7
Jack sat in his idling car, cell phone in one hand, Dr. Levy's number in the other.
To call or not to call.
He'd just come from the scene of a torture-murder. It might not have anything to do with what he'd been hired for. In fact, odds were high against it, but not in the sure-thing range.
Did he want to get involved in this? Did he want to touch anything the late Michael Gerhard had touched?
Not really. But he'd accepted a fee to find out what Gerhard had learned about Jerry Bethlehem, and since Gerhard wasn't talking, Jack felt obligated to speak to at least one person the PI had contacted.
What the hell.
He punched in the number. After three rings, a man answered.
"Yes?" His voice sounded a little strange… tentative.
"Is this Doctor Aaron Levy?"
"Who's calling?"
"I'd like to ask the doctor a few questions about a man named Jerry Bethlehem."
"Who?"
"Jerry Bethlehem. I—"
"Never heard of him!" he said, but his tone said otherwise.
"Are you sure? I was given to understand—"
"Who is this?" A sharp jump in pitch and volume. "Are you the one who just called and hung up?"
"No, I—"
"You are, aren't you. I don't know what your problem is, but I want you to stop it."
"But I'm not—"
"Are you listening? Stop this or I'll have you found out and stopped. And
I'm not talking about calling the police. I'll be going much higher up. So stop this if you know what's good for you."
And then he hung up.
Whoa. That was one rattled man. He'd mistaken Jack for someone making harassing phone calls. Gerhard? Unlikely if Levy'd had a hang-up tonight.
Looked like he was going to have to arrange a face-to-face with Dr. Levy.
He put the car in gear, powered up his officialdom phone, and dialed 911. He told the operator he was a neighbor of Gerhard's and that water was leaking out his front door. He said he'd knocked but no one answered and he was afraid something was wrong inside. He broke the connection without leaving a name.
Not the sort of message to spark EMTs to race to the scene, but eventually someone would get around to checking it out.
He turned off the phone. He reserved it exclusively for calls that had the remotest chance of being traced. Those were the only times he powered it up.
He had no sources in officialdom and no way of knowing what kind of tracking capabilities the emergency services center had. Even though the number was untraceable to him, they might be able to pick up some sort of identifier code from his phone and track it. And they might not. But he did know they couldn't trace a powered-down phone. So he kept it off.
Was this any way to live?
Yeah. A major pain in the ass at times. A constant battle of wits. But he found it hard to imagine life any other way.