be better. No intervening technology. Technology can be a problem. A violator of privacy.”

Klemper hesitated—long enough to indicate a significant level of concern. “I still don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

Gurney figured this was a cover-your-ass statement in the event the call was being taped, rather than pure thickheadedness. “What I’m talking about is that we should talk about some issues of mutual concern.”

“Fine. Whatever the fuck that means. Let’s get this bullshit over with. Where do you want to talk?”

“Up to you.”

“I couldn’t care less.”

“How about Riverside Mall?”

Klemper hesitated again, longer this time. “Riverside? When?”

“Sooner the better. Things are happening.”

“Where in the mall?”

“Main concourse? Lots of benches there. Usually empty.”

Another hesitation. “When?”

Gurney knew from Esti that Klemper got off his shift at five. He checked the time on his cell screen—4:01 p.m. “How about five-thirty?”

“Today?”

“Definitely today. Tomorrow might be too late.”

A final pause. “All right. Riverside. Five-thirty, sharp. You better make more sense there than you’re making here. Because right now? Right now, this sounds like a pile of shit.” He disconnected the call.

Gurney found the man’s bravado encouraging. It sounded like fear.

Riverside Mall was a forty-minute drive from Walnut Crossing, giving Gurney about fifty minutes before he had to set out. It didn’t allow him much time to prepare for a meeting that had the potential to give the investigation a dramatic shove in the right direction, if it was handled right. He got a yellow lined pad out of his desk drawer to help organize his thoughts.