Tourist Trap (Rebecca Schwartz #3) (A Rebecca Schwartz Mystery) (The Rebecca Schwartz Series)

something took my mind off it. Loud and clear, even in the midst of all that, I heard someone calling Rob’s name—a bellman who’d come to tell him he had a phone call. I didn’t think hotel employees would have gone to that much trouble for just anyone, but thanks to the Trapper, Rob was currently something of a VIP around town. He looked dismayed, torn between what was probably an instructional call from his office and the story itself.
    Finally, he said, “Rebecca, could you take the call?” I wanted out of there, anyway, and jumped at the chance. As I turned around, Pete grabbed his bag, still on my shoulder, and pulled. I snapped, “Take it easy, will you?” But he didn’t even bother to answer.
    “This is Rebecca Schwartz,” I said to the caller. “Rob can’t get away right now. He asked me to relay the message.”
    The caller spoke in a calm, authoritative voice:
“This is the Trapper. I did it with plastic. Two charges—one for the hoists, one for the governor. There’s only one way to stop this—pay me half a million dollars. I’ll call back about the details. In the meantime, tell Burns he better put this in the paper tomorrow.”
    The Trapper hung up; I wasn’t so quick. I stared into space, still holding the receiver, until finally it occurred to me to jot the message down. All I had was the back of a check, but that would do. I was still writing, trying to get it exactly word for word, when I felt an arm around my waist. “Was it the city desk?”
    “Oh, Rob! It was the Trapper.”
    “No!”
    “I’m afraid so.” I read him the message.
    “You’re sure that’s exactly right?”
    “Pretty sure. I might have a ‘the’ where there ought to be an ‘a,’ but believe me, that’s basically what he said. I don’t get the stuff about the plastic and the governor, but the hoists must be cables.”
    Rob said, “He never asked for money before.”
    “You think it wasn’t Les?”
    “What did his voice sound like?”
    I tried to think. “A regular man’s voice. Very calm. Sort of icy calm.”
    He shrugged. “My caller was calm, too, but I don’t know where that gets us. Damn! What if it wasn’t Les?”
    “If it wasn’t, there’s another one out there, trying to cash in on his operation.” My head was spinning. “Maybe it’s starting all over again.”
    Rob said, “I wish I’d taken that call.”

13
     
    And that wasn’t the fun part of the evening; it was just one laugh after another when I tried to do my duty as a citizen and tell the cops what I knew about their case. “Miss Schwartz,” fumed Martinez, “you gotta be nuts, coming to me with a thing like this.”
    “A thing like what?”
    “You’re the defense lawyer in the Trapper case, right? Well, naturally you’re gonna do anything you can to get your client off.”
    “What!” I was on my feet, no longer wishing for Nikes, grateful instead for any height I could muster.
    “Look. So you trumped up the call. I’m not gonna arrest you for giving false evidence—I’m gonna forget the whole thing, okay? Maybe you’re not nuts. Maybe you’re still a little inexperienced; maybe you didn’t know any better. But you gotta be nuts if you ever try anything like this again.”
    I deliberately put my purse and briefcase on the floor; if I continued to be tempted with a ready weapon I was most certainly going to commit assault on a police officer. I had once been to jail and I wasn’t going back even if I had to deprive myself of the supreme pleasure of belting this android. I cleared my throat, but still my voice sounded husky. “Inspector Martinez, I came to you out of courtesy—because the Trapper case is your case. I answered a call for Rob Burns tonight—”
    “Very convenient.”
    “—that I thought might have some bearing on this case. I could have gone to someone else in the department, and I will if you decline to take my information. Meanwhile, I’ll ask you to apologize for your insulting implications.”
    “Apologize!” I believe the sound he made next could be accurately called a hoot. Even the colorless Curry seemed amused, though there wasn’t a peep out of him; just a malicious set to his mouth.
    “I believe,” I said, not quite calmly, but not yet losing it, “I believe you accused me of giving false evidence.”
    “False evidence!” Martinez was beginning to guffaw; Curry joined in, but they still weren’t satisfied. “Hey, Franklin! Hunt! Listen to this.” A couple of