unsullied by the bobbing forms of overfed children and grandmothers floating on inflatable beds.
He sauntered over to the foot of the stairs.
Act furtively and you're done for—another pearl of wisdom from his killer's rule book. Cain mounted the stairs as if he had the right to be there. He took two steps at a time, almost bounding up to the first landing. He slowed slightly as he climbed to the next floor, tilting his face down. The thief could be on his way down, and he didn't want to be recognized before he could engineer a proper reunion.
At the top of the stairs he turned slowly to the left, surveying the scene. Then, happy that no one was approaching, he walked along the terrace toward the door of the thief's room. His rubber-soled shoes squeaked on the terra-cotta tiles. He stooped down and pulled them off.
The thief's room was at the corner of the building, and the terrace terminated just to the left of the door. If the thief happened to come out now, Cain would have nowhere to hide. Immediate action wouldn't be as satisfying as the drawn-out torment he had in mind, but there would be nothing else he could do.
At the door, he bent down and placed his shoes on the floor. Minuscule drifts of sand abutted the wall next to the door, blown there on the wind, or maybe the remnants of someone walking on the beach and carrying proof of their labor back with them.
'This rule is the one that takes priority above all others, thief,' he whispered. 'Be mindful of Locard's principle.' That precept of forensic science held that a person left behind a small part of himself wherever he went, be it hair, saliva, semen, skin cells, clothing fibers, or soil or plant matter transported on the soles of shoes or in the folds of clothing. The list was endless. And included fingerprints.
From a trouser pocket, Cain pulled out a roll of plastic bags and some rubber bands. Cocking an ear toward the door so its opening wouldn't surprise him, he stooped down and pulled a plastic bag over each foot, stuffed the cuffs of his trousers inside, then sealed them with the rubber bands. That done, he repeated the process with his hands.
The bags were spacious and flopped at the ends of his fingertips like translucent flippers. He looked ludicrous but didn't care. The last thing the thief would think of when folds of flesh were being stripped from his body was Cain's diabolical fashion sense.
Lastly, he pulled a cloth bag from his pocket. He'd prepared eyeholes earlier, burning them into the white cloth with the cigarette lighter from the Oldsmobile. The mask made him think of the KKK. Not that he was a racist. He wasn't. Regardless of race, creed, or color, he hated everyone with equal passion.
Low and away from the balcony's edge, he slipped the bag over his
head before standing up and facing the door. The eyeholes took away a little of his peripheral vision, but that was okay. He had a single intent and would be going forward from now on.
Readiness for the long-anticipated reunion required only one more thing. He reached under the tail of his shirt and pulled free the scaling knife. He held it up before his eyes, admiring the rainbow effect along its cutting edge. Sharp, so very, very sharp.
Now he was ready.
He knocked on the door.
20
more than one thing was troubling me about the whole setup. Louise Blake continued to nag at me like a bug burrowing its way through my cerebral cortex. There was much that woman knew but wasn't telling me. Her reticence, I believed, was linked to the below-the-belt strike that Sigmund Petoskey had dealt us. The CIA could be involved, and that had jarred me to the core.
'I have to make a couple of calls,' I said. Harvey Lucas extended his hospitality in the manner of a southern gent, and I was going to take him up on it. The telephone was on a desk across the room.
Harvey watched with an expression that was hard to define. I caught myself in midstride. To gather our wits after such a crushing blow, we'd returned to his office—a rented unit in an industrial complex on the other side of town. Harvey seemed pleased to see us, as if we deemed him a worthwhile ally after all. However, once I'd mentioned the CIA, he didn't appear to be anywhere near as enthusiastic. Pausing with my hand over the handset, I waited for him to object. Harvey inclined his chin.
'Sure you don't mind?' I asked.
'Go ahead.' He rolled his neck, then turned to his computer screen and studied it with way too much intensity.
'When you finish up, I got a call to make, too,' Rink said. He was standing behind Harvey, and I saw him reach out and grip his friend's shoulder. Rink's never patronizing; his gesture was more one of reassurance. 'Can you look me up the number for the Arkansas Humane Society, Harve? Gotta drop 'em a tip concerning illegal dog fighting on their turf.'
Harvey nodded, then bent to the task.
'If you'd prefer I didn't use your phone, I'll go find a public phone,' I said.
Harvey returned his gaze to mine.
'Go ahead and use it, Hunter. If the CIA is involved, you can bet your ass they're already aware of my involvement.' He rocked back in his seat, resigned. Nerves made him more effusive than usual. 'Makes no difference if you conduct your business from here or anywhere else, they'll have you hooked up in less time than it takes you to dial the number. If you've got anything to say that you don't want them to hear, I suggest you forget about phone calls altogether.'
'Yeah,' I agreed. But I wasn't concerned. Truth is, it didn't matter what the CIA overheard, considering that it was one of their controllers I was about to call.
A number I hadn't used in over four years leaped straight from my memory to my fingertips. From the handset, I heard the beeping of a long-distance connection as it bounced via service providers and satellites throughout the world. A phone finally rang in a nondescript office in Langley, Virginia.
The call was picked up by an electronic answering machine, which gave me options and asked me to key in a twelve-digit number. Again from long-term memory I typed in the sequence. The line went dead for a split second. In that unfathomably short space of time recording devices kicked in. It didn't matter. Then came a purr as the connection was made. The phone was picked up after only three beeps.
