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“I want to know,” Jeremy began, “what you found out about… is it okay if I just say ‘my father’?”
Myron nodded. “Of course.”
“I don’t mean to make a big thing of it or anything.”
“No, I get it.”
“But I don’t call him Greg or anything like that.”
“He’s your father,” Myron said, his mouth suddenly dry. “Call him whatever you want.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that.”
“Sure, no problem,” Myron said, hearing how hollow his voice sounded in his own ears. “I met with an old contact at the FBI before I saw you.”
Jeremy leaned in and gave Myron his full attention.
“In short,” Myron continued, “the FBI thinks there’s a connection between the Jordan Kravat murder and the Callister murder case.”
Jeremy frowned. “I don’t see how. Kravat was killed, what, five years ago in Vegas. The Callisters were a month or so ago in New York. Could the connection be the son?”
“The son?”
“Cecelia Callister’s son was murdered,” Jeremy said. “Clay, right? How old was he?”
“I think around thirty.”
“I guess Jordan Kravat would be about the same age.”
“That’s not the link,” Myron said. “Or, I don’t know, though maybe someone should look into that.”
“So what is the link?”
“It’s not just those murders.”
“What do you mean?”
“They think there were more.”
Myron filled him in as best he could. He tried to keep away from the details, which wasn’t very difficult because he didn’t know that many himself. He knew that Esperanza would dig into this whole idea of a serial killer in a deeper way. They needed to learn about the other victims, the other cases, but Myron also understood the limitations. The FBI were not fools. He didn’t fancy himself a better investigator than professional law enforcement. They had the resources and the contacts.
Jeremy’s eyes were wide when Myron finished. “Wow.”
“Yes.”
“But I still don’t see why they think Dad is behind this.”
“I’m not sure they do,” Myron said. “But right now, he’s their only link.”
“Yet they can only connect him to two of them?”
“So far, yeah.”
“We need to dig into this.”
“I agree.”
The sandwiches and soups arrived. Myron dunked the edge of his pastrami sandwich into the tomato soup before taking the first bite. What had PT muttered at Le Bernardin? Gods and ambrosia.
