"I'm really glad to hear that."
"I have some information," the young woman's voice said.
Sitting at his oak desk, Michael Schmidt held the phone receiver in one hand and with his other tapped on the unopened lid of the carton of clam chowder.
The voice, a woman's and disguised somehow, continued. "It links you to Shelly Lowe's death."
He poked his finger listlessly against the cello packet of saltines until each cracker popped into crumbs. "Who is this?"
"I think it's information you'd be interested in."
"Tell me who you are."
"You'll meet me soon enough. If you're not afraid to."
"What do you want? You want money? Are you trying to blackmail me?"
"Blackmail? It's funny you should mention that word. Maybe I am. But I want to meet you in person. Face-to-face."
"Come to my office."
"No way. Where there are plenty of people around."
"Okay. Where?"
"Meet me at noon at Lincoln Center. You know the tables they have set up there?"
"The restaurant outside?"
"Yeah, there. Meet me there. And don't bring anybody with you. Got it?"
"I--"
The line went dead.
Schmidt sat staring at the glossy black-and-gray phone for a full minute before he realized he was still holding the silent receiver. He hung it up angrily.
He felt like swearing, though he knew that if he did he'd immediately regret saying the cuss word. He was proud of the fact that he was both a tough, moneymaking businessman and a deeply religious man who abhorred the use of obscenities. With his thumb he continued to crush the crackers into dust.
His appetite for the soup was gone and he pitched it into his wastebasket. The lid came off and the soup spilled into the plastic bag lining the garbage can. The smell of fish and onions wafted up, which made him even more angry.
But he remained completely still as he folded his hands together and prayed until he was calm. That was one thing he had learned to do--he never made a decision when he was in what he called a secular state.
In five minutes the spirit of the Lord had calmed him. His decision was to do exactly what he'd thought of doing when he'd hung up after speaking to the girl. He picked up the phone and gently pressed out a number.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
"You can use L&R's camera. It's got a telephoto built in."
Stu, the cook-editor-food stylist from Belvedere Post-Production, said, "Why exactly do you want to film this guy?"
"I'm going to get a confession. I'm going to trick him."
"Isn't it illegal to film people if they don't know about it?"
"No. Not if they're in a public place. That's what public dominion means."
"Public domain. And that's something different. The copyright law."