Lefebvre! Even now, Lefebvre caused him trouble.
He stood and walked over to a short row of file cabinets, precisely positioned in an area that would support their weight. The drawers of the cabinets were labeled by date. He unlocked one and pulled the second drawer open. He did this every day — came to this room, opened a file cabinet, and read from a file. Sometimes he could read one in a day; other files took several days to complete. He read them in order, oldest to newest, and back again. This ritual kept him focused on his calling.
He had been collecting information on Kerr for years now. He doubted Kerr himself had such meticulous records of his own actions. Tonight’s reading was the final section of a lengthy transcript of court proceedings. It was a case in which Kerr dismissed all charges against a man who had asked his ex-wife and young son to drive with him to visit the child’s paternal grandparents — then taken them to a remote area and shot and killed them both. Judge Kerr claimed the evidence against the man was gathered in an improper search. The transcript was just the sort of thing the Looking Glass Man needed to read right now, because it reminded him of why he must fight this good fight. He carefully replaced the file and went back to the desk.
He opened the notebook to a new page, ready to begin to write up this latest event. He would start with the moment his pager went off, when he was in his van watching Harriman look at maps in his car. He placed the tip of his mechanical pencil in the middle of the first square, then lifted it again as a new question occurred to him.
Where had Harriman been all afternoon?
15
Tuesday, July 11, 12:01 A.M.
Las Piernas
He watched the taillights of the Jeep Cherokee as he followed Irene home. They had left Miriam in the care of her sister, who had arrived — remarkably energetic after her long drive — a little before eleven-thirty. Irene had followed him to the department, where he had taken a moment to examine the paper airplane. Wearing gloves, he had gently unfolded it, looking for writing or any other enclosed message. There was none. The plane had been made with over a dozen folds, and a section of the tail had been shaped by cutting curves into it. He had filled out paperwork describing when and where the plane had been found, then placed a copy of it with the plane in an evidence locker, where it would remain secure until the lab examined it.
Now, at last, he thought, they could call it a day.
They were stopped at a light when his cell phone rang.
“Hi — it’s Polly Logan. If you come by right now, I can show you the tape.”
“Now? It’s after—”
“I do know how to tell time, Frank. You said I could call anytime, and it’s now or never. I’m not sure how my station manager will feel about my showing this to you, so I’d rather not have a lot of folks around while you’re looking at it — all right? You know where the station is?”
“Yes.”
She gave him directions to a back entrance. “And don’t tell the doofus at the gate that you’re a cop. He’s a wannabe, and he’ll keep you there all night. Besides—”
“The station manager.”
“Right.”
He tried calling Irene’s cell phone number, but got her voice mail. He hung up without leaving a message. He sighed in frustration. She probably didn’t have it with her — she disliked it and had only recently agreed to carry one at all.
This was not the time to complain to her about it, he decided.
He pulled alongside the Jeep at the next intersection and motioned to Irene to roll down her window.
“I’ll make sure you get home safely, but then I’ll have to take off. I’ve got to meet with someone on the other side of town.”
“They’ve given you another case?”
“No, more of the same. This just worked out to be the only time I could get together with this person.”
“‘Person,’ huh? Must be a woman. If you’re going in the other direction, don’t worry about following me home. I’ll be okay.”
He found himself unable to resist saying, “I’d feel better if you had your cell phone with you.”
She shrugged. “I’ll be okay,” she repeated, a little impatiently. When she saw his reluctance to let it go, she added, “Besides, Big Brother, you can ask the comm center to track the Jeep’s LoJack signal if you’re worried that I’m heading out of state.”
“Before you decide that the LoJack in the Jeep is there just in case I want to abuse my mighty police powers, I’d remind you that Ben had it installed long before we bought the Jeep from him.”
“Don’t take everything I say so seriously, Frank. And you don’t need to watch over me every minute. I’ll be fine. I’ll call you when I get in, if it will make you feel better.”
Afraid she was feeling hemmed in, he said, “All right. I’ll be home as soon as I can. Listen — I’m sorry this meeting came up. I was hoping we could talk.”
She shook her head. “Not a good time to do that anyway. I’m beat.”
A car pulled up behind her and the driver tapped his horn — the light had changed. She moved off, waving to Frank as she drove through the intersection.
He watched until he could no longer see the Jeep’s taillights, then made a U-turn.
If someone had hauled away the satellite dishes and painted over the mural that adorned one side of the Channel 6 studios, the building would have looked no more exciting than a warehouse. The mural showed the “News Where You Live Team” in smiling, bright-eyed, larger-than-life scale. He noticed that Polly Logan’s portrait was also younger than life.
