“You don’t think people knew where Mengele was? Are you kidding me?” He leaned over our table in the Bay Tower Room, tucked his tie against his waist even though our plates and table crumbs had been cleared, impeccable as always. “Patrick, let me assure you of something, Mengele had three huge advantages over most people who try to disappear.”

“And they were?”

“One,” he said and his index finger rose, “Mengele had money. Millions initially. But millionaires can be found. So, two”—his middle finger joined the index—“he had information—on other Nazis, on fortunes buried under Berlin, on all sorts of medical discoveries he’d made using Jews as guinea pigs—and this information went to several different governments, including our own, who were supposedly looking for him.”

He raised his eyebrows and sat back smiling.

“And the third reason?”

“Ah, yes. Reason number three, and the most important—Josef Mengele never had me looking for him. Because nobody can hide from Jay Becker. And now that I’ve trained you, D’Artagnan, my young Gascon, nobody can hide from Patrick Kenzie, either.”

“Thank you, Athos.”

He made a flourish with his hand and tipped his head.

Jay Becker. No one alive ever had more style.

Jay, I thought as the subway car broke from the tunnel into the waxy green light of Downtown Crossing, I hope you were right. Because here I come. Hide-and-seek, ready or not.

Back at my apartment, I stashed the twenty grand in the space behind the kitchen baseboard where I stow my backup guns. Angie and I dusted off the dining room table and spread out what we’d accumulated since this morning. Four photographs of Desiree Stone were fanned out in the center, followed by the daily progress reports Trevor had received from Jay until he disappeared thirteen days ago.

“Why did you wait so long to contact another investigator?” I’d asked Trevor Stone.

“Adam Kohl assured me he’d put another man on it, but I think he was stalling. A week later, they dropped me as a client. I spent five days looking into every private investigator in the city who had an honest reputation, and eventually settled on the two of you.”

In the dining room, I considered calling Hamlyn and Kohl, asking Everett Hamlyn for his side of the story, but I had the feeling they’d stonewall me. You drop a client of Trevor Stone’s stature, you’re not going to be advertising it or gossiping about it to a fellow competitor in the trade.

Angie slid Jay’s reports in front of her and I looked through the notes we’d each taken in Trevor’s study.