doin’?’
‘I figure if they go after the mark and somebody’s here, on top of it, we can maybe nail them while it’s happening. We’re four hours late, we could come in on our ass.’
Papa nodded. ‘Okay, I buy it. Go home.’
‘Yeah, I feel like I was born in these clothes.’
Sharky reached down to retrieve the used tapes. Then he noticed that the fresh tapes in the machines to her bedroom and the living room had advanced.
‘Well, I’ll be damned,’ he said. ‘I slept through something here.’
He rewound them and listened. The machine to her bedroom had been activated by the television set, The Today Show. She was moving around in the background, opening and closing the closet doors, obviously getting dressed. The tape ended abruptly when she turned off the television. The radio had activated the machine for the living room. Once again he heard her in the background. A disc jockey’s fast patter was interrupted by music and traffic reports. Then:
‘Okay, all you pillow pounders, it’s Doctor Dawn here on Z-93 and it’s a c-o-o-o-old Friday morning out there. Seven- twenty-nine and here’s one to get you on your feet. ELP, Emerson, Lake, and Palmer and —‘
The radio cut off. The tape went dead, then cut back on. She was opening the door, leaving the apartment. It closed and the latch clicked. The tape ended.
‘I’ll be a son of a bitch,’ Sharky said.
‘Early starter,’ Papa said.
‘1 don’t believe it. She got out on us.’
‘She’ll be back.’
‘Yeah, but we should be on top of her right now. For all we know, she could be —,
‘Go home. Forget it for a while. See ya at six.’
‘Okay,’ Sharky said. He wiped the sleep out of his eyes and stuffed the tapes in his pocket. ‘There’s some fruit in the bag there, also a book to read.’
‘Got my own,’ Papa said, taking a worn copy of The Guinness Book of World Records out of his coat pocket.
‘You read that on stakeout?’ Sharky said.
‘Easy to put down, if I gotta move,’ Papa said.
‘You got a point there,’ Sharky said, walking to the door.
‘Hey, Sharky’ Papa said.
‘Yeah?’
‘Car keys?’
Sharky tossed them to him. ‘Maybe at six o’clock I’ll be back with the living,’ he said and left.
He flagged down a passing patrol car and had them drop him off at Moundt’s, thinking she might be doing some early morning shopping. The place was deserted. He had a cup of coffee and called The Nosh.
‘I got some weird tapes for you, pal,’ he said.
‘X-rated?’ The Nosh asked sleepily.
‘You better believe it.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Moundt’s, on Peachtree. I got to get home, get a shower, and change clothes. I don’t have a car.’
‘Can you give me thirty minutes? I need to walk through the shower myself.’
‘I’ll be here. Listen, on the front end of one of these tapes there may be something I can use, a name maybe. But there’s heavy interference from the record player.’
‘Don’t sweat it,’ The Nosh said. ‘We’ll lift the music out.’
‘Beautiful,’ Sharky said. ‘See you when you get here. Take your time.’
It was almost dark and the damp, cold wind hinted of more rain. A man walked leisurely past the exit gate from the parking deck of the Lancaster Towers. He was wearing dark glasses and a long blue overcoat, his dark, close- cropped hair hidden under a plain cap, an undistinguished- looking man taking an early evening walk.
A vintage Buick pulled up to a post near the exit gate and the driver slipped a plastic card in a slot in the post. The exit gate swung open and the Buick pulled out. The gate remained open for twenty seconds and then swung shut. The pedestrian was inside when it closed, standing in the shadows near the wall. He took off the dark glasses, studied the interior of the garage. It was empty. Burns smiled to himself. That was the most dangerous part of it, getting in without being seen.
He walked briskly to the east tower elevators and pressed the up button, holding a handkerchief over his nose and mouth, prepared to fake a sneeze if someone was in the elevator. His right hand extended down through the vent in the right-hand pocket of the raincoat. He held a .22 Woodsman, pointing at the floor. The elevator doors opened. It was empty. He stepped in and pushed the button for the twelfth floor. He was lucky. It went straight up without stopping.
He got out, looking up and down the hallway. Empty. He moved swiftly to 12-C and rang the bell. Nobody answered. He picked the lock, stepped into the apartment, and closed the door quietly behind him. He listened, the ugly silenced snout of the .22 poking between the buttons of his coat. He heard only the sound of his own breathing,
