"I've never heard of Pryce and MacLawrence."
"Join the club. They're both very young, early forties, with precious little experience on the bench. We haven't checked them out, but they appear to be radically conservative."
"And the rest of the list?"
"That was quick. Two beers down, and you've already popped the question."
"The drinks arrived.I want some of those mushrooms stuffed with crabmeat," Verheek told the waiter. "Just to munch on. I'm starving."
Callahan handed over his empty glass. "Bring me an order too."
"Don't ask again, Thomas. You may have to carry me out of here in three hours, but I'll never tell. You know that. Let's say that Pryce and MacLawrence seem to be reflective of the entire list."
"All unknowns?"
"Basically, yes."
Callahan sipped the Scotch slowly and shook his head. Verheek removed his jacket and loosened his tie. "Let's talk about women."
"No."
"How old is she?"
"Twenty-four, but very mature."
"You could be her father."
"I may be. Who knows."
"Where's she from?"
"Denver. I told you that."
"I love Western girls. They're so independent and unpretentious and they tend to wear Levis and have long legs. I may marry one. Does she have money?"
"No. Her father was killed in a plane crash four years ago and her mother got a nice settlement."
"Then she has money."
"She's comfortable."
"I'll bet she is. Do you have a photo?"
"No. She's not a grandchild or a poodle."
"Why didn't you bring a picture?"
"I'll get her to send you one. Why is this so amusing to you?"
"It's hilarious. The great Thomas Callahan, he of the disposable women, has fallen hard."
"I have not."
"It must be a record. What, nine, ten months now? You've actually maintained a steady relationship for almost a year, haven't you?"
"Eight months and three weeks, but don't tell anyone, Gavin. It's not easy for me."
"Your secret's safe. Just give me all the details. How tall is she?"
"Five-eight, hundred and twelve pounds, long legs, tight Levis, independent, unpretentious, your typical Western girl."
"I must find one for myself. Are you gonna marry her?"
"Of course not! Finish your drink."
"Are you, like, monogamous now?"
"Are you?"
"Hell no. Never have been. But we're not talking about me, Thomas, we're talking about Peter Pan here, Cool Hand Callahan, the man with the monthly version of the world's most gorgeous woman. Tell me, Thomas, and don't lie to your best friend, just look me in the eyes and tell me if you have succumbed to a state of monogamy."
Verheek was leaning halfway across the table, watching and grinning stupidly.
"Not so loud," Callahan said, looking around.
"Answer me."
"Give me the other names on the list, and I'll tell you."
Verheek withdrew. "Nice try. I think the answer is yes. I think you're in love with this gal, but too cowardly to admit it. I think she's got your number, pal."
"Okay, she does. Do you feel better?"
"Yeah, much better. When can I meet her?"
"When can I meet your wife?"
"You're confused, Thomas. There's a basic difference here. You don't want to meet my wife, but I do want to meet Darby. You see. I assure you they are very dissimilar."
Callahan smiled and sipped. Verheek relaxed and crossed his legs in the aisle. He tilted the green bottle to his lips.
"You're wired, buddy," Callahan said.
"I'm sorry. I'm drinking as fast as I can."
The mushrooms were served in simmering skillets. Verheek stuffed two in his mouth and chewed furiously. Callahan watched. The Chivas had knocked off the hunger pains, and he would wait a few minutes. He preferred alcohol over food anyway.
Four Arabs noisily filled a table next to them, yakking and jabbering in their language. All four ordered Jack Daniel's.
"Who killed them, Gavin?"
He chewed for a minute, then swallowed hard. "If I knew, I wouldn't tell. But I swear I do not know. It's baffling. The killers vanished without a trace. It was meticulously planned and perfectly executed. Not a clue."
"Why the combination?"
He stuffed another in his mouth. "Quite simple. It's so simple, it's easy to overlook. They were such natural targets. Rosenberg had no security system in his townhouse. Any decent cat burglar could come and go. And poor Jensen was hanging around those places at midnight. They were exposed. At the exact moment each died, the other seven Supremes had FBI agents in their homes. That's why they were selected. They were stupid."
"Then who selected them?"
"Someone with a lot of money. The killers were professionals, and they were probably out of the country within hours. We figure there were three, maybe more. The mess at Rosenberg's could have been done by just one. We figure there were at least two working on Jensen. One or more looking out while the guy with the rope did his thing. Even though it was a dirty little place, it was open to the public, and quite risky. But they were good, very good."
"I've read a lone assassin theory."
"Forget it. It's impossible for one man to kill both of them. Impossible."
"How much would these killers charge?"
"Millions. And it took a bunch of money to plan it all."
