“Back at the hotel, before we even got in the car, you said there was a lot of ‘weird stuff’ going on today. What did you mean by that?”
“Well, the maid reported that when she went in to clean his room at eleven o’clock this morning, it looked like somebody had broken into the place. The window was open. Someone had screwed with the lock.”
Ben frowned. “Could she tell if anything was missing?”
“There was a laptop carrying case, and a cord, but no computer and no computer discs. He also had a briefcase, but it had been emptied out.” She suddenly kissed Ben on the cheek. “Heads up. Charmaine’s back.”
The waitress set the drinks down. “Rick said these are on him. And he asks you to
“Well, tell him ‘thanks,’ and I’ll think about it,” Wendy replied.
The waitress nodded, then walked away. Ben took a sip of his beer. On stage, the silicone blonde was lying on the floor with her legs in the air, forming a “V.”
Ben put down his beer. “Sounds like Rick wants to make up.”
“Well, let him suffer a bit longer.” She reached for her drink.
“Did you report the break-in to the police?”
She sighed. “Yeah, but all they did was send over some rookie to make a report. When three of them came back tonight, I figured it was about the break-in. But then one of the cops said this Craig fella was killed in a hit- and-run.”
“Did they tell you anything else?” Ben asked.
“No, but I stood in the doorway for a couple of minutes while they went through the room, so I heard a few things.”
“Like what?”
“Like he was a private detective, working out of some agency in—um…”
“Milwaukee?” he said.
“Yeah, that’s right. How did you know?”
“I spent some time listening to the cops, too. Did you get the name of the detective agency, by any chance?”
“Huh.” She frowned. “Great Something. It was written on the tag on his computer case…
She took another sip from her drink. “Y’know, they must have forgotten about me, because they just started talking like I wasn’t there. One of them said that whoever this Ronald Craig was tailing—or is it
Ben quickly shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. I get it. Go on. Whoever he was tailing…”
“Yeah, well, apparently this guy’s pretty damn crafty. The cop said everything this Ronald Craig fella had written down—on his laptop, in his briefcase—it all just vanished, went up in smoke. They said where this hit-and- run happened, Craig’s car was broken into and cleaned out.”
“Did you hear anything else?” Ben asked.
“Nothing worth remembering,” Wendy replied. She sipped her drink, then studied her glass for a moment. “Think I should go talk with him?”
“You mean Rick?” Ben asked. “Sure. I need to scram anyway. You can tell him we had a lovers’ quarrel.”
“Ha! I like that,” Wendy said. “You’re good!”
“Thanks,” Ben said. “You sure you don’t remember anything else the cops might have said? Anything?”
She shook her head.
“Did they mention any names? For example, Hannah Doyle?”
Wendy shook her head again. “Sorry.”
“What about the name Rae Palmer?”
“Nope, never heard of him.”
“Rae’s a woman. R-A-E. She was a friend of mine. She’s been missing for about five weeks now.”
Wendy shrugged. “Wish I could help ya, hon.”
“It’s okay, you already have.” Ben stood up, pulled out his wallet, then set a ten-dollar bill on the table. “Next round is on me, okay? Thanks for your help. Hope you and Rick work things out.”
She raised her glass to toast him. “You’re sweet.”
Ben headed out of the strip club. Outside, the cool night air felt good. There was a pay phone at the edge of the parking lot. He called Hannah’s number. After three rings, he wondered if maybe she’d given him a fake number.
Then her machine came on.
“Hannah?” he said, after the tone. “Are you there? Okay, well, listen, whoever this stalker is, he covered all his tracks. He broke into Ronald Craig’s hotel room and his car, cleaning out all evidence of the investigation. I don’t think the cops have anything yet. My guess is it’ll take another day before they can—”
He heard an abrupt click on the line. “Hello?” she said.
“Hannah?”
“Yes. I was just down the hall.”
“I’m glad,” he said, leaning against the pay phone enclosure. “I was worried something had happened to you. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. You said there’s no evidence of Craig’s investigation—at all?”
“That’s right. I’m guessing it’ll take at least another day for the police to get any information from Ronald Craig’s detective agency. Even then, I’m not sure how much help they’ll be. The agency might not even know anything. Craig could have been freelancing. Anyway, I really need to talk with you. Can I come over there?”
“Now?”
“Yeah, I can be there in a few minutes,” Ben said. “I won’t stay long.”
“No, I’m sorry. It—it’s late. I’ll see you tomorrow in class, okay? We can talk then. We’ll go out afterward. All right?”
Ben hesitated. “Okay, I guess. Are you sure you’ll be okay?”
“I’ll be fine,” she said. “See you tomorrow.”
“Hannah?”
There was a click on the other end of the line. She’d hung up.
Ten
The phone rang, and Hannah felt her insides tighten up like a fist.
For the last several hours, she’d been expecting—and dreading—a call from the police. Perhaps they wouldn’t phone; they’d just show up at her door. Either way, she knew they’d be coming for her eventually. She was living on borrowed time.
The telephone hadn’t rung since Ben’s call around midnight last night. That had been nearly twelve hours ago. At the time, Hannah had thought she’d be long gone by now—on a bus with Guy, on their way to another city.
For every minute she stayed, Hannah knew she was pushing her luck. She risked exposure, arrest, and having
