Chapter 9: Lakeshore

It was raining when Orson brought the car around.

He did not ask what Blair had said to me.

I told him anyway, in the dark of the back seat, with the wipers going.

When I got to the part about the bite he turned his head and looked out at the street for a long time.

"You know something," I said.

"I know a number of things."

"The pull on my neck went cold when you touched it."

"I saw."

"Is that normal?"

"No."

"What is it?"

"I don't know yet." His hand lay on his knee, and it was clenched. "I'd like to find out before I say something I can't take back."

"You don't get to decide that for me."

"No." He looked at me at last. "I don't."

The car turned onto Lake Shore Drive, and I saw the water black and heaving beyond the rail.

"Stop the car," I said.

He said something to the driver.

We pulled in at a turnout above the lake with the engine running.

The driver got out and walked to the rail and stood with his back to us.

"Why did you hire me?" I said. "Tell me the real reason."

"I told you."

"You told me about an investor dinner. I want the other reason."

He was quiet.

The rain came harder on the roof.

"Three years ago," Orson said, "Crane Holdings was going to buy the Lakeshore parcel."

"I know about Lakeshore."

"Do you?"

I did.

It had been a forty-page memo on a rival bid, written at midnight on Broderick's orders.

I had found a loophole in the city's zoning schedule, and Davenant had filed eleven days before Crane did.

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