“If someone were testifying.”
Bunny looked at him, then put both hands to his temples. “Didn’t I tell you? It’s already starting. Why don’t you help and just save the questions?”
“Want an aspirin? You’ll feel better.”
“Wouldn’t that be nice?” Bunny said, heading for the door.
“Bunny? Before you go?”
“I can’t hear you.”
“Studio have a locksmith?”
Bunny stopped, surprised.
“I’m having trouble with my door.”
“That’s all? Lucky you. Rogers. Carpenter shop. Two hundred and forty-one.” No detail too small.
Rogers, like everyone else, wanted to be in the movies.
“What kind of lock?”
“Like this,” Ben said, touching the doorknob, similar to Minot’s. “The scene calls for the guy to pick the lock. Trouble is nobody knows how it’s actually done. So I figured you-”
“You don’t need a pro for that. Anybody could pick that. Get a Yale. Maybe a dead bolt. You can stretch the scene.”
“But this is what we have.”
“You only find these in buildings like this. Standard spring, the guards are the security. Hotels, sometimes. They’re cheaper. The door chain’s your real lock. This is a heist? They’d have to pick something a lot stronger.”
“No, just an office. So maybe he’s not a pro. How easy is it?”
Rogers took a slender rod from his tool belt and, holding the door ajar, inserted the rod, flicking it up in one quick motion that released the lock.
“That’s it? Show me.”
“This groove here. Put her in there, all the way to the right, then up. You’re going to do this in close-up? You’re better off with a Yale.”
Ben tried it twice before it worked.
“Can I borrow this?”
“Sure. Smooth slice up. You could jiggle, have it slip or something, but that’s not going to fool anybody. You should change the lock.”
B EN WAITED on the Wilshire side until just before closing.
“The problem isn’t getting in,” he said to Liesl. “It’s getting out. After six, everybody goes out the back. That hour, they’re heading for the lot. So I’d have to get past Frank.”
“Unless he’s not there. You’ve explained it.”
“I just need a few minutes. Keep him with you. Your boss?”
“Mr. Herbert. Who’s going to kill me if I don’t do those papers tonight. Why are you doing this?”
“Because the Bureau’s never going to help. What names? The only thing they’re willing to do is let me get killed. Okay, let’s go. Park on the side street.”
“And wait for the window shade. Then do my scene with Frank. Funny, now I’ll be you.”
He looked at her, puzzled.
“In the series. The one who helps. The good one.”
He went in through the Wilshire door, moving quickly down the hall, late for an appointment. There were only a few people around, stragglers or assistants doing last-minute jobs, cleaning ladies collecting waste baskets. Lights still on in Minot’s office, probably a secretary with a letter to finish. Riordan, he knew, had already left. He went into the men’s room, took the last stall, and sat down to wait. The building was alive with sounds when you stopped to listen: a typewriter click, footsteps, somebody laughing, then nothing for a while, just the creak of the building settling, the scrape of a chair. When someone came in, everything sounded loud, the splash of pee, the running water, a throat clearing. Ben imagined him-the insurance agent? — adjusting his tie. Then the thud of the door closing.
It got darker earlier now, even in California, and Ben watched the window over the sinks get dimmer. He got up and switched off the overhead light, then peeked out. No lights at Statewide, but somebody was still in Minot’s office. What if she stayed late? They’d come to clean the restroom soon, mopping everywhere. But then Minot’s door swung open. One of the secretaries with fresh lipstick, locking it behind her, then checking it by twisting the knob. Ben ducked back behind his door, listening to her high heels going down the hall. Give it a few minutes, in case she forgot anything. The hall needed to be clear. There was nothing suspicious about being in the men’s room, not yet. Once it got dark, though, no story would work.
He waited for what seemed like hours but was probably ten minutes, then opened the door again. No one, the only sound the clang of a pail near the Wilshire end, the cleaning ladies starting. He palmed the rod and crossed over to Minot’s door. Act as if you’re using a key. He inserted the rod, jagged right and up, but nothing happened. Again. Why did he assume they were all alike? It must be a different mechanism. He tried left, a variation, his hand tense, then stopped, taking a breath, feeling a bead of sweat on his upper lip. But it had been so easy at the studio. Don’t overwork it. Think of Rogers’s hand, the deft flick right, then upward. He tried it again, almost making a sound of relief when he heard the click.
Inside, there was barely enough light to see, the shades half-drawn. Liesl would be outside, watching. Minot’s personal office was in the next room, but all the files were out here, where the staff worked. For a second he was tempted, now that he was in, to go through Minot’s desk, but that would be actual theft, not just collecting something of his own. He crossed over to the file cases. What if Riordan had already taken it out? Something he didn’t want Minot to find? But it was still there, in Heinrich’s now useless file. Ben folded it quickly and put it in his jacket pocket. Now get out before the cleaning staff started working its way down the hall. He returned the file and went over to the window, pulling the shade, then raising it back into position, and waited by the door. It would take at least a few minutes for Liesl to talk to Frank, helpless and panicky.
Ben jumped, his skin tingling, when the phone rang. Was someone supposed to be here? For one terrible second he expected it to be picked up in the inner office, but it kept ringing, so shrill that everyone must hear, and then finally stopped. He breathed out, his ears still filled with sound, listening now to the hall. Why so worried? Everything was fine, what he’d expected. There were even footsteps now, a woman’s voice, Liesl on time. He put his ear near the edge of the door to hear better. Liesl was thanking Frank, slightly scatterbrained, someone likely to have forgotten her work. They were now at Statewide, Liesl thanking him again as he used his passkey. Take him inside. Two, three minutes and Ben would be out. He opened the door a crack. They were going in, Liesl still talking, keeping him busy. Now. He opened the door.
He saw them before he heard them, two shadows followed by the sound of footsteps, clunky, not furtive. He pulled back in, banging his shoulder, and listened. Closer. Then Frank was back in the hallway, alert.
“Congressman,” he said.
“Thought you were catching forty winks somewhere,” Minot said, genial.
“No, just helping next door. Little lady forgot something.”
Could Liesl hear or would she blunder out into the hall?
Ben slid his hand toward the knob, turning the lock quietly, hoping the sound would disappear under Frank’s voice. If it were open, Minot would wonder. He looked toward the window, frantic. Too late to fiddle with the sash lock. Under a desk? Did Liesl think he was already gone? But what choice would she have, once she’d got her papers? A new voice now, Minot’s guest. The shadows were larger against the glass. Another look around the office. Nobody hid under desks, something out of Mack Sennett. Minot was taking out his key. Ben tiptoed away from the door. Next to the filing cabinets there was a supply closet, not a real closet with a door you could close, just shelves covered by an accordion screen. He wedged himself behind, his back flush against the shelves, trying not to move anything.
“This won’t take a minute,” Minot said, opening the door. He flicked on the overhead light.
Ben glanced to his left-did he make a shadow?
“But I did promise. And you know people-think nobody’s busy but them.”
“I can imagine,” Bunny said.
Ben went still, his mind racing, almost jumping again when the phone rang.
