Chapter 4

THEO (continued)

Paolo glances down at the leather case as if there might be a metal bear trap inside.

“Geez, Paolo,” I say. “You pull kids out of shark-infested waters for a living. You can’t possibly be afraid of my carry-on.”

But Paolo doesn’t trust me. Not. One. Bit. He’s made it this far by keeping his head down and not talking to anyone. The media has given him the usual promises about “protecting his identity” and “being on his side.” But what they haven’t given him is what’s in my leather case.

“Go on.”

Paolo opens it. His eyes widen when he sees what’s inside.

“Take it,” I tell him. “It’s yours.”

He reaches in and pulls out the modest stack of crisp hundred-dollar bills bound with a paper wrapper.

“That’s twenty-five grand,” I say. “Consider it good faith money.”

Paolo looks at the stack in his hand, feeling the weight of it. “You said half a million, Mr. Lawyer.”

“What part of good faith don’t you get? You point me in the direction of Ms. Ryerson’s body, and the next time you’ll need a bag to carry all of your money away. Unless you prefer a check?”

“No, cash is good.”

Of course it’s good. Money is an abstract thing until the moment it’s sitting in your hand.

“So we have a deal, Paolo?”

Finally, the spell of the greenbacks dissipates. Paolo looks at me as if he’s still trying to figure me out.

“You can’t be a cop, because giving me this money would be entrapment or something like that, right?”

I squelch my inner lawyer, who wants to shout, You idiot, that’s not how it works! But I’m here to find the truth—not give this playboy free legal advice.

“You know how little cops make in a year? They aren’t usually in the habit of bribing their way to a murder confession, Paolo.”

“I’m not confessing to anything,” he says, suddenly defensive.

“I told you, all I want to buy is some information. Do you have anything you want to share right now?”

“I know what good faith means, Mr. Lawyer Man. It means you have to give me some time to think it over.”

This is wonderful. I can practically see him doing the mental calculations as he speaks.

“You’re absolutely right, Paolo.” I hand him a fake business card (eggshell, Romalian type) with a real cell phone number on it. “Call me when you’re ready. But my client would like closure as quickly as possible.”

Again, Paolo looks down at the stack of cash in his hand, already lost in his plans for the next few hours. “Yeah, I get it.”

And so do I. A few minutes later I’m calling Quinn in Boston. “I’m really liking Paolo for this.”

“That’s promising to hear. But can you prove it?”

“It’s only a matter of time, my friend.”

“Then…have at it.”

“Of course, but what do you think? You suspected him all along, right?”