“You know who’s got keys?”
“I’ve got one; our assistant, Giselle, has another; and security’s got one. I think that’s it.”
“What did you find inside?”
“It was neat as a pin in there, just like always: desk clean, everything very orderly…” She took off her glasses and wiped them with a bar napkin and put them on again. Her dark eyes moved back and forth across the crowd behind me. “But he has the same credenza as I do, and it was opened just like mine.”
“When’s the last time you were in there?”
“Wednesday or Thursday, to get a file. And don’t even ask if the drawers were locked then, because they were- and there was nothing wrong with his door either.”
“Who has keys to his credenza?”
“As far as I know, just me,” Pratt said, and she chewed another peanut into dust.
I drank my drink and thought for a while. “You’re pretty careful about keeping things locked up.”
“Everyone is, in this business. An advance copy of a research report, or even of a draft, could be worth a lot to some people. It’s like betting on the Sunday football games when you’ve already read the Monday papers. So- yeah- we’re pretty careful.”
“Has Pace had that kind of trouble before?”
“Leaked reports? God, no- that’s all we need.”
“What made you go into Danes’s office today?” Her eyes fixed on mine for a moment and then flicked away.
“I… I don’t know,” she said. “When I thought someone had been in my office, I guess I just got worried.” She looked at me, and there was color in her pale face. “The first thing I thought of was that it must’ve been you.”
“I’m flattered.” I laughed. “But why me?”
She looked down at her knees. “You’d called me, and come around the office and had that scene with Tampon, and then you showed up at my place. Who else was I supposed to think of?”
“Am I the only one who’s been asking about Danes?”
Pratt was quiet for a while. “You’re the only one who’s come to the office or come to see me,” she said.
“But am I the only one who’s been asking?”
“A lot of people call us,” she said. “Some of them ask about Greg.”
“People like who?”
“People we do business with,” she said, looking around the room. “Industry contacts, fund managers, people from the companies we coverthe same people who called before he went away.”
“Anyone who’s been calling more often lately?”
She looked intently into her glass and swirled the crushed ice around. “No one I can think of,” she said finally. “I told you, a lot of people call us; I don’t keep track of them all. But I know you’re the only one who’s come around.”
“Until now,” I said. The bartender came by and offered Pratt a refill on her soda. She nodded. “When you thought this was me, what did you think I was looking for?” I asked.
Pratt shook her head. “I don’t know… nothing specific. Something to help you find Greg, I guess.”
“Any ideas on what that might be?”
She peered at me from behind her smudged lenses, and there was irritation in her voice. “I don’t know. I don’t know any more about where he is than I did the last time we talked. Isn’t finding him supposed to be your area of expertise?”
I let that go and drank some of my drink and thought some more. Behind me, laughter erupted from the group of tourists.
“You report this to anyone at Pace?” I asked.
Pratt’s dark eyes were wide. “No. No one.”
“Who are you supposed to tell?”
“Security, I guess- and Tampon. He wants to know anything about people looking for Greg.”
“So why haven’t you called him?”
“I don’t know. I was… worried, I guess.”
“About what?”
She looked at me for a long while. “I talked to you too much that night, and I shouldn’t have. And I’ve been worried ever since about Tampon finding out. I was afraid if I told him about this, one thing would lead to another…” She sniffed and rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. “It could be my job,” she said softly.
I nodded at her. Pratt sank her hands into the pockets of her slicker and sat hunched and silent. It was warm in the bar, but she looked as if she were tensed against a cold wind. A tourist barked out a loud guffaw and Pratt started.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
Pratt stared at me. Her nose was red and her lips were chalky. She nodded. “This whole breakin thing is… creepy,” she said. Her voice was nearly a whisper. “When I thought you’d done it I was mostly mad, but now”- she swallowed hard and shook her head-“now it’s got me thinking and… I’m scared.”
“Of what?”
She looked beyond me, into the noisy crowd. “Four or five days in the last week, I’ve seen this car parked near my place, and a guy in it that I think is watching me.”
I put my glass on the bar and spoke very quietly. “What kind of car, Irene?”
Pratt’s eyes narrowed and came back to mine. “It’s black, a Pontiac I think, and new-looking.”
I thought of the cars that had trailed me over the bridge, the night I’d come back from Fort Lee. One of them had been a black, late-model Grand Prix. “And the guy in it?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know… a white guy with dark hair and a mustache… in his thirties, maybe. Just a guy.” Her face was taut, and she dug her hands deeper into her pockets.
“Was he there today?” I asked. She nodded. “Has he said anything to you, or done anything?”
“Nothing. He’s always reading a paper or a book; he’s never even looked at me. It’s just a feeling I get.” Her shoulders twitched as if a chill had rippled through her. “What’s going on, March?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But someone besides me has been looking for Danes, and someone- maybe the same someone- has been tailing me and staking out my place. It could be the same person who creeped your office, or the same person who’s been watching you.”
“Jesus Christ,” Pratt said, and she rose quickly and clumsily. Her voice was an angry rasp. “What the fuck is going on? What did you get me into?”
The bartender looked at us and frowned. “Sit down, Irene,” I said, and I took her arm. She shrugged my hand away, but sat. “I told you, I don’t know what’s going on, but whatever it is, it probably has more to do with Danes than with me.”
“That’s great to hear,” Pratt said. “It’ll be a real comfort the next time I see that car, or when somebody breaks into my office again.” She ran her fingers through her hair, over and over. “So what the hell am I supposed to do?”
It was a fair question, and I thought about it for a while. “You do three things,” I said finally. “First, you try to calm down. I know it’s not easy; I know this breakin thing is scary as hell, and being tailed is even worse, but I think whoever’s doing this is interested in Danes, not in you.”
“You think-”
“Second, you go back to work and report the breakin at Danes’s office to everybody you’re supposed to, but you leave your office out of it.” Pratt took a breath and started to speak; I ignored her. “You’ve already signed in at your building today. If Turpin and his pals find out about the breakin, and that you were at work but didn’t report it, they’ll start to wonder about you. If they also find out you’ve talked to me, you’ll be in deep shit.” Pratt sputtered but I held up my hand. “Don’t worry. They won’t hear it from me, but that doesn’t mean they won’t hear it. I assume you called me on your office phone today.” She went white.
“Shit. Oh, shit.”
“That’s why you don’t want them wondering about you. You tell them about Danes’s office and nobody gets suspicious; nobody has a reason to check the calls from your phone.”
Pratt put her hand on her forehead. “Oh, shit.”
“Third, after you report this, you go home. If that car is parked outside your place, or if you see that guy
