But before I can respond, my new friend suddenly says, “Damn. I was supposed to be in a meeting downtown at my office ten minutes ago. I should quit my job and spend all my time keeping track of Leon. I hope I see you again, Ms. Ryuan.”

“Yes, me too,” I say.

And Barbara Holt’s fancy red-soled shoes take her quickly down the corridor toward the EXIT sign. One thing I know is this: I’m really not hoping to see her again.

I am, however, considering the information that Blumenthal has told people, even just one person, even as a joke, that I’m his special assistant. I’m also wondering, of course, who exactly is Barbara Holt, and what exactly is her role in Blumenthal’s life?

Then the door opens. Blumenthal comes out, and I hear Bobby’s voice begin: “Detective Leon Blumenthal is leaving the—” Blumenthal closes the door behind himself. I’m suddenly looking at Blumenthal in a whole new way.

“We’re going into the viewing room. Two-way mirror.”

We enter a small, dark, stale-smelling room. High-school-student-type desks.

A light-brown curtain covers what I assume is one side of the two-way mirror. I sit down, and Blumenthal says, “Okay. I’m going to pull the curtain open and turn on the speaker.”

Opposite Cilia, facing the mirror, facing us, is…I stand up to get a better look. My hand flies to my mouth. I yell.

“Holy shit. It’s Troy!”

Chapter 62

Chapter 62

I RUSH TO THE door of the viewing room.

Blumenthal shouts, “Lucy, wait. You cannot go in there.”

“The hell I can’t.”

Blumenthal has joined me and blocks the door. “We’re just questioning him,” he says.

“Is he under arrest? Is he a person of interest?” I ask, wondering if I need to punch Blumenthal in the stomach (or somewhere close to the stomach).

“No, he’s not under arrest. He’s not under suspicion. He’s not anything. He’s here to help.”

“Great news. Then I’m going in,” I say.

Turns out I do not have to punch Blumenthal anywhere. He moves away from the door, and as I enter the interrogation room, Troy rises from his seat and hugs me.

“What the hell’s the story? Why are you here?” I yell. I have about a thousand more questions, but Blumenthal jumps in.

Blumenthal says that he’ll explain. Bobby Cilia says that he should explain. And seizing one of the rare moments when I have a bit of control over the situation, I suggest that Troy can do his own explaining. So Troy starts.

“First of all, I’m sorry, Lucy. I’m sorry as hell. You finding out this way. I shoulda come to you right away. I shoulda—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I say. “Just tell me what happened. How’d you end up here?”