“I sure do. It’s a beauty.”
“I’m afraid I can’t let you bother the residents,” she said.
“Oh, God no,” I said. “Of course not. I don’t need to. I was a guest here once, Mr. Perry Alderson, and I have pictures of his apartment and a lot of stuff I can use. But the fact-checkers are on my case. I remember I was on the first floor, number onetwelve, but I can’t remember, was it the last one at the end of the corridor?”
“That’s all?” she said.
“Absolutely,” I said. “I have that, and I’m in business. Take a few exterior shots. Be out of your hair.”
“Mr. Alderson is the last door on the left,” she said. I looked down the corridor past the elevators.
“On the left,” I said. “I would have sworn it was at the end.”
“Mr. Alderson is on the left, sir,” she said fi rmly.
“What a memory,” I said. “Some journalist. May I take your picture?”
She almost blushed.
“Photography is not permitted, sir, in the lobby, without permission of the condominium board.”
“Of course,” I said. “Of course. Can you do me one small favor?”
“Well, that would depend,” she said. “Wouldn’t it?”
“I’m going to sort of hedge this story a little, and I’m hoping this conversation could just be ours?”
“I am not a talker, sir,” she said.
“I knew that,” I said. “Beautiful yet mysterious.”
This time she did blush. I winked at her debonairly, and walked away. The Compleat Journalist.
7.
Iwaited near the entrance to the lobby bar at the Marriott. Jordan and Perry were in place, having a drink. At about 7:40 they finished. Perry paid the bill while Jordan organized her things, and put the strap of her big purse over her shoulder. As they came out of the bar, I went in, jostled her slightly, dropped a small listening device into her bag, and said, “Excuse me.”
She smiled absently and nodded and they kept going. As soon as they were gone, I turned and went out and ran through the rain to Hawk’s Jaguar, which was idling across the street.
“Doorman had his car,” Hawk said. “Silver Mercedes.”
“Follow that car,” I said.
Hawk looked at me as he put the car in gear.
“You being Boston Blackie?” he said.
“That would be you,” I said.
“Lawzy,” Hawk said. “Racial humor.”
The silver Mercedes stopped by the Concord College park ing lot. Jordan got out with her shoulder bag and went to her car. When she was in and the car was started, the Mercedes pulled away, and Jordan followed in her Honda Prelude.
“How come they splitting up,” Hawk said.
“Save him driving her back afterwards, maybe.”
“Or maybe they know we on the case and they given up.”
“We’ll see,” I said. “Radio tuned right?”
“Uh-huh.”
I turned it on. There was a slightly muffled quality to the sound, but I could hear hip-hop being sung. I could also hear her windshield wipers. Pretty good.
“This isn’t one of your stations,” I said.
“Not my style,” Hawk said. “She listening to the radio. ”
The Prelude followed the Mercedes west on Broadway, which meant that she wasn’t going home.
“Where you get the bug?” Hawk said.
“Voyeurs-R-Us,” I said.
“Didn’t know you was a spy tech guy.”
“I consulted Emmett Sleeper,” I said.
“Sleeper the Peeper,” Hawk said. “Top drawer.”
“He says this thing will listen at fifty feet and transmit an FM signal half a mile. Only problem would be background noise.”
“They be doing what you think they doing,” Hawk said,
