now she wanted something special. She looked for either “Steven Logan” or “Dennis Pinker.”
Both were there.
And they were linked with a third: “Wayne Stattner.”
“Yes!” Jeannie shouted exultantly.
There was an address in New York City and a 212 phone number.
She stared at the name.
First she had to escape with the information. She stuffed the papers into her pocket, switched out the lights, and opened the door.
She heard voices in the corridor, raised against the noise of the alarm which was still wailing. She was too late. Carefully, she closed the door again. Her legs felt weak, and she leaned on the door, listening.
She heard a man’s voice shout: “I’m sure there was a light on in one of these.”
Another voice replied: “We better check each one.”
Jeannie glanced around the little room in the dim light from the street lamps outside. There was nowhere to hide.
She opened the door a crack. She could not see or hear anything. She poked her head out. At the far end of the corridor light streamed out of an open door. She waited and watched. The guards came out, killed the light, closed the door, and went into the next room, which was the laboratory. It would take them a minute or two to search that. Could she slip past the door unseen and make it to the stairwell?
Jeannie stepped out into the corridor and closed the door behind her with a shaky hand.
She walked along the corridor. By an effort of will she restrained herself from breaking into a run.
She passed the lab door. She could not resist the temptation to glance inside. Both guards had their backs to her; one was looking inside a stationery closet and the other was staring curiously at a row of DNA test films on a light box. They did not see her.
Almost there.
She walked on to the end of the corridor and opened the swing door.
As she was about to step through, a voice called out: “Hey! You! Stop!”
Every nerve strained to make a run for it, but she controlled herself. She let the door swing closed, turned, and smiled.
Two guards ran along the corridor toward her. They were both men in their late fifties, probably retired cops.
Her throat was tight and she had trouble breathing. “Good evening,” she said. “How can I help you gentlemen?” The sound of the alarm covered the tremor in her voice.
“An alarm has gone off in the building,” said one.
It was a stupid thing to say, but she let it pass. “Do you think there’s an intruder?”
“There may be. Have you seen or heard anything unusual, Professor?”
The guards assumed she was a faculty member; that was good. “As a matter of fact, I thought I heard breaking glass. It seemed to come from the floor above, although I couldn’t be sure.”
The two guards looked at one another. “We’ll check it out,” said one.
The other was less suggestible. “May I ask what you have in your pocket?”
“Some papers.”
“Obviously. May I see them?”
Jeannie was not going to hand them over to anyone; they were too precious. Improvising, she pretended to agree then change her mind. “Sure,” she said, taking them out. Then she folded them and put them back in. “On second thought, no, you can’t. They’re personal.”
“I have to insist. In our training we’re told that papers can be as valuable as anything else in a place like this.”
“I’m afraid I’m not going to let you read my private correspondence just because an alarm goes off in a college building.”
“In that case, I must ask you to come with me to our security office and speak to my supervisor.”
“All right,” she said. “I’ll meet you outside.” She backed quickly through the swing door and went light-footed down the stairs.
The guards came running after her. “Wait!”
She let them catch up with her in the ground-floor lobby. One took her arm while the other opened the door. They stepped outside.
“No need to hold me,” she said.
“I prefer to.” he said. He was panting from the effort of chasing her down the stairs.
She had been here before. She grasped the wrist of the hand that was holding her and squeezed hard. The guard said, “Ow!” and released her.
Jeannie ran.
“Hey! You bitch, stop!” They gave chase.
They had no chance. She was twenty-five years younger and as fit as a racehorse. Her fear left her as she got farther away from the two men. She ran like the wind, laughing. They chased her for a few yards then gave up. She looked back and saw them both bent over, panting.
She ran all the way to the parking lot.
Her father was waiting beside her car. She unlocked it and they both got in. She tore out of the parking lot with her lights off.
“I’m sorry, Jeannie,” he said. “I thought even if I couldn’t do it for myself, maybe I could do it for you. But it’s no use. I’ve lost it. I’ll never rob again.”
“That’s good news!” she said. “And I got what I wanted!”
“I wish I could be a good father to you. I guess it’s too late to start.”
She drove out of the campus into the street and turned on her headlights. “It’s not too late, Daddy. Really it’s not.”
“Maybe. I tried for you, anyway, didn’t I?”
“You tried, and you succeeded! You got me in! I couldn’t have done it alone.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
She drove home fast. She was anxious to check the phone number on the printout. If it was out-of-date she had a problem. And she wanted to hear Wayne Stattner’s voice.
As soon as they got inside her apartment she picked up the phone and called the number.
A man answered. “Hello?”
She could not tell anything from one word. She said: “May I speak to Wayne Stattner, please?”
“Yeah, Wayne speaking, who’s this?”
It sounded just like Steve’s voice.
“Fuck off and die,” Wayne said, and he hung up.
“It’s him,” Jeannie said to her father. “He even sounds like Steve, except Steve is politer.”
She had briefly explained the scenario to her father. He grasped the broad outlines, although he found it somewhat bewildering. “What are you going to do next?”
“Call the cops.” She dialed the Sex Crimes Unit and asked for Sergeant Delaware.
Her father shook his head in amazement. “This is hard for me to get used to: the idea of working with the police. I sure hope this sergeant is different from every other detective I’ve ever met.”
“I believe she probably is.”
She did not expect to find Mish at her desk—it was nine o’clock. She planned to ask them to get an urgent message to her. But by good luck Mish was still in the building. “Catching up with my paperwork,” she explained. “What’s up?”
“Steve Logan and Dennis Pinker are not twins.”
“But I thought—”
