“No, wait. Get help.”
“There's no time for that…!”
Then she realized, “I haven't got the keys. We can't get in.”
He thought a moment. “Does the doorman have a set?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Go get them. I'll wait here.”
“No, I don't want you to-”
“Just do it, please, Joanna.” He held up the paper knife. “Don't worry, if he's in there he won't get past me.”
The elevator had already been called to another floor. She could see from the indicator it was going up, so she took the stairs, running down the three flights to the lobby. She found Frank Flores sitting at the desk where there'd been nobody when she arrived. He looked up as she ran in and registered surprise at her distraught appearance.
“Frank, there's somebody in my apartment, you'd better come up. Give me the spare keys please.”
He reached beneath his desk. “Somebody in your apartment? Mr. Towne just went up. Did you see him?”
“Yes. Did you see another man go up earlier? Tall, dark hair.”
“Nobody's gone up while I've been here. I was down checking out the furnace a while back, but the street door was locked. Nobody would've gotten in unless they had a key or someone buzzed them in.”
He handed the spare keys over to her. “You want me to call the police?”
“I don't think so. Just come up with me.”
They took the stairs. Frank, who was a big man, muscular but overweight, was out of breath when they arrived. Sam was still there. He gestured that nothing had happened.
“Okay, you'd better tell me what's going on,” Frank said, asserting his role as the man responsible for the building's security. “Is somebody sick in there, or drunk, or intent on causing bodily harm or damage?”
“No, I don't think any of those things,” Joanna said.
“Is this person known to you?”
“To me, yes-slightly,” she said. “Mr. Towne doesn't know him at all.”
“I see,” Frank said, thinking he did and casting a speculative glance in Sam's direction before turning back to her. “And you've asked this person to leave-is that correct, Miss Cross?”
She said it was.
“And he has refused.”
“Yes.”
Frank rubbed his chin. “Is this man armed as far as you know?”
She looked surprised by the question. “No…no, I'm sure he isn't…”
“Any weapons in the apartment? A gun, knife?”
“Nothing at all. Except…”
Frank followed her gaze to the paper knife in Sam's grip. “I'll take that, if you don't mind, Mr. Towne.”
Sam hesitated.
“It's okay, sir-I'm a vet, I can handle myself.”
Sam glanced at Joanna as though unconvinced, but handed the knife over anyway.
“You want to give me those keys again, Miss Cross?” Frank said, tucking the knife into the leather belt of his uniform.
She handed him the keys he had given her downstairs, pointing out that the one for the main lock was all he'd need. Gesturing them both to stay back, he opened the door with a swift, firm movement. Positioning himself on the threshold and to one side so that he had a clear view through to the lighted living room, he called out, “Security. Would you step into view, please, sir?”
There was no sound or movement from the apartment. Sam noticed that, although Frank carried no gun, his hand hovered near the nightstick attached to his belt.
Frank looked at Joanna. “Are you sure somebody's here, Miss Cross?”
“Somebody was,” she said, feeling increasingly uneasy.
“Okay,” Frank said, directing his words into the apartment, “I'm asking you to come out now, or I'll be obliged to call the police.”
“To hell with the police,” Sam said, losing patience and pushing past him. “If he's in here, I want to see him.”
“Please, Mr. Towne, let me handle this…”
Frank's protest was futile. Sam strode into the apartment, moving rapidly from room to room.
“Cazaubon…? Ralph Cazaubon, I want to see you…! Where are you…?”
A couple of minutes later the three of them stood in the middle of the living room. It was clear that there was nobody in the apartment other than themselves. The only sign of anything abnormal was the lamp that Joanna had knocked to the floor. She picked it up and put it back in its place.
“Everything seems all right now, Miss Cross,” Frank said, looking at her doubtfully.
“So it seems…He must have slipped out between my going and…and Mr. Towne arriving.” She looked at Sam. “He would have just about had time, wouldn't he?”
“I guess,” Sam lied.
“Then he may still be in the building,” Frank said, with renewed urgency. “I'll check.”
Neither of them tried to persuade him that the effort would be worthless. Joanna thanked him for his trouble, and shut the door after him. When she returned to Sam he was standing at her desk looking down at something.
“He was here,” she said, as though fearing he wouldn't believe her.
Sam tore a leaf from the notepad by her phone. “Here's his phone number and address that you wrote down this morning.”
He picked up her phone and dialed, waited awhile, then shook his head. “No reply.” He hung up and slipped the piece of paper into his pocket. “I'll get this number checked out tomorrow.”
She took a step closer. “Sam, tell me you believe me. Tell me you believe that he was here.”
He took her in his arms. “I believe you,” he said. “Of course I do.”
44
They checked into a hotel a few blocks away from Beekman Place. It was illogical, they knew, but they both felt safer surrounded by its bland impersonal trappings than they would have in either Joanna's or Sam's apartment.
Although neither had much appetite, they decided that having dinner would help them get through the evening, so they walked over to the Chinese place on Third where Joanna had been a regular for years. Its familiarity and cheerful service were reassuring.
She recounted her conversation with Roger, Sam nodding thoughtfully, managing a faint smile from time to time.
“It's rare that Roger drinks like that,” he said, “and it's usually when he's trying to get his mind around some puzzle-like one of Sherlock Holmes's ‘three-pipe problems.’”
“Yeah, well, it's at least a three-pipe problem we've got here.”
They turned things over for a while, eventually falling silent in tacit acknowledgment of how little what they said mattered anymore. Events had run away with them, and Sam knew no better than she what they should do now or what might happen next. They walked back to the hotel through the damp November air. Joanna had brought some sleeping pills from her apartment. They each took one, and curled up in each other's arms in the comfortable queen-sized bed.
In the morning they woke early and had finished breakfast in their room by eight. Joanna called her machine for messages, and he checked his. There was nothing of importance.
