She took the bills, then looked at him with a crooked grin. 'What's this for?' she said. 'Fun and games?'
'Check out of your hotel,' he told her. 'You can take the guest bedroom. Then go buy some clothes and lingerie. That stuff you're wearing is a disgrace. Get things that are simple and elegant-whites and beiges, blacks and grays. Forget about the wild colors. Tone down.'
'Yes, boss,' she said. 'You wouldn't be putting a hustle on me, would you?'
Then he smiled for the first time that morning, displaying his sharp white teeth. 'Call it love at first sight.'
'The L-word?'
'You got it,' he said.
5
The meeting ended precisely as 2:45 p.m. (Lester T. Crockett ran a tight ship), and the staff filed out carrying case folders and notebooks. The air was still fumy with cigarette smoke and the odors of hamburgers and french fries they had ordered in for lunch. Crockett switched his window air conditioner to Exhaust and turned back to his desk. Anthony Harker was still sitting in a folding metal chair.
'Fifteen minutes, chief?' he asked.
'Can't you put it in a memo?' Crockett said.
'No, sir.'
'All right. Ten minutes.'
Harker hunched forward. 'Sullivan called yesterday and left a message on my machine. She's made contact with David Rathbone.'
'Made contact?' Crockett said. 'What does that mean?'
'She's moved in with him.'
The chief laced fingers across his vest and stared up at the ceiling. 'Yes,' he said, 'I would call that making contact. What else did she say?'
'Not much. He was in a unisex beauty salon getting his hair trimmed and styled, plus a shampoo, facial, manicure, and pedicure.'
Crockett grunted a laugh. 'He lives well.'
'Anyway, Rita left him there while she did some shopping with money he gave her. That's when she made her call.'
'So? What's your problem?'
'Communications. Chief, there were a lot of questions I wanted to ask, but she had to leave her message on my machine. I want to give her permission to call me here anytime during the day.'
Crockett frowned. 'Including from Rathbone's home?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Chancy. She might be overheard. No, she's too smart for that. But he might notice the higher phone bills and ask for itemization of local calls. That could blow the whole thing.'
'I realize that,' Harker said. 'What I'd like is an unlisted phone in my office for Sullivan's use only. We'd arrange with the phone company that all incoming calls on that line would be billed to us. That way she could call me here during the day and, in case of emergency, my motel at night.'
'All right,' Crockett said, 'set it up.' He unlaced his fingers, leaned forward over the desk. 'Something else bothering you?'
'Chief, Rathbone and his pals are not tough guys. I mean they don't go around knocking people on the head or robbing gas stations. They live relatively normal lives; they're just nine-to-five crooks.'
'Get to the point.'
'Admittedly Rathbone isn't Billy the Kid, but if he finds out Rita is a plant, he might turn vicious.'
'He might. But you spelled out the deal to her, didn't you? And she didn't back off. She's a cop, and a good one.' 'Still. .'
'Listen, Harker, you're accustomed to stock swindles and inside trading. White-collar crime. Sullivan's expertise is drug smuggling, homicide, and rape. So don't tell me she won't be able to handle a flimflam artist like Rathbone if he turns nasty.' He paused a moment, then: 'Worried about her, are you?'
'Yeah.'
'Want to pull her off the case and go at Rathbone from a different angle?'
'No.'
'Then stop worrying. If anything happens to Sullivan, I'll take the rap, not you.'
Harker stood up. 'This is the first time I've asked a woman to put out to help me make a case. I don't like this business.'
'You'll get used to it,' Crockett said.
6
The door to David Rathbone's office was equipped with a Medeco lock and a dead bolt. Only Blanche was allowed in once a week to clean, and then Rathbone was always present.
It was an austere chamber with a tiled floor: black and white in a checkerboard pattern. The desk, chairs, file cabinets, coat tree, and glass-fronted bookcases were all oak. Even the Apple Macintosh Plus was fitted into an oak housing. The room was dominated by an old-fashioned safe, a behemoth on casters, with a handle and single dial, painted an olive green and decorated with a splendid American eagle.
Rathbone sat in his high-backed swivel chair, an antique that had been reupholstered in black leather with brass studding. He stared at the sealed white envelope Termite Tommy had given him, containing the thousand- dollar check.
He had known from the start that he'd never be able to wait the week Tommy had requested; he couldn't endure unsolved riddles, puzzles, mysteries. He took a sterling silver letter opener from his top desk drawer and slit the flap. He peered inside.
The check had disappeared. In its place was a fluff of white confetti, no piece larger than a quarter-inch square.
'Son of a bitch,' Rathbone said aloud.
He dumped the confetti onto his palm. It felt slightly oily and smelled oily, too. That wasn't important. What counted was that a thousand-dollar check had disintegrated. That old German forger had developed a paper that self-dissolved into worthless chaff. Except, as Termite Tommy had said, if handled right, it could be a ticket to paradise.
He spun the dial of the big safe: 15 left, 5 right, 25 left. He heaved up on the handle and the heavy door swung silently open. He put the white envelope and confetti inside, closed the door, spun the dial. Then he left the office, locked up, went out onto the terrace.
Rita Sullivan was lying naked on one of the lounges, hair bound up in a yellow towel. On the deck alongside her were a bottle of suntan oil, a thermos and plastic tumbler of iced tea. Rathbone pulled a chair close 'to the lounge.
'You know how to live,' he told her.
'I'm learning,' she murmured.
'I have to go pick up my tickets,' he said. 'I'm flying to London tomorrow, then on to France, Germany, and eventually to Spain. I have clients over there and have to discuss their investments.'
She raised up on an elbow, back arched, and he caught his breath.
'How long will you be gone?' she asked.
'Three days. I'll fly back from Madrid.'
'Can I go?'
