CHAPTER EIGHTEENShe didn’t call the police.
Nor did she try and break into ben Zinowicz’s house and rescue him single-handedly. Margarita may have been crazy, but she wasn’t stupid.
Lindsey stood before Nathan ben Zinowicz’s bed. He might be in peril of his life, but what he felt was more humiliation than fear. He couldn’t see Francis but he could sense him hovering behind. And he could smell the sweet oil that he’d come to identify with Francis.
“What were you doing, Mr. Lindsey?” ben Zinowicz asked. “What are you after? Sneaking around my property late at night like a common burglar.”
Lindsey didn’t answer.
“But really,” ben Zinowicz resumed, “you aren’t a burglar, are you?” He seemed to feel that the notion was too absurd for serious consideration. “You didn’t pull off the Comic Ca
