Chapter 38
“Won? What do you mean won?” Vaughn asked.
Ivy indicated the green and red buttons on the desk.
“I recognize this setup. It’s a game theory experiment called the prisoner’s dilemma. And whoever was in this room won the game. That’s why the door was unlocked—they were permitted to leave.”
She almost said, while the other was killed.
That damn mental image of Aaron Treadman again.
“The prisoner’s dilemma?” Vaughn repeated. “I thought the other one was the prisoner’s dilemma. This looks hella different.”
Ivy shook her head.
“That was the 100 prisoners problem. This is the prisoner’s dilemma.
Like I said, it’s a very different experiment.
The game is broken into rounds.” She pointed at the display board now.
“Looks like they played ten rounds. Each player can select either green or red for each round. They won’t know what their opponent chose for that round until their decision is locked in.
Points are attributed . . .” Ivy trailed off.
She’d lost Vaughn. It was the stupid mask muffling her words.
“It would help if I had a piece of paper,” she said.
Vaughn looked to Delaney, who patted his pockets.
“In the car,” he said, moving to leave.
“Let’s head outside,” Vaughn suggested.
Ivy didn’t need to be asked twice. The night air was cool. Felt good on her skin. They walked toward Delaney’s car. As the cop rooted through his glove box, Vaughn took off his mask, inhaled. Helped Ivy with hers.
That was better.
Ivy scrunched her nose, stretched her face.
“I had paper in here somewhere,” Delaney muttered.
“Don’t worry about it,” Vaughn said. “Any word from the troops on the ground?”
Delaney pulled out of his car. He squeezed the radio on his shoulder, leaned down, and said a few words. Waited. Someone replied.
“They’re still getting set up. Coupla boots on the ground but nothing yet.”
“What about the ME?”
“I got here just before you—haven’t called him. Where is your partner, anyway?” Delaney asked.
“Getting some rest.”
Delaney had since removed his mask, too, and Ivy saw distaste cross the man’s features.
She pictured Darnell, his tone and mannerisms, the way he’d spoken to her—abrupt, curt—when she’d been cornered in the hall.
Detective Sacker’s approach couldn’t be more different than Vaughn’s.
Was it a good cop, bad cop thing? Could be.
But Ivy had thought that this approach was reserved for suspects.
That’s the way it was in all those cop dramas.
“I’ll give the ME a call.” Vaughn did, speaking concisely. The phone call lasted only a few seconds. “Dr. Button was already made aware of the situation.”
“That was me,” Horowitz informed them. He was still wearing his mask.
“Good. He’ll be here within the hour. Delaney, how do you feel about holding down the fort? Waiting for Dr. Button? Taking photos—those 3D ones again?”
“I can do that once Landon arrives.”
“Give me a call if the ME notices anything different. Fingerprint the vic, secure the gas canister. If your men find anybody, call me.”
Ivy was impressed. She liked how Vaughn took control. Was grateful that his partner had decided to sit this one out.
“Got it.”
Delaney moved to his trunk and leaned inside while Vaughn turned to her.
“Want to go somewhere quiet where you can tell me about this prisoner’s dilemma? Fair warning, though, you’re going to have to go slow. Real slow.”
The quiet place that Vaughn chose was a hole-in-the-wall called Wailen’s on the east side of Jersey. A handful of men sat at the bar—a giant, single chunk of wood—but Vaughn led them to a private booth at the back. The way he moved suggested that this wasn’t his first time here.
A waiter approached. Old, gruff.
“Detective Ryan, how you doin’ tonight?”
Yep—he’d been here before.
“Been better.”
“I hear you. What’ll it be?”
“Pint for me. Guinness.” Vaughn looked at Ivy. “You?”
Ivy thought about it. She didn’t really feel like drinking. The effects of her late night out with Abby had faded, but she’d only slept a few hours before Sarah Kachinski called. Water would be ideal, but she crumbled under the pressure.
“I’ll have a lager.”
“Sure.”
“Hey, Mike? Can we get a couple of pieces of paper and a pen when you have a chance?”
“No problem. I’ll be right back.”
He left.
“So, I’m a special consultant now?” Ivy said with a smirk. Something to ease the tension. Take her mind off that tarp. Because beneath that tarp was a man. A man with . . .
Stop it.
“If you want to be. To be honest, we’re going to need you. Prisoners problem, dilemma, it’s all Greek to me.”
“Well, there’s some Greek to it, that’s for sure,” Ivy said with a chuckle.
Vaughn didn’t get the joke.
The waiter returned with their drinks and the paper. Vaughn took a long sip, three swallows worth. When he placed the beer glass down, Ivy saw him tilt his head and look at the word “Guinness” printed on the side.
“Not bad—split the G,” he said.
Ivy took a small sip of her own beer. Stared at Vaughn. “Now you’re speaking Greek.”
“More like Irish. First sip, you want to drink all the way to the middle of the G in Guinness.” Vaughn turned the glass around and showed her. The dark brown liquid came to just above the straight part of the letter G. “I went to Ireland a couple of years back. They all do it there.”
“Interesting.”
“Not really. So you wanna teach me about the prisoner’s dilemma?”
She grabbed the paper and pen. Ivy didn’t know much about “splitting the G,” but she knew math.
“Absolutely.”