Yesterday had yielded nothing of interest. Duncan had gone out only once, stopping at a liquor store, a gourmet coffee shop, a gas station, and an electronics specialty shop. "Caliguire Electronics, " read the sign over the front door. "Audio, Video, SurroundSound, Satellite Dishes, Custom Electronics." Gin remembered Duncan talking about his satellite dish on occasion. This was probably where he'd got it. .
"Boy toys, " she'd muttered.
And then it struck her, custom electronics. Duncan needed some sort of miniature ultrasound transducer to dissolve his implants. Something small enough to hide on his person and aim at his victim when he got within range. Something pocket-sized, Ohmigod! His pager. His old-fashioned oversized beeper. She remembered how he'd had it in his hand when she saw him with Allard, and how it had gone off as they were standing with Senator Vincent on the hearing room floor before Senator Marsden gaveled everyone to their places. A few minutes later Senator Vincent was convulsing behind the dais.
What if it was oversized for a reason other than Duncan's stubborn unwillingness to part with a less than state-of-the-art piece of equipment? What if his pager was a mini-transducer?
Could Duncan have used this place or someplace like it to fashion one for him?
The question nagged Gin the entire time he was inside, which stretched out almost to an hour. Finally, he came out and returned home.
Gin had seriously considered the idea of returning to the electronics shop to question the owner about transducers disguised as beepers, but then Gerry's words came back to her.
No more Nancy Drew stzz.
Gerry . . . she missed him. She wished he'd call.
But it was good advice. Not only was she too old to be Nancy Drew, she didn't want to be a detective, being an internist was quite enough.
And besides, questioning the folks at Caliguire might prompt a call to Duncan.
,Better just stick to following him around.
Nice way to spend a weekend.
So now it was Sunday evening, the light fading, and this was the first Gin had seen of Duncan all day. She'd worried that he might have another way out of his neighborhood, but a drive by his house an hour ago had revealed the Mercedes parked at the top of the semicircular drive before the front door of his brick colonial.
Then the radio gave her the most likely reason why he'd - chosen now to be on the move. The Redskins game was over.
They'd lost. Again.
She put her car in gear and waited to see which direction he turned.
Whichever way, she'd be close behind. She wasn't crazy, not psychotic, not even neurotic, and she wasn't going to let anyone make her think so.
Duncan had secrets. He lied about where he went on his afternoons.
She was going to find out where he really went. He wasn't going to be able to sneeze without her saying Gezhunteit.
She was not going to drop this.
Gin watched him turn south, she let a car get between them before she pulled out and followed. When he turned onto East-West Highway, she had a pretty good idea where he might be headed.
Sure enough, he pulled into the surgicenter.
Now what? She couldn't exactly pull in behind him and follow him into his office.
His office . . . he had that rock garden with the pool and all those thick bushes outside his office window. Maybe she could get a peek.
She found a parking spot half a block down and trotted back. Homing in on the glow from Duncan's windows, she crept along a grassy buffer between the surgicenter and the neighboring office building and lowered into a crouch as she neared the rear wall of the rock garden. Duncan's office windows were just past that If she could get a look . . .
Look at me, she thought. Creeping across lawns, spying on people . .
.
This wasn't her. And hadn't she sworn she wasn't going to do the Nancy Drew thing? Was this the behavior of a stable personality?
Maybe I do need help.
The thought chilled her, but she shook off the doubts. She had to see this through.
She parted the branches of a small evergreen, from its ginlike odor she guessed it was some sort of juniper, and peered through the plate glass into Duncan's office.
He was seated at his desk. Gin settled onto her knees and watched, hoping he'd do more than just straighten papers. It was getting cold out here in the wind.
She caught her breath as he leaned to his right and unlocked the top desk drawer. She leaned forward, all but thrusting her face through the prickly juniper as she watched him remove the TPD from the drawer, heft it in his hand, then rise and wander about. He opened cabinets and poked inside, lifted bottles, pulled out books and journals, peered into the space they left, then shoved them back.
What's he doing?
He seemed to be looking for something.
Or somewhere.
Finally he pulled a volume the size of the Merrk Manxal off a top shelf, placed the bottle of TPD in the rear of the gap, then slid the book back in.
He was hiding the TPD.
Gin was dumbfounded.
Why would he hide the bottle when he had a locked drawer for it?
Maybe he had no further use for it. Or maybe he'd never used it. But then why was he hiding it now?
Damn! Why didn't any of this make sense?
Suddenly the office went dark. Duncan had turned out the lights. Gin spun and scampered back to her car. It was good to get the heater going again. She watched Duncan's car turn back the way it had come on East-West. She gave him a good lead, then swung around and followed.
When she saw him turn into his neighborhood, she turned east and headed for Connecticut Avenue. For Adams Morgan. For home.
She'd had enough Nancy Drew for one night. In two days of trailing him she'd learned two things, one, he liked to hang out at Caliguire Electronics, two, he'd changed the hiding place of his bottle of TPD.
No answers. Just tW0 facts which did nothing but engender a whole slew of new questions. She didn't need more questions. She had questions coming out her ears. She needed answers, dammit!
Maybe tomorrow. When Duncan left early to go to his golf club, Gin would be right behind him. She'd find out where he really went. Maybe a mistress. Or maybe something to do with that little bottle of TPD.
Hopefully she'd be able to cross one question off her lengthening list.
MONDAY OKAY, DOC. SHE S ALL SET.
Duncan walked over to the corner of his office where Harry stood on a small aluminum utility ladder. Dressed in a Guns n' Roses T-shirt, he was heavyset, maybe forty, with a receding hairline and a ponytail. He was positioning some of the bric-a-brac on the top shelf around the sensor. When he finished, he stepped down and pointed to it.
"Would you ever know it was there? " Duncan scrutinized the shelf.
The sensor was a small brown rectangle the size of a cigarette box. It blended neatly with the woodwork, appeared almost a part of the cabinet. The camcorder lens looked like some sort of glass bauble.
Duncan nodded approvingly. "Only if I knew exactly where to look. " "Cool. Now just stand still a moment while I get us some power " He plugged a transformer into the outlet to the left of the sink. "All right. Now move your arms. ' Duncan waved his arms and saw a red dot begin to glow on the sensor.
"Smile, " Harry said. "You're on Candid Camera."
"What about that little red light? " Duncan said.
"That just means it sensed motion. You tripped the . . . .
clrcutt.
"Yes, but the light is a giveaway. The whole idea is - sgrreptitio"J surveillance, Harry. Kill that light."
"No problem." Duncan sipped his morning coffee as Harry climbed back up his step ladder and began whistling while he removed the back plate of the motion detector.