"I'm sure of it." She shook her head. "I know it's an old story. You don't agree. I understand that. Truth is, it doesn't make a damn bit of difference what either of us thinks. My job is to get my client a new trial, one that can conceivably go his way. It won't be easy. In a situation like this the burden shifts to the defense."
"I understand."
"Good. Because I want to talk about something else. In looking into the case, I've discovered some interesting things-things not particularly relevant to my job. They have to do with the Clury aspect, the way it was actually connected, as opposed to the way everyone thought."
"What about Clury?"
She looked at him. "Suppose I could show you that there was another agenda, something that had nothing to do with the Mendozas. Suppose I theorized that the time connection between Edith Mendoza's homicide and Clury's quote assassination unquote was coincidental, notwithstanding the client-investigator connection that certainly did exist. Suppose I could demonstrate that someone else wanted Clury out of the way for his own reasons, someone you've never thought of in that regard. And suppose I could persuade you that because Clury was a cop, and you cops were certain Mendoza paid to have him offed even though there was no evidence at all to support that belief, certain individuals among you faked up evidence on the other totally unconnected homicide that Mendoza very possibly did pay to have committed. Suppose I could show you all that.
What would you think?" He thought: One thing's clear, Netti isn't tongue-tied anymore.
"You're asking a lot of suppose-l-could questions. I can't relate to a theory. If you have something, lay it out' " She smiled. "That's what I thought you'd say. But, you understand, I'm under constraints."
"You're representing Mendoza-"
"Exactly. And because of that there're things I can't say. What I was hoping-well, I thought maybe I could point you in a certain direction, and you could pick it up from there.
Suddenly a nasty thought flashed through his mind.
Could she have engineered him into bed so that they could have this conversation under the umbrella of a freshly generated intimacy?
"Is that why you came here tonight?"
"What do you mean?"
"To ' me in a certain direction'?"
She stared at him. "I came over for one reason-to get your signature on your complaint."
"Kind of slick, though, just happening to be in my neighborhood."
Now she was mad. "I came uptown especially to see you. I called because I didn't think you'd like it if I turned up unannounced."
"But the reason you came on t@"
She got off the bed, stood before him naked, stared at him, shook her head, then started picking up her clothes. She spoke angrily:
"Is that what you think-that my brilliant quote seduction unquote was part of some scheme to manipulate you into engaging in this dialogue?
Give me a break! And give yourself one, too." She stared at him. "I was as turned on as I said I was. Maybe even more." She paused. "Why don't you think back a little, like maybe to yesterday? You came down to see me about a personal matter. I didn't call on you. You came to me."
She was right; he was mad at himself for thinking like a paranoid.
"I'm sorry, Netti," he said. "Of course you're right."
She shook her head. Her eyes looked sad. "It's this whole weird Mendoza thing. It drives everybody nuts, doesn't it?"
"That's what they say." He gazed at her. "Please forgive me."
She finished dressing, came to him, kissed him. "Of course." She sat beside him on the bed. "It's always a mistake to mix business with pleasure. I know better. I asked your permission, but I shouldn't have even broached it. Still"-she began to stroke his cheek-"if I had a choice between bedding down with you and talking about the case, I'd bed down anytime. I mean that, Frank. So, now we've got that out of the way … " They laughed. Then she told him she had to go, had to prepare for an early court appearance and feared that if she stayed she'd find it impossible to resist seducing him all over again.
He agreed that she could leave, providing she understood he didn't want her to.
At the door, after a final kiss, they stared at each other. It was as if, Janek thought, they both understood that the issue of their quarrel was still left unresolved.
"Before I go I'd like to say one final thing about you know-what," she said.
"Go ahead."
"If you ever decide to pursue it, let me know and I'll point the way.
But unless you ask me, I promise you-I'll never bring it up." "Thank you," he said. "I think that's the perfect way to leave it.
He woke late, had to rush to make his meeting with the squad. Still, he felt wonderful, almost light-headed. On the subway, thinking of Netti, he couldn't keep from breaking into a smile. He knew there could be no future in an affair with her, but he was happy she'd seduced him. It was, he decided, probably the only way the two of them could have gotten together.
At the office he found the squad despondent. No one had turned up anything. No gallery person any one of them had spoken to could recall a girl named Gelsey who created artwork involving mirrors. Janek reminded them that they'd just begun, that the New York art scene was huge.
At four that afternoon he was peering into the window of a grungy storefront on East Fifth, staring at what appeared to be a huge gilded phallus, when his beeper went off. A punked-out young woman, hair molded into violet spikes, walked by with a springer spaniel. When she heard the beeper she stopped.
"You on fire, Mister?"
He slid into a phone booth, called Special Squad, spoke to Sue, who told him that Ray Galindez had come up with something. When he reached Ray at the David Wise Gallery, Ray explained:
"They don't recognize Gelsey here, but they represent an artist named Ruth Hibbs who works with mirror images. I think we ought to speak to her, Frank. She may know other people in the field."
"Sounds good," Janek said. "Set it up."
When he got back to Special Squad, Ray was waiting, quietly stroking his mustache. He'd arranged a meeting with Ms. Hibbs for eight P.m. Janek noticed that his people were yawning and that their eyes were pink.
Understanding they were suffering from staring at ugly images, he invited them all to an early dinner at the Carolina Oyster House around the corner.
After the feast, he and Ray went to Ruth Hibbs's address. It was a small industrial building in the photo district with a freight elevator and an artist-in-residence loft on the top floor. When they rang the buzzer and nothing happened, they retreated back to the sidewalk.
"Who's there?"
Janek looked up. A black woman was leaning out the window.
"Ms. Hibbs?"
"That's me." "We're the detectives," Ray said.
The woman studied them, then she nodded. "The buzzer system's out. I'm throwing down the keys. I'd appreciate it if you'd catch them, not let them fall into the grate."
Ray and Janek stood back, the keys were thrown, Ray forward and neatly scooped them out of the air. "Nice move," Janek said. Ray, glowing, unlocked the inner lobby door.
The freight elevator, which smelled of photochemicals, moved slowly.