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“I know lots of somethings.”
“You’re being coy. You’re never coy.”
“Sometimes I’m coy with the ladies,” Win said. Then: “No, wait, I mean coquettish.”
“Did you know Greg was alive?”
Win considered that. He spun toward the windows and looked out at his view. This too was something he almost never did. Then Win said, “A columbarium.”
“What now?”
“You told the agents that Greg Downing was in a mausoleum.”
“Right.”
“A mausoleum is designed to hold a corpse,” Win said. “A columbarium houses cremated remains.”
“I stand corrected. Thanks for the vocabulary seminar.”
Win spread his hands. “I give and I give.”
“You do. Your point is, Greg was cremated.”
“Correct.”
“And, what, that makes it easier to fake a death?”
“Let’s run the timeline, shall we?”
Myron nodded for Win to continue.
“Five years ago, Greg Downing was fired as head coach of the Milwaukee Bucks. At the time, Greg was immensely popular with a winning record for three different NBA franchises. It would be fair to say he was still very much in demand, correct?”
Myron nodded. “The Knicks and Heat both wanted to talk to him.”
“But instead of fielding those offers, Greg, who was still a young man—”
“Our age,” Myron added.
“Very young then.” Win gave a small smile. “He instead pled burnout and claimed that he wanted out of the rat race. Did you buy that?”
Myron shrugged. “I’ve seen it before.”
“Now who’s being coy?”
“It was out of character,” Myron conceded. “Greg had always been hypercompetitive.”
“Game knows game,” Win said.
“Meaning?”
“You were rivals for so long because you are both hypercompetitive. It led to great battles on the court. It led to great catastrophes off it.”
Myron had no reply to that one.
“Did you and Greg discuss his decision?” Win asked.
“No. You know this.”
