“Duly noted,” Len said, closing the door behind him.
But he didn’t listen. After Adam had sat there alone for an hour, he got up and pounded on the door. Len Gilman opened it. Adam spread his arms and said, “Really?”
“We aren’t playing with you,” Len said. “We’re just waiting for someone.”
“Who?”
“Give us fifteen minutes.”
“Fine, but let me take a piss.”
“No problem. I’ll escort—”
“No, Len, I’m here voluntarily. I’ll go to the bathroom by myself like a big boy.”
He did his business, came back, sat in the chair, played with his smartphone. He checked his texts again. Andy Gribbel had taken care of clearing his morning schedule. Adam looked at the address for Gabrielle Dunbar. She lived right near the center of Fair Lawn.
Would she be able to lead him to the stranger?
The interrogation room door finally opened. Len Gilman came in first, followed by a woman Adam would guess was in her early fifties. Her pantsuit was a hue that could best be described as institutional green. Her shirt collar was too long and pointy. Her hair was what they called wash-and-wear—a sort of brown shag-mullet that reminded Adam of hockey players in the seventies.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” the woman said.
Her accent was slight, maybe Midwestern—definitely not New Jersey. She had a rawboned face, the kind that reminded you of farmhands and square dances.
“My name is Johanna Griffin.”
She reached out with a big hand. He shook it.
“I’m Adam Price, but I assume you know that.”
“Please sit.”
They sat across the table from each other. Len Gilman leaned against a far corner, trying like all get-out to look casual.
“Thanks for coming in this morning,” Johanna Griffin said.
“Who are you?” Adam asked.
“Pardon me?”
“I assume you have a rank or . . .”
“I’m a police chief,” she said. Then, after giving it some thought, “From Beachwood.”
“I don’t know Beachwood.”
“It’s in Ohio. Near Cleveland.”
Adam hadn’t expected that. He sat and waited for her to continue.
Johanna Griffin put a briefcase on the desk and snapped it open. She reached inside, and as she pulled out a photograph, she asked, “Do you know this woman?”
She slid the photograph across the table. It was an unsmiling head shot against a plain backdrop, probably off a driver’s license. It took Adam a second, no more, to recognize the blond woman. He had seen her only once and it was dark and from a distance and she’d been driving a car. But he knew right away.
Still he hesitated.
“Mr. Price?”
“I might know who she is.”
“Might?”
“Yes.”
“And who might she be?”
He wasn’t sure what to say here. “Why are you asking me this?”
“It’s just a question.”
“Yeah, and I’m just an attorney. So tell me why you want to know.”
Johanna smiled. “So that’s how you want to play it.”
“I’m not playing it any way. I just want to know—”
“Why we are asking. We will get to that.” She pointed to the photograph. “Do you know her, yes or no?”
“We’ve never met.”
“Oh wow,” Johanna Griffin said.
“What?”
“Now you’re going to play semantics games with us? Do you know who she is, yes or no?”
“I think I do.”
“Super, terrific. Who is she?”
“You don’t know?”
“This isn’t about what we know, Adam. And really, I don’t have time, so let’s cut to it. Her name is Ingrid Prisby. You paid John Bonner, a parking attendant at an American Legion Hall, two hundred dollars to give you her license plate number. You had that number traced by a retired police detective named Michael Rinsky. Do you want to tell us why you did all that?”
Adam said nothing.
“What’s your connection to Ingrid Prisby?”
“No connection,” he said carefully. “I just wanted to ask her something.”
“Ask her what?”
Adam felt his head spin.
“Adam?”
It didn’t escape his notice that she had moved from calling him Mr. Price to the more informal Adam. He glanced toward the corner. Len Gilman had his arms folded. His face was impassive.
“I was hoping she could help me with a confidential matter.”
“Forget confidential, Adam.” She reached into her briefcase again and produced another photograph. “Do you know this woman?”
She put down a picture of a smiling woman who looked to be about Johanna Griffin’s age. Adam shook his head.