sweater, loafers with no socks.
He said, “I’ll call you a cab.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll find my own way home.”
“Let me walk you down.”
“I’ll see myself out, thank you.”
“What’s wrong with you? Why are you acting this way?”
“Because I don’t like the way you were talking to me. I had a nice time, until now. Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.”
She opened the door and stepped into the hallway. Yusef followed her. She walked quickly down the stairs, then across the lobby.
At the front entrance he grabbed her arm. “I’m sorry, Dominique. I’m just a little paranoid sometimes. You’d be paranoid too if you’d lived my life. I didn’t mean anything by it. How can I make it up to you?”
She managed to smile, even though her heart was pounding against the inside of her ribs. She had no idea what to do. She had the imprints, but there was a chance that he had seen her making them-or at least that he suspected she had done something. If she were guilty, the natural impulse would be to reject his invitation. She decided to accept his offer. If Gabriel believed it was a mistake, she could make up an excuse to cancel it.
She said, “You may take me out for a proper dinner.”
“What time?”
“Meet me at the gallery at six-thirty.”
“Perfect.”
“And don’t be late. I can’t stand men who are late.”
Then she kissed him and went out.
TWENTY-FOUR
Maida Vale, London
When Jacqueline arrived back at her flat, Gabriel was seated on the couch drinking coffee. “How did it go?”
“It was lovely. Bring me some of that coffee, will you?”
She went into the bathroom, closed the door, and began filling the tub. Then she stripped off her clothing and slipped beneath the warm water. A moment later Gabriel knocked on the door.
“Come in.”
He came into the room. He seemed surprised that she was already in the bath. He looked away, searching for a spot to place the coffee. “How do you feel?” he said, eyes averted.
“How do you feel after you kill someone?”
“I always feel dirty.”
Jacqueline scooped up a handful of water and let it run over her face.
Gabriel said, “I need to ask you some questions.”
“I’m ready when you are.”
“It can wait until you’re dressed.”
“We’ve lived together as man and wife, Gabriel. We’ve even behaved like man and wife.”
“That was different.”
“Why was it different?”
“Because it was a necessary part of the operation.”
“Sleeping in the same bed, or making love to each other?”
“Jacqueline, please.”
“Maybe you won’t look at me because I just slept with Yusef.”
Gabriel glared at her and went out. Jacqueline permitted herself a brief smile, then slipped below the water.
“The phone is made by British Telecom.”
She was sitting in the cracked club chair, her body covered in a thick white robe. She rattled off the name and model number as she worked a towel through her damp hair.
“There’s no telephone in the bedroom, but he does have a clock radio.”
“What kind?”
“A Sony.” She gave him the model number.
“Let’s go back to the telephone for a moment,” Gabriel said. “Any distinguishing marks? Any price tags or stickers with telephone numbers on them? Anything that would give us a problem?”
“He fancies himself a poet and a historian. He writes all the time. It looks as though he dials the telephone with the tip of a pen. The keypad is covered with marks.”
“What color ink?”
“Blue and red.”
“What kind of pen?”
“What do you mean? The kind of pen you write with.”
Gabriel sighed and looked wearily at the ceiling. “Is it a ballpoint pen? Is it a fountain pen? Perhaps a felt- tipped pen?”
“Felt-tipped, I believe.”
“You believe?”
“Felt-tipped. I’m sure of it.”
“Very good,” he said as though he were speaking to a child. “Now, is it fine point, medium, or bold?”
She slowly raised the long, slender middle finger of her right hand and waved it at Gabriel.
“I’ll take that to mean bold point. What about the keys?”
She hunted through her handbag, tossed him the silver mascara case. Gabriel thumbed the release, lifted the lid, looked at the imprints.
She said, “We may have a problem.”
Gabriel closed the lid and looked up.
Jacqueline said, “I think he may have seen me with his keys.”
“Tell me about it.”
She recounted the entire chain of events for him, then added cautiously, “He wants to see me again.”
“When?”
“Tonight at six-thirty. He’s meeting me at the gallery.”
“Did you accept?”
“Yes, but I can-”
“No,” Gabriel said, interrupting her. “That’s perfect. I want you to meet him and keep him entertained long enough for me to get inside his flat and plant the bugs.”
“Then what?”
“Then it will be done.”
Gabriel left the building through a back service door. He slipped across the courtyard, scaled a cinder-block wall, and leaped into an alleyway strewn with beer cans and bits of broken glass. Then he walked to the Maida Vale Underground station. He felt unsettled. He didn’t like the fact that Yusef had asked to see Jacqueline a second time.
He rode the Underground to Covent Garden. The bodel was waiting in line for coffee at the market. It was the same boy who had taken Gabriel’s field report at Waterloo Station. A black, soft-sided leather briefcase hung on his back from a shoulder strap, a side pocket facing out. Gabriel had placed the silver case containing the imprints of Yusef’s keys in a brown envelope-standard size, plain, no markings. He sat at a table drinking tea, eyes working methodically over the crowd.
The bodel bought coffee, started to walk away. Gabriel got up and followed him, slicing through the crowded market, until he was directly behind him. Gabriel bumped the bodel as he was taking the first sip of coffee, spilling
