“You won’t quit, will you?” she says.
My disarming smile returns.
“Let’s go sit in the Subway.”
“Subway?” I am appropriately aghast. “I’d rather have my kidney removed with a grapefruit spoon. We can talk here, so let’s get to it, shall we? You knew Ralph Lewis at Oral Roberts University, correct?”
Elena wipes her eyes and nods.
“When did you last see him?”
“More than forty years ago.”
“If we skip the lies—”
“I’m not lying. Let me ask you something before we get into this.”
I don’t like it, but it may take longer to express that point. “Go on.”
“You’re not a cop.”
“We’ve already established that.”
“So why are you after Ralph?”
Sometimes you play vague. Sometimes you go right for the throat. Right now, I choose the throat. “You mean Arlo Sugarman, don’t you?”
The remark draws blood. Conclusion: Elena Randolph knew that Ralph Lewis was really Arlo Sugarman.
“How did you—?” She stops, sees that there’s no point, shakes her head. “Never mind. He didn’t do anything, you know.”
I wait.
“Why are you after him? After all these years.”
“You heard about Ry Strauss being found.”
“Of course.” She narrows her eyes. “Wait, I saw your picture on the news. You owned that painting.”
“Own,” I correct. “Present tense.”
“I don’t get why you’d be looking for Arlo.”
“The art heist was not a solo job,” I say.
“And you think, what, that Arlo has your other missing painting?”
“Perhaps.”
“He doesn’t.”
“You haven’t seen him in over forty years.”
“Still. Arlo would not be involved in something like that.”
I try dropping the bomb: “Would he be involved in the abduction and murder of young girls?”
Her mouth drops open.
“In all likelihood,” I say, “Ry Strauss and an accomplice murdered my uncle and kidnapped my cousin.”
“You can’t think—”
“Did you meet Ry Strauss when he came to campus?”
“Listen to me,” Elena says. “Arlo was a good man. He was the best man I ever knew.”
“Cool,” I say. “So where is he?”
“I told you. I don’t know. Look, Ralph…I mean Arlo…we dated for two years at Oral Roberts. I came from a rough background. As a child, I was…” The tears start coming to her eyes, but she works hard to shake them off. “You don’t want to hear my whole life story.”
“Heavens, no.”
She manages a chuckle at that, though I hadn’t meant to be funny. “Ralph—that’s what I always called him—Ralph was kind.”
“When did you learn his real identity?”
“Before we dated.”
That surprises me. “He confided in you?”
“I was his campus contact in the underground. I helped him get settled, found the pseudonym, whatever he needed.”
“And, what, you two grew close?”
She moves close to me. “Arlo wasn’t there that night.”
“When you say ‘that night’—”
“The night with the Molotov cocktails and all those deaths.”
“Arlo Sugarman told you that?” I give her my best skeptical eyebrow arch, which is, modesty aside, a work of art. “You’ve seen the photograph of the Jane Street Six?”
“The famous one in the basement? Sure. But that was his last time with them. He thought it was just a prank, that they’d never really fill the bottles with kerosene. When he saw they were serious, he backed out.”
“Arlo told you this?”
“He told me Ry had turned crazy. He didn’t go that night.”
“There are photographs from that night.”
“None of him. There are six people, yes. But you don’t see his face, do you?”
I give this a moment. “So how come Arlo Sugarman never told the police?” I ask.
“He did. Do you think anyone believed him?”
“It could be he was lying to you.”
“He had no reason to lie to me. I was on his side anyway.”
“And I suppose he didn’t shoot Special Agent Patrick O’Malley either.”
Elena Randolph blinks and looks toward her Honda.
“Do you know about Special Agent O’Malley?” I ask.
“Of course.”
“Did you ask him about it?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“First tell that asshole to step away from my car.”
I turn toward Gino and tilt my head. He backs off.
“Arlo would never talk about that shooting. He’d just shut down.”
I frown, try to get back on track. “You and Arlo started dating?”
“Yes.”
“Did you love him?”
Elena smiles. “What difference does that make?”
Touché.
“Where is he now?”
“I told you. I don’t know.”
“When was the last time you saw Arlo?”
“At graduation.”
“Were you two still a couple?”
She shakes her head. “We broke up.”
“May I ask why?”
“He found someone else.”
I feel as though I’m supposed to say I’m sorry, but I don’t.
“So you saw him at graduation?”
“Yes.”
“And that was the last time?”
“That was the last time.”
“Did you hear where he went after graduation?”
“No. Those are the rules with the underground. The fewer people who know, the safer he is. My part in his life was over.”
Dead end.
Except it didn’t feel like a dead end.
“I have no interest in hurting him,” I say.
Elena glances inside the salon. Everyone is still staring at us. “How were you able to buy my debt so fast?” she asks.
“It’s not hard.”
“You own a Vermeer.”
“My family does.”
She meets my eyes and holds them. “You’re superrich.”
I see no reason to reply.
“I told you that Arlo left me for someone else.”
“You did indeed.”
“I’ll give you the name under two conditions.”
I steeple my fingers. “I’m listening.”
“First, you promise if you find him to hear him out. If he convinces you he didn’t do anything, you let him go.”
“Done,” I say.
It isn’t as though this promise is binding. I believe in certain degrees of loyalty and “my word is my bond” stuff. I don’t believe in all of it. I am bound by what I believe is best, not some false promise or faux loyalty. Either way, it is easy to say, “Done,” mean it or not.
“What’s the second condition?”