The one thing he wondered about was why a man like Forrest would hire him to do this. Hobart had simply accepted the notion that a private detective knew or was about to learn something unpleasant about Forrest, so Forrest had wanted him dead.
But Hobart had to wonder what Forrest had to fear from the detective’s widow. Maybe-before he killed her-it would be worthwhile to find out.
12
It was late at night, and the traffic near the detective’s office was thin. Jerry Hobart wore a black baseball cap with the brim pulled low above his eyes as he walked along the side of the office building. Security cameras were always mounted high, partly to give them an unobstructed view, and partly to keep them out of reach. He didn’t have any confidence in his ability to find them all, so he kept his face averted and shielded from view by the brim. He saw the underground parking entrance and exit had been closed with iron grates, so he kept going.
It took him a few seconds to see a way in. He could see that the windows on the first and second floors were all bordered by thin silver alarm tape, but there was no tape on the ones farther up the side. Landlords always tried to save money, and paying to wire every window on the third floor and above must have seemed like a needless expense. Hobart knew there would be other ways in, so he continued to look for the easiest.
He walked to the back of the building where he was shielded from view by the backs of other, taller structures, and looked up at the fire escape. There was a ladder about ten feet from the ground, weighted so a person coming down would cause the ladder to descend. Hobart took off his belt, jumped and swung the buckle over the bottom step of the ladder, and lodged the buckle in the corner where the step met the frame. As soon as the buckle caught, Hobart’s weight brought the ladder down.
Hobart climbed the ladder to the top floor of the building. As he ascended, he looked in the windows, and saw the hallway on each floor, so he began to have a sense of the building’s structure. It was built on an old-fashioned pattern, each floor a single hallway with a stairwell on each end, offices on both sides and the elevator shafts running up the center. When he reached the top, he pulled himself up so he could get his elbows over the edge of the roof and look. The top was a flat tar covering with a cluster of pipes, a big box for the air conditioning, and louvered vents. There was also a right triangular structure jutting upward with a door in it. That was what he had hoped he would find.
Hobart climbed up and walked to the door. He tried the knob, but it was locked. He took out his lockblade knife, flipped it open and slid it between the door and the jamb to get the feel of the locking mechanism. After a second or two, he realized the lock wasn’t a serious one. It was just enough to keep tenants off the roof. He withdrew the knife, then pushed the blade into the space at the right spot, eased the spring-loaded plunger aside, and opened the door. He waited and listened for an alarm, but there was no sound. He wasn’t in a hurry, so he disengaged the lock, pushed the door shut so nobody who passed in the hall below would notice an open door, and sat down beside it.
Jerry Hobart had found in the past that his enterprises were most successful when he took the time to think, to listen, and to observe. That method also provided time for things to happen around him. Tonight, if he had miscalculated and set off a silent alarm, he would be able to hear and see the police cars pulling up to the building below him. While he waited for them, he considered what he needed to do and what he should search for.
Forrest was a man with standing. If he’d had a problem with Phil Kramer the private detective, it probably was about money-getting or keeping it-or his reputation. There probably was no social connection, no business relationship that would have been public. That meant that what Jerry Hobart needed to find was secret information that either had Forrest’s name on it or the makings of a business deal that was so big that Forrest would be drawn to it.
Hobart looked at his watch. It was only eight twentyfive. He had begun his preliminary reconnaissance trip in the late afternoon, so he could see the way people and houses looked, what the traffic was like on a randomly chosen day, what the points of entry to important buildings were. Now that he was inside the security perimeter of the detective agency’s building, he wanted to be sure he was alone. He had given the cops fifteen minutes to arrive, and he had seen no office with its business-hours lights on while he was climbing up.
He went to the other side of the roof and looked over the edge at the street. There were cars parked at the curb, and while he watched, another pulled up and parked. The two front doors opened, and a young man with dark hair got out of the driver’s seat while a girl with very long black hair got out of the passenger seat. They waited while a couple of cars flashed past, then ran across the street, holding hands. Hobart watched them walk quickly a half block farther and go to the ticket window outside a movie theater.
Hobart turned and went inside the building. He stepped cautiously down the stairs and waited a few seconds, then looked into the hallway. It was empty. He walked to the stairwell and descended quietly to the fourth floor. He listened and opened the door a crack to verify that the hallway was clear, then stepped into it.
He moved up the corridor, reading the doors until he came to the one that said KRAMER INVESTIGATIONS in gold letters. He tried his knife again, but this time the lock was serious. Hobart was a patient man, so he went to work on the wood beside the lock with the lockblade knife. He carved his way to the two screws that held the strike plate, cut away the wood around them, then pushed the door open. He picked up the inch-square piece of wood he had cut from the jamb, pushed it back into the woodwork, gathered the shavings, and then stepped inside and closed the door.
Hobart turned on the lights and examined the office. It looked to him as though four people besides the boss worked here. Phil Kramer’s desk must have been the one in the private office with the big windows, and the one with the big telephone near the office door had to be for a secretary or receptionist. The remaining three desks must belong to the detectives. He could see there were filing cabinets in the inner office. He assumed the room would be locked, but he could break the glass without making much noise. When he reached the door, he saw that it would not be necessary: The door had already been kicked inward, splintering the frame that held it.
Hobart sat at the desk and looked around. It was always a good idea to determine what the other person could see when he was in his habitual position because that was probably where he’d been when he’d chosen the hiding place. Hobart could see the walls-mostly glass-of the inner office. There were a couple of visitors’ chairs along the wall, a computer and printer on a table, and the filing cabinets. The place was sparsely furnished. There wasn’t even a couch in here. It reminded him of the various offices in the state prison. He had been assigned to clean offices a few times near the end of his sentence, when he had served five years and had lost interest in pocketing things.
Hobart slowly rotated the desk chair around, making a full circle. There was the chance it was hidden in one of the desks of the detectives, or taped under a drawer. After a moment, he decided that would be one of the last places he would look because Kramer would have known that trusting another person with anything valuable was a bad idea.
Hobart assumed that there were at least two hiding places. No matter what form the information took-pieces of paper, a computer disk, an audio or video tape, or photographs-there would be one copy to show, talk about, and trade, and one to keep hidden as insurance. One-and only one-hiding place would be in this building. If Phil Kramer had information that Forrest wanted, Kramer would have made sure Forrest couldn’t simply take the only copy.