about the party. I’ve seen the e-mail and the video. I know what you’re up to and what you’re asking.”
“I, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she tried.
“No interruptions, remember?” I said, jingling my keys. “What you’re doing is extortion, and it’s illegal. You can go to prison for it. You and whoever shot that video. But even worse is the publicity. Got any college plans? You can kiss them goodbye if this hits the papers.”
She stared toward the library, not meeting my eyes. But at least she was listening.
“I can see how you thought this might be pretty easy. A simple way to make some quick cash, not that you look exactly poverty stricken. I’ll wager Mr. Hamilton wasn’t even the first. But all that’s in the past. The situation is now like this. Mr. Hamilton, who I represent, is declining to meet your demand. If you choose to post the video, he and I will be at the county prosecutor’s office and the local FBI headquarters and the Upper Arlington Police Department and the sheriff’s and the dogcatcher’s and whoever else I can think of before you’ve had three hits on the site. Am I making myself at all clear?”
She didn’t say anything. Just looked at her car.
“On the other hand, should you choose to rethink your request, we’ll simply walk away—on one condition. I want the video camera, the laptop, and every memory stick and external drive and mouse used in this undertaking. If I’m in a good mood when I’m done wiping them clean, you’ll get them back.”
I looked at her to see if I was getting through. She met my glance, then looked away.
“Unfortunately,” I said, looking at my watch, “I can’t be as generous with my deadline as you were. Therefore, you have until eight o’clock tomorrow morning. If I don’t have the stuff by then, I’ll assume you’re not accepting my offer and we’ll head to the police. Got it?”
After a moment, she said, slowly, “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“That’s up to you,” I said. I reached into my wallet, pulled out my business card, and handed it to her. She wouldn’t take it, so I tucked it under a windshield wiper on her car.
“Eight a.m.,” I said. “Thanks for your time.”
5
Since it was by now well past 2 p.m., I drove back down the road, pulled into the Tremont Center lot, and walked into the Chef-O-Nette. I sat at the counter and declined the menu the waitress brought by.
“I’ll have the Hangover,” I said.
A few minutes later she brought me the restaurant’s signature sandwich, consisting of a hamburger, slice of ham, cheese, onion, lettuce, and tomato. I’d been there when I’d needed the sandwich for the real thing. Today I just felt hungry. Fixing Hamilton’s problem had given me an unexpected appetite. But I got no further than my first bite when my phone rang.
“Yeah,” a boy’s voice said. “This is, ah . . . Did you talk to Jennifer Rawlings, like, a few minutes ago?”
“That’s right.”
“Did you, like, talk to her about Ted Hamilton.”
“That’s right,” I said again.
“Did you ask her to give you something?”
“Right again.”
“I think I’ve got what you want. If what you told her is true.”
“I told her a lot of things.”
“What you told her about the police.”
“What I told her about the police is true.”
“And you get the equipment, you won’t tell the police.”
“With a couple conditions.”
“Conditions?”
“If the video ever surfaces, no matter how or who’s responsible, the deal’s off.”
“All right, I guess.”
“No,” I corrected him. “All right, period. Secondly, the equipment has to check out. If you give me dummies or decoys, that’s just going to increase your liability, because then you’re looking at obstruction of justice.”
“Can we get the stuff back?”
“Once I wipe everything, sure. No promises on how long that’ll take.”
“When can I give them to you?”
“Where do you live?”
“New Albany.”
“That’s clear across town. How do you know Jennifer?”
“We met at a tennis camp.”
“Of course you did. What’s your name.”
He hesitated. “Do I have to tell you that?”
“Don’t be stupid. And don’t bother making it up. Your number is showing up on my phone. I can figure it out anyway in about two minutes.”
“Pete,” he said after a moment. “Pete Freeley.”
“All right, Pete Freeley. Jennifer your girlfriend?”
A pause. “Yeah.”
“A slutty extortionist. Cute.”
“Listen—” he started.
“No, you listen. We’ll do it at Easton. There’s a surface parking lot near the Barnes and Noble. Nice and exposed.”
“OK,” he said. “What time.”
“I’m right in the middle of something,” I said. “Ninety minutes. Don’t be late. And come alone.”
“All right,” he said.
I cut the connection and signaled the waitress.
“Tapioca pudding?” she said. “Best in town.”
“Only if you can box it up,” I said. “Sandwich too.”
“Seems a shame to hurry on a Sunday afternoon.”
“Truer words,” I said.
6
Traffic was light, even for a Sunday, and I made it to Easton in, well, less than twenty minutes. “Mall” doesn’t quite do the layout of Easton Town Center justice. The traditional indoor profusion of shops is bookended by two faux Main Street outdoor shopping areas. They’re meant to evoke an old-fashioned downtown retail excursion but in fact bear about as much resemblance to a traditional city center as a golf course does to a wildlife preserve. All it did was remind me that as a boy,
