put Rudy's lawyers to work. They're taking their cut of the estate anyway. Make 'em earn it."
"I know you're right, Billy. But things never seem to get done unless I do them myself. God, I woke up this morning worrying about who I should hire to auction off Rudy's furnishings."
"He had a lot of his old shows on DVD," I said. "If they're going to be on sale, I'd like to pick up a few."
"Why would you want them?" she asked.
"Mementos."
"You men are so strange. Actually, those DVDs are here. We needed to sample some of Rudy's early TV work on our send-off this morning, so I got permission from the NYPD to remove them from his condo. They should still be in editing. I'll probably donate them to the Museum of Television and Radio. Take what you want."
Her eyes were suddenly damp.
Then she broke down, and, for the second time in two days, my lapels were collecting tears of grief for Rudy Gallagher.
Or so I thought.
After a few seconds, Gretch pulled away from me and stood. "He was a son of a bitch," she said, snapping a Kleenex angrily from a box on her desk. "Did you know he was screwing around on me?"
"What makes you think that?" I said, not wanting to lie to her.
She circled her desk, opened a drawer, and plucked from it a small black phone book. "This retro piece of macho bullshit."
She threw it at me. "I'm sure you've seen them before," she said.
"Since BlackBerrys, not so much." I flipped through the pages. There were no names, just initials, followed by several sets of numbers--phone numbers and ratings for "beauty," "breasts," "butts," and "bedroom."
"This book could be from years ago," I told Gretchen. "Long before you two met."
"Rudy listed his 'conquests' on a first-come basis, if you'll excuse the expression. You'll note that GDV is not the final entry. There are dozens more."
"There's this in his favor," I said. "He gave you straight tens."
"Not funny, Billy." She grabbed the black book from my fingers.
"I'm surprised the police let you have that," I said.
She made no response, merely put the book back in her desk drawer.
"The police did see it, right?" I asked.
"I can't speak for their efficiency. It arrived here with Rudy's DVD collection. I assume they've seen it and considered it unimportant to their investigation."
"A bachelor's little black book? C'mon, Gretchen. How could this not be important? You need to show it to them."
"If I make a big thing about it with the police, some sleazy individual will find a way to steal it or copy it, and in the blink of an eye it will wind up on every gossip website in the world. I'll just hang on to it, if you don't mind. In fact, I'm thinking of burning the damn thing."
"You're joking, right? The cops are convinced I killed Rudy," I said. "That black book might put just a tiny doubt in their minds."
"How can you be so sure they haven't looked through it?"
"Because it's the kind of thing they love to dig into. And I know it didn't come with the DVDs."
"Really? Suddenly you're the Mentalist? Then how did it get here?"
We had finally arrived at the real point of my visit.
"My guess is you took it from Rudy's apartment the night he died."
Gretchen paled. "That's ridiculous, Billy. I was nowhere near ... How desperate do you have to be to make a statement like that?"
"How did you know his last dinner was coq au vin?" I asked.
"How? That detective. Solomon. He told me when he called with the news of Rudy's death."
I shook my head. "Solomon came to the Bistro almost immediately after he'd talked with you. When he and I got into a discussion of Rudy's last meal, he'd never heard of coq au vin. It was just chicken and gravy to him. Then, only minutes later, during our phone conversation you identified the dish by name."
"I guess I assumed--"
"What? That since it was from the Bistro, it had to be coq au vin? Why not Chicken Florentine or Pompadour or Fricassee?"
"That's ridiculous."
"You were seen at his place, Gretch. Right around the time of the
"I know you're right, Billy. But things never seem to get done unless I do them myself. God, I woke up this morning worrying about who I should hire to auction off Rudy's furnishings."
"He had a lot of his old shows on DVD," I said. "If they're going to be on sale, I'd like to pick up a few."
"Why would you want them?" she asked.
"Mementos."
"You men are so strange. Actually, those DVDs are here. We needed to sample some of Rudy's early TV work on our send-off this morning, so I got permission from the NYPD to remove them from his condo. They should still be in editing. I'll probably donate them to the Museum of Television and Radio. Take what you want."
Her eyes were suddenly damp.
Then she broke down, and, for the second time in two days, my lapels were collecting tears of grief for Rudy Gallagher.
Or so I thought.
After a few seconds, Gretch pulled away from me and stood. "He was a son of a bitch," she said, snapping a Kleenex angrily from a box on her desk. "Did you know he was screwing around on me?"
"What makes you think that?" I said, not wanting to lie to her.
She circled her desk, opened a drawer, and plucked from it a small black phone book. "This retro piece of macho bullshit."
She threw it at me. "I'm sure you've seen them before," she said.
"Since BlackBerrys, not so much." I flipped through the pages. There were no names, just initials, followed by several sets of numbers--phone numbers and ratings for "beauty," "breasts," "butts," and "bedroom."
"This book could be from years ago," I told Gretchen. "Long before you two met."
"Rudy listed his 'conquests' on a first-come basis, if you'll excuse the expression. You'll note that GDV is not the final entry. There are dozens more."
"There's this in his favor," I said. "He gave you straight tens."
"Not funny, Billy." She grabbed the black book from my fingers.
"I'm surprised the police let you have that," I said.
She made no response, merely put the book back in her desk drawer.
"The police did see it, right?" I asked.
"I can't speak for their efficiency. It arrived here with Rudy's DVD collection. I assume they've seen it and considered it unimportant to their investigation."
"A bachelor's little black book? C'mon, Gretchen. How could this not be important? You need to show it to them."
"If I make a big thing about it with the police, some sleazy individual will find a way to steal it or copy it, and in the blink of an eye it will wind up on every gossip website in the world. I'll just hang on to it, if you don't mind. In fact, I'm thinking of burning the damn thing."
"You're joking, right? The cops are convinced I killed Rudy," I said. "That black book might put just a tiny doubt in their minds."
"How can you be so sure they haven't looked through it?"
"Because it's the kind of thing they love to dig into. And I know it didn't come with the DVDs."
"Really? Suddenly you're the Mentalist? Then how did it get here?"
We had finally arrived at the real point of my visit.
"My guess is you took it from Rudy's apartment the night he died."
Gretchen paled. "That's ridiculous, Billy. I was nowhere near ... How desperate do you have to be to make a statement like that?"
"How did you know his last dinner was coq au vin?" I asked.
"How? That detective. Solomon. He told me when he called with the news of Rudy's death."
I shook my head. "Solomon came to the Bistro almost immediately after he'd talked with you. When he and I got into a discussion of Rudy's last meal, he'd never heard of coq au vin. It was just chicken and gravy to him. Then, only minutes later, during our phone conversation you identified the dish by name."
"I guess I assumed--"
"What? That since it was from the Bistro, it had to be coq au vin? Why not Chicken Florentine or Pompadour or Fricassee?"
"That's ridiculous."
"You were seen at his place, Gretch. Right around the time of the
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