“I hardly think I’m famous,” Pocher replies dryly, motioning to my father. “Your father’s the famous one,” he adds.
I stab at the ice. It feels good too, so good that I want to keep stabbing the ice, or someone in the room. Almost too soon, I’m placing a chunk in my glass, but I don’t set down the pick. I hold it in my hand and rotate to face Pocher. “You’re famous to me, Pocher. Should we talk about why?” I lift the pick. “Ice, anyone? While I’m stabbing this brick of ice to death, I might as well keep on going, don’t you think?”
Chapter Eighteen
“Put the ice pick down, Lilah,” my father bites out between gritted teeth.
“Is that a no on ice?” I ask him, and then glance at Pocher. “For you, too?”
Pocher deadpans me. I shrug, set the ice pick down, and sip from my glass. “Mmmm. Excellent. You do know how to drink your whiskey, Dad.” I eye Pocher. “Or was this your choice?”
“Your father chose the whiskey,” he says tightly, and now he’s the one who looks like he has a stick up his ass.
“We need to talk about the implications of a new serial killer in the city right before my election,” my father says. “What do you know about the press reports?”
I down my whiskey and pour another two fingers. “I’ve been to one crime scene. I’m here instead of looking at the case files that might be connected. At this point, I can’t say if they are or are not.”
“You have to have some opinion on the matter,” my father presses. “I need to know what the hell is going on.”
I grab the ice pick again, walk to the chair opposite Pocher and set it on the coffee table. “Remember Basic Instinct? You’re both old enough to have pined for Sharon Stone, fucking men senseless and then bludgeoning them with the ice pick.” I hold up a hand. “Which was a weird as hell thing. Men wanting her despite the fact she was ice picking other men to death.”
My father’s jaw tightens to the point I think he might pop a muscle. “What does this have to do with what is going on in New York City right now?”
“Everything,” I assure him. “If the files I have waiting on me confirm what I’ve seen and been told, there’s someone copying horror movie killers. Not that Basic Instinct was a horror movie, but she was most certainly a serial killer. Who knows how far this killer will branch out, so truly, pops, you should watch yourself. Be careful about who you invite to your bed.”
Elizabeth bristles, pretty much confirming she’s dipping his stick.
My father’s lips thin but he moves on. “How were the victims killed?”
“Do you really want to know?” I ask.
“Does the governor know?” my father asks.
“I don’t know, but since he’s holding a press conference tomorrow, I assume he does. I’m certain the mayor will know as well since he’s the one who feels pressure in this situation. So actually, that brings me to the conclusion that yes, the governor knows.” He starts to speak and I hold up a finger. “What he knows is the question. The detective in charge of this case would not even consider the cases in question were connected up until tonight. He’s still not ready to agree to that being the case.”
“Then how did the press get word of a serial killer?”
“The same way I did. An insider called me, and then called them. He told me he was doing it.”
“And you didn’t tell me?” my father challenges.
“We aren’t exactly interactive, Father. And you’re not an active member of this case.”
“Who is this insider?” my father presses.
“I’m not ready to tell you that,” I say, “not when it might be pertinent to my investigation.”
“You think he’s the killer?” Pocher asks.
“I don’t think anything yet,” I reply. “I haven’t had time to review the case files.”
“Your father has the same clearance as the governor,” Pocher argues. “He should, in fact, be briefed by local law enforcement. He simply chose to come to you instead. If we have to call the locals, we will.
“Detective Rollins,” I say. “Call him. I won’t. If you want me to solve this case, I can’t alienate him by pulling a political card.”
“Law enforcement is my first love,” my father states. “It’s not a matter of politics. I might actually have something to add to the investigation. I want to keep people safe. I’m the candidate of public safety for a reason.”
“You lost that person a long time ago, Father, and we both know it.”
“You’re wrong,” he insists. “You’re wrong, Lilah.”
If that were true, I’d have to believe he only cares about those he doesn’t know, not those he knows and supposedly loves, but I don’t have worthless conversations, and this is one of them. “Bottom line,” I say. “I’m not going to pull a political card with anyone or I won’t be taken seriously, which is why I will not be at your press conference.”