Nemesis by Bill Pronzini Read Free Book Online

look for you, but while I was waiting. I couldn’t help looking around then.”
    There was nothing for him to say to that. He dipped his chin.
    â€œIt made me feel less apprehensive. Knowing you were close by, I mean.”
    Another dip.
    â€œWould you like some lunch? I don’t have much in the fridge, I usually go out to eat, but I can make us a sandwich.…”
    â€œThanks, but I can’t stay long.”
    â€œWell, you have to eat—”
    â€œTwo meals a day, breakfast and dinner. I’ll just listen to the recorder and be on my way.”
    â€œâ€¦ All right. Whatever you say.”
    He went to where she kept the phone, started to unhook the interface, paused when he saw that the connector was loose in the recorder socket. He pulled it all the way out, pressed the rewind button on the recorder. The tape didn’t move. He pushed Play. Nothing.
    Ms. Daniels said, “What’s the matter?”
    â€œThe conversation didn’t record.”
    â€œIt didn’t? But I turned the machine on.…”
    â€œThe adapter wasn’t plugged all the way in. Did you disconnect it for any reason?”
    â€œNo. I didn’t touch it.” She made a flustered gesture. “But … I was so rattled when I heard his voice that I almost knocked the phone off the table. The plug must have pulled out then. Oh, God, I’m so sorry.”
    Runyon looked at her for half a dozen beats without speaking. She met his gaze, gnawing on her lower lip in that little-girl way she had, her expression hangdog.
    â€œJake?” she said. “Is it really that important?”
    It wasn’t, no, except for one thing. In spite of the guileless eyes and apologetic look, he had the sense that her explanation was false, rehearsed—another lie.
    She hadn’t loosened the connector by accident. She’d done it on purpose.
    *   *   *
    Why? Why would she lie about something like that?
    No rational reason he could think of. If she knew who the extortionist was, because he’d identified himself or because the voice hadn’t been disguised and she’d recognized it, it made no sense that she’d lie to protect him. She wanted him caught; hiring professional help, cooperating on the beach stakeout, seemed to prove that. Not recording the conversation, lying about it … counterproductive, acting against her own best interests.
    Runyon didn’t call her on it. If he was right, she would only compound the fabrication by denying it. If he was wrong, accusing her would be a breach of professional ethics. He reconnected the telephone interface to the recorder, making certain it was plugged in tight, listened to another round of apologies, and left her to the sterile luxury of her new home.
    He’d had difficult clients before, but never one whose actions and motives were as puzzling as this one. For the most part people in trouble followed a similar pattern; they told the truth because it was the best way out of whatever bind they were in, lied and withheld information only when it reflected badly on them—never when it might thwart the efforts of the detectives they’d hired in the first place. Verity Daniels didn’t fit that pattern. It wasn’t just the lie about the recorder, or even the other lies she’d told. It was the behavioral inconsistencies, the impression that she had some sort of hidden agenda.
    She had him off balance, a position he’d never liked being in. He functioned best when he was in control, when he knew what to expect in a given situation. It made him even more determined to see this assignment through, put an end to it as quickly as possible.

 
    5
    On Thursday afternoon he had a couple of scheduled interviews on an insurance case that took him to the East Bay. The interviews were in Oakland and over with quickly; by three o’clock he was on Highway 24 heading through the Caldecott Tunnel