The Next Accident - Lisa Gardner [93]
The waitress came over with two Cokes. Luke accepted his with a smile. Rainie set hers on the table and proceeded to spin it absently between her hands.
“It’s . . . it’s insane,” she murmured. “There’s someone out there, Luke. We don’t know his name. We don’t have a clear description. We don’t even know how he ties in with Quincy. We just know he’s smart. Methodical. And at least twelve steps ahead of us.”
“Plan of attack?” Luke asked quietly.
“Attack is a strong word. We have a plan of retreat. We fled here with Quincy’s surviving daughter, Kimberly. The man knows too much about their lives on the East Coast.”
“You need manpower?”
Rainie shook her head. Then she ran a hand through her short-cropped hair. “It’s hard to explain. This man . . . his system. He’s not hit-and-run. This guy, it isn’t just about the kill, it’s all about the game. We know he’s still coming. We know he’ll follow us here. But he won’t strike out of the blue. Somehow, someway, he’ll convince one of us to open the door.”
“Carl Mitz,” Luke filled in.
“You have to admit, the timing is suspicious.”
“I see your point.” Luke sighed. He spread out his hands on the table. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you, Rainie. Mitz started calling four days ago. I checked with the law offices of Avery & Abbott in Portland and they confirm having him on staff. He’s also on record with the Oregon State Bar. I don’t like his timing either, but at this point . . .”
“Mitz checks out.”
“Mitz appears to be a genuine vermin, er, lawyer.”
“What about his client?”
Luke frowned. “His client?”
Rainie nodded. She leaned forward. “This guy—Tristan Shandling, for lack of a better name—he’s been using each family member to learn about the other family members. Mandy tells him about Bethie who tells him about Kimberly. Shandling plays his game and conducts his recon all at once. Except Amanda, Elizabeth, and Kimberly don’t know a thing about me.”
Luke got it. “So assuming he’s learned that Quincy has a friend in Portland—”
“Not a big assumption. He seems to know everything about Quincy’s life, plus he’s stolen Quincy’s identity. All you need to check anyone’s phone bill is a name and Social Security number.”
“Then Shandling needs a source of information about you.”
“He can’t come himself.” Rainie thought out loud. “He’s been too busy with Bethie in Philadelphia.”
“So he hires someone.”
“Someone reputable. Just in case we get suspicious and check the person out.”
Luke nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right, he’s smart and methodical. So how do you want to play it?”
“I’m thinking we stick to the basics. I sit in the booth behind this one with a newspaper in front of my face so Mitz doesn’t see me when he walks in. You greet him, make him comfortable, and pretend to be willing to cooperate.”
“Good cop,” Luke filled in dryly.
“Exactly. I wait here, eavesdrop, and let you pour on the charm. Then, when he’s nicely entrenched in his, ‘we don’t give out information on our clients’ speech, I pounce and tear him to shreds.”
“Bad cop.”
“Yeah.” She smiled wolfishly.
Luke shook his head, “Rainie,” he said, “damn, it’s good to have you home.”
At exactly five P.M. Carl Mitz strolled through the doors of Martha’s Diner. In a crowd of plaid western shirts and field-stained jeans, he stood out conspicuously wearing a tan linen suit and carting a behemoth brown briefcase. He identified Luke easily enough—maybe the sheriff’s star gave him away—and proceeded straight to the booth.
Rainie opened the newspaper and ducked down against the red vinyl seat. The newspaper easily obscured her face, but she still felt vulnerable. Not that she had much to fear. Her first impression of Mitz was an oversized accountant with bad taste in glasses. Mussed-up hair, ill-fitting suit, pinched white features. Whatever kind of law he did, it wasn’t criminal because