Skip waited.
“You say that Vanessa Hennessey is a human being, and that reverting her will result in her death. For that death you threaten Reanimation with the law, both criminal and civil. We can prove by public records that Vanessa Hennessey died some years ago. Fingerprints and retinal patterns will prove that the woman to whom you refer is in fact an employee of ours, and not Vanessa Hennessey. Let me add that I have no intention of divulging our employee’s identity to you here. It will be divulged in court—if necessary. Comment?”
“None at this time.”
“Good.” The executive offered Skip a cigar, which he declined. “Mr. Grison, you’re in an odd position. I won’t say an unethical one, but it’s pretty odd. You’re Vanessa Hennessey’s sponsor as well as her attorney. Pro bono?”
Skip nodded.
“Odd, to say the least.” The executive rolled his cigar between his palms. “If you succeed, you’ll be saving your own money.”
“I would also be freeing Ms. Hennessey. As things stand I can stop paying. That would be tantamount to a death sentence, so I hold the power of life and death over her. I don’t want it.”
“You signed a contract with us. I assume you read it thoroughly. An attorney would.”
Skip nodded.
“In that case…,” the executive studied his cigar, “you may have noticed that although we have no right to increase the payments agreed upon, we have the right to refuse your payment and reclaim our employee.” He sighed. “That, you see, is what we do in such cases as this. Your most recent payment has been refused, Mr. Grison. Check your account, and you’ll find that your money has returned to it.”
“I was afraid of this.”
“You should’ve been more afraid of it.” The executive closed large, yellow teeth upon his cigar and lit it with a gold Florentine lighter.
“My client will not willingly come back to you.”
“Here we differ, Mr. Grison. Our security people will contact her, and she’ll come. They’re very persuasive.”
Skip stood up. “You asked for my comments, which I withheld. I’ll offer them now. You’re not an attorney, Mr. Feuer. I’m certain your company must have some on retainer, and I suggest you consult them. Your case is much weaker than you suppose.”
“You are about to rush out to warn your client.” The executive’s gentle smile was worse than a smirk. “You’ll be too late, and the case you boast will be moot.”
Skip left, followed by a puff of reeking smoke.
* * *
A card that would open Apartment 733 was in his hand, but there was no need for it; the lock had been broken out of the doorframe. Grimacing, Skip pushed aside the door and went in. A tele, a telephone, and a sofa—period. The black tele looked old; presumably she had bought it used, as he had suggested. The pink sofa had been more than a trifle worn; it was ruined now, its disemboweled cushions scattered across the floor, their springs exposed, their stuffing shredded. In the bedroom, blankets and sheets had been torn from the bed. The pillow had been cut open. The drawers of a battered bureau had been pulled out and thrown aside. Skip examined them, bending and peering to scrutinize their interiors without touching them.
He was about to go when his right foot sent a small, brown object skittering across the bare concrete floor. He picked it up, opened it, and tested the edge.
From his own apartment he called Michael Tooley. “You won’t have forgotten the woman we talked about, Mick. Have you heard from her?”
“No, sir. Nothing.”
“Have you been in contact?”
“No, sir. You gave me her number, but I haven’t used it and she hasn’t called me. Should I call her?”
“No. I was just in there. There’s no one there.”
“Am I to take it that there should’ve been, sir?”
“Not necessarily. Do you still eat lunch where you did this summer?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll be there. If I can’t come I’ll call you. Wait half an hour. If I still haven’t come or called, talk to the police.”
“Like that, sir?”
Skip paused, took out the slender brown object, and touched its edge to the rosewood of his telephone stand. “I’m afraid so,” he said.
The old man’s resale shop was on Avenue AA, not quite too far to walk. Selecting a platform rocker, Skip waited for the old man to deal with his customer.
“Good morning, Mr. Grison.” The old man smiled as his customer left. “Something I can do for you?”
“I hope so. I sent Vanessa Hennessey to you. Did she come?”
The old man rubbed the side of his nose, with his forefinger. “Good-looking. Younger than I expected. Spent…” He paused. “Four hundred and ninety-eight. About that. Pretty much all of it for furniture. I got Acacio to deliver it for her. He’s cheap, and as good as anybody. Is she going to sue me?”
“I wish she would.” Skip took the brown object from his pocket. “Did she buy this here?”
The old man studied it for a long moment. “You know, she did. I asked her what she wanted it for, and she said she just liked it. I think I had it priced at two noras, but since she was buying so much I threw it in.”
“Good of you. What’s it for?”
“It’s an old-time shaver.” The old man demonstrated, holding handle and blade at an obtuse angle and not quite touching the edge to his cheek. “They had to be careful, though.”
“It looks more like a knife,” Skip said.
“No point.” The old man demonstrated, tapping the blunt end of the blade with his finger.
The park was too far to walk, but Skip walked anyway, edgy and eager to spend his energy on something. There was a chill in the air; the sky, gray and lowering, veiled the upper two-thirds of the towering buildings.
Mick Tooley was sitting on the bench farthest from the silent fountain, sipping coffee from the same cracked mug he used at the office and frowning at two gray pigeons. He rose. “Glad you made it, sir.”
“So am I.” Skip sat. “That number I gave you was for her apartment in my building. She doesn’t have a mobile phone as far as I know.”
Tooley resumed his seat.
Skip sat, too. “You can probably forget the number.”
“This is Reanimation, sir?”
“Probably. I talked to them this morning.”
Tooley nodded. “How’d it go?”
“Badly. I told them we had a good case, which we do. They—his name is Feuer, he’s a vice president—indicated that their security boys would make our case moot.” Skip paused to turn his coat collar up. “When I got away from him I tried to call her. That may have been a mistake.”
“So you were careful with me.”
“I tried to be, yes. After that I went straight back to my building. I thought they didn’t know where she was, and that Feuer had spoken as he did so they could follow me to her. I also thought they’d think I was going to my own appartment to get something, and they’d wait to follow me when I came out.”
“Sounds good.”
“I went straight to her apartment instead. It had already been broken into and searched. Searched pretty thoroughly. She wasn’t there.”
Tooley said, “Then they didn’t get her, sir.”
Skip studied him. “You think not? Why?”
“Because they searched. They want her, not something she’s got.”
Skip nodded.
“So they were looking for something that might tell them where she went. Did she have luggage?”
“You’re good. You’re very good. I wish I’d had you with me.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Yes, she had an overnight bag. It wasn’t there.” Skip paused to think. “Chelle hasn’t gotten her leave yet. Tomorrow, she says. She sounded confident.”