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18

Eddie

Eating out with Gabriel Lake was not an easy endeavor. He shaved every four days, whether he needed to or not, and his hair was in a constant mess, but not enough to distract anyone from the state of his suits. There was so much going on in Lake’s head that he didn’t have room to think about ordinary everyday life. The only thing he was particular about was what went into his body. When I say particular, I mean it was bordering on some kind of condition.

Junior’s restaurant, between 45 th Street and 8 th Avenue, is a hotspot for tourists who have had their eyeballs blown out in Times Square. It’s a little haven of Americana, dressed in orange, with seats at the counter, fifty tables and the best cheesecake within a hundred miles.

Bloch ordered the cheeseburger, medium, and an ice-cream soda. I said I’d have the same. The waiter, dressed in black jeans and a black polo shirt, thought this table was going to be easy. No problems. No fuss.

Lake stared at the menu.

Little did the waiter know he had inadvertently dressed for his own funeral.

‘How are the eggs cooked? Is it on the hotplate or a pan?’ asked Lake.

The waiter’s eyebrows shot up into his forehead, and stayed there for the next ten minutes while Lake went through his repertoire of questions that would test the patience of Mother Theresa, if she’d happened to wait tables in Manhattan. Lake wasn’t being rude, just thorough.

‘Where do your eggs come from?’ asked Lake.

‘Chickens,’ said the waiter, who was beginning to lose the will to live.

‘I meant where . . .’

‘He’ll have the omelet,’ said Bloch, rescuing the waiter.

‘She’s right. I’ll just have the omelet, five whites and two yolks, still water and a coffee, please.’

The waiter snatched the menu out of Lake’s hands.

Bloch gave Lake and I copies of the report she’d picked up from Raymond, Bloch’s tech expert.

Lake’s right heel bounced on the floor as he read.

The report discussed the burner phone Bloch found in Blakemore’s home. It had only ever called two numbers. Both of them were burners and both seem to have been disabled the day after the murder. Both of the unknown burners made calls to Margaret’s phone the day before the murder. The single SMS message on the phone was sent six or seven hours before the murder, sent to one of the burner numbers.

TRANSCRIPT OF TEXT MESSAGE EXTRACTED FROM NOKIA 3310.

SMS message sent to CONTACT: SMS sent at 17:05.

After all we’ve been through, you’re still treating me like a piece of shit. I’m always second best, aren’t I?

I’m done being your fucking piece on the side.

I can end you with one phone call.

Maybe I should tell everyone what you’ve done.

How would you like that?

Then you’ll know what pain feels like.

‘Has Jackson seen this?’ asked Lake.

I shook my head.

‘Is this a defense?’ he asked.

‘Not yet. I’m guessing one of the numbers on the phone was for Brett Bale and the other Todd Ellis. We have two alternative suspects. We were on our way to check out these guys when Bloch got the call from Raymond. I need you two to look into them. Deep dive,’ I said.

‘From the looks of that message, Margaret Blakemore was playing a dangerous game with at least one of these men. That message is a threat. It sure looks like motive.’

The waiter came with our drinks. Lake tried to ask him a question, but he pretended to hear something on his mic and practically ran from the table.

‘We need to get to know Ellis and Bale. I think we should wait until we have their statements, or interview transcripts from Castro. Then we’ll go shake their trees.’

‘What if nothing falls out?’ asked Lake.

‘Then we shake harder,’ said Bloch.