Double Jeopardy

57

8:50 A.M.

TRAVIS PARKED THE HYUNDAI in the parking garage for Reunion Tower, the high-rise home of the Elcon Corporation. He backed into the space so the car’s license-plate number wouldn’t be easily visible. If they were going to find him again, by God, they were going to have to work for it.

He and Cavanaugh entered the office building together, Travis still disguised with sunglasses and fishing hat. They checked the office directory and rode the elevator to the twenty-fourth floor.

The Elcon offices were small and low-key; they didn’t look as if many visitors were expected. As Travis peered through the glass in the front door, he saw a small reception area with a slender brunette secretary presiding. She wasn’t swamped with work; in fact, she was concentrating on a crossword puzzle. Oh, well, Travis mused. It’s Saturday. In the back, he saw a large door that led to an inner office. Travis had to assume that was the lair of Mario Catuara.

“Think she’ll let us see him?” Cavanaugh asked.

“Hard to say. He may not be in.”

“Maybe we should concoct some kind of plan.”

“You complicate things too much, Cavanaugh. The direct approach is usually best. Let me take a stab at her.”

“So you can turn on your animal magnetism?”

“I just think I might have more success with her than you.” Before Cavanaugh could reply, Travis pushed the door open and strolled inside.

The secretary was humming something: Travis thought it was “Qué Sera Sera,” but it was hard to be certain when she had the eraser end of a pencil in her mouth. He approached, smiled, and sat down on the edge of her desk. She was in her late thirties at least and, he noted, she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.

“Hi there,” Travis said cheerily. “My name’s Sam Jones. I’d like to see Mr. Catuara. I’m an old family friend.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“I’m afraid not. But he’ll want to see me.”

“Is he expecting you?”

“In a way.”

“That’s odd,” she said, “since he isn’t even here.”

“Well … do you expect him in later?”

“No.” She batted a pencil against her desk.

“Well … do you know where he is?”

“Of course I do,” she replied.

“Well … would you like to tell me where he is?”

She seemed to be considering at great length. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt. Since you’re an old family friend. He’s at his home.”

“Oh. And where is that?”

“You’re an old family friend, and you don’t know where he lives?” Her voice carried more than a hint of suspicion. “I’m not authorized to release that information.”

“Maybe you could give me his phone number.” With which Crescatelli could obtain his address, Travis thought.

“No.”

“Aw, what could it hurt?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “And I don’t plan to find out.”

“Mr. Catuara will be mighty disappointed if he finds out I was in town and he didn’t get to see me.”

“I’ll take that risk.”

“Look, it’s vital that I talk with him today. As soon as possible. Can I at least make an appointment?”

“I’m not authorized to make appointments for Mr. Catuara. He does that for himself. I can take a number, though, and ask him to call you.”

“No, that won’t work.” Travis searched his brain for a different approach. He leaned across her desk, hovering precariously over the out box, and stroked her chin. “Are you sure you can’t help me out here?”

“I’m afraid not,” she replied frostily.

“I bet you have his home address right there in your Rolodex,” Travis continued. “You could just sort of … look away for a moment. I’d be very appreciative.” He ran his fingers across her cheek and down her neck.

The secretary removed his hand from her face. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave, Mr. Jones. Or whatever your name is.”

“There must be some way you can help me.”

“I can help you out the door. That’s it.”

“But surely—”

She picked up her phone. “I’m calling Security. They take a dim view of office mashers.”

“But I didn’t—”

“Five more seconds, then I cry rape.”

“I’m going, I’m going.” Travis slid off the desk. “I’m gone.”

Cavanaugh was waiting for him in the hallway outside. “Good work, Casanova.”

“You were watching?”

“From a respectful distance. You should’ve let me go. Your act isn’t exactly subtle.”

“How was I supposed to know she would be—”

“What? Offended by your heavy-handed pseudosexual advances? You were supposed to get into her Rolodex, not her pants.”

“Pseudosexual? What’s that supposed to mean? I can’t tell if you’re mad or just jealous.”

“Jealous? Why, you insufferable—” She swung her fist around and socked him on the shoulder.

He rubbed his arm vigorously. “All right, since I’m such a loser, let’s hear your brilliant plan for getting Catuara’s address.”

“Well, the easiest methods are all gone now because she’s going to be suspicious of anyone who comes near that Rolodex. We need a diversion.”

“And so you’re going to … what? Do a striptease in the lobby?”

“Just stay out of the way and watch, pig.”

She marched back toward the elevators and directed Travis’s attention to the fire alarm.

“You’re not going to set that off, are you?”

“Why not?” Cavanaugh responded. “It’ll ring for maybe ten minutes until Security discovers there’s no fire. But the secretary will have to leave her office.”

Travis shrugged. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea, even if it was hers.

Cavanaugh pulled the handle. There was a delay; it was probably a silent alarm that triggered something on the security people’s control panel. After about ten seconds, a very audible alarm sounded. The shrill wail filled the twenty-fourth floor. Travis and Cavanaugh ran back to the Elcon offices and positioned themselves around the corner where they could keep an eye on the office door.

Workers strolled out the few other offices that were open on Saturday morning, mumbling variations of “Is this another drill?” and “I don’t have time for this.” The floor emptied, except for the Elcon office.

Finally the front door opened. Travis watched as the secretary stepped out of the office … and locked the door behind her. She continued down the hallway to the stairwell.

“She locked the door,” Travis said.

“Thanks for the color commentary,” Cavanaugh replied. “I noticed.”

“Well, Ms. Former Skip Tracer, do you know how to pick locks?”

“With lock picks. But I don’t have any.”

“Know anyplace we could get some?”

“Yeah. But not before she gets back from the fire drill.”

Travis shoved his hands into his pockets. Looked like this was strike two.