Leaving the house, he felt satisfied. She had given him several leads to follow. Now he needed a computer. He headed for the Park District station a few blocks away.
Outside the holding cells there, Cole found one computer in use. The single occupant of their holding cells, a woman, lay sleeping on the her bench, an arm across her eyes. No one paid attention to the other computer.
Using it turned out to be a bitch. The chair pushed under the desk forced Cole to operate the computer standing up. Experience on the Southern Station and Braff’s computers did not make working with this one any less tedious, either. Hunting and pecking, he kept global vision watching the officer at the other computer and the rest of the room, hoping no one noticed the action on this screen. Luck seemed with him so far. Even when another officer joined the first and they turned to gather the pages collecting in the printer tray, neither looked his computer’s direction.
A commotion in the hall became officers hauling in a young black male.
He struggled between them. “You got the wrong man! That bitch is lyin’!”
Cole kept plugging away, forcing himself not to rush so he made no wrong key strokes.
The officers unlocked a holding cell and shoved their prisoner in, leaving him cuffed. He swung back to the door, voice rising into soprano. “I done tole you, I never even seen the bitch before.”
Before shutting the door, one of the officers shook his head. “Jerome, Jerome. You might get away with the innocent act if you’d learn to lie better.”
Cole mentally pleaded with his fingers and the computer to work faster.
“You know how we know you’re lying? Because when you do, your left eye starts winking.”
Jerome immediately turned the left side of his face away.
All the officers grinned. Even Cole, as he tried to stay focused on the computer. He almost had the data on Lockhart. If Jerome could keep them occupied just a minute longer now. But while one officer locked the holding cell door, the other headed Cole’s direction.
Cole swore silently.
The officer reached through Cole and pulled out the chair.
“Come on, come on,” Cole whispered at the computer.
The officer paused, feeling along the back of the chair.
“Something the matter?” another officer asked.
“It feels like it’s had an ice pack on it.”
Lockhart’s address and telephone number came up on the screen.
Cole hurriedly memorized them and glanced at the clock. If he wanted to catch Lockhart asleep, he better head for Seacliff. The idea of trekking across the city was more aggravating all the time, though. He had to nail ziptripping! In the interim, it suddenly occurred to him, could he imagine himself a virtual car, or better yet, a virtual flying car?
Outside the station he sat down at the height of a car seat, lifted his feet clear of the ground, and visualized himself in a vehicle. Then he stepped on a gas pedal, pulled his hands back as if holding the yoke of a plane, and pictured his vehicle moving forward and up.
Nothing happened. He remained sitting in mid-air.
Cole stood up. So much for that. Apparently travel required physical motion on his part. While the flying car was out, though, there was no reason not to go one better than his previous walkway and make it an aerial route. Call it the Dunavan Diagonal.
Virtual stairs took him high enough to clear all the surrounding buildings, so nothing lay between him and Seacliff’s lights to the northwest. He aimed for them and launched into a run.
He started racing flat out, but as he crossed a corner of Golden Gate Park into the Richmond area, he stopped short, goosebumps running down his spine and arms. He had an aerial view without the obstruction of a plane beneath him. The city spread out below like something under a glass ceiling…ablaze with light — street lights, headlights of vehicles moving through the streets, lights on the Bay Bridge behind him strung like a necklace across the bay. Ahead of him beyond the Presidio, the Golden Gate Bridge towers rose out of fog. More fog, puffy billows set aglow by the lights inside it, blanketed the northeast portion of the city from the Marina and Fisherman’s Wharf toward the Financial District. Climb higher and he would see the whole Bay Area, he mused. That should be even more spectacular. He did not have to stop there. Looking up, it occurred to him that he could climb high enough to see the whole planet…or even visit the moon. It would just be a really long walk.
Flashing lights broke into the thought. Below him, a police unit raced up one of the avenues. That jerked him back to reality with a quick stab of guilt for forgetting why he was here…Sara.
Cole re-focused on Seacliff and resumed running.
At Gerald Lockhart’s address, the low, Spanish style house looked modest behind gates that were more sculpture than security, iron wrought into elaborate trees with copper leaves. Inside the house, Cole found that the gates indicated where Lockhart preferred to spend his money. He had enough paintings and sculpture for an art gallery. He had also paid for location. Beyond the wall of glass and terrace at the rear of the house stretched a spectacular view of the Pacific and Golden Gate Bridge.
Searching for Lockhart’s bedroom, Cole hoped the man lived alone, or least slept by himself. So far he had been lucky in that respect with Razor and Hayes. Making the dream visit work with a lover there would be…probably impossible.
But fortune still smiled. Only one of the house’s bedrooms was occupied, and it had just a single sleeper burrowed into the massive four-poster. Like the front rooms, the bedroom had an exterior wall of glass, with the bed placed to take advantage of the view. For this house, Cole decided, he envied Lockhart’s money. Sherrie would love waking up in such a bed with that view.
Nothing of Lockhart showed except an ear and salt and pepper hair. Cole leaned over the bed and grabbed hold of the ear. “Jerry.”
It brought no response. Cole grimaced. Damn. Was Lockhart going to turn out to be ghost blind? He rubbed the ear. “Jerry. Hello-ho. Talk to me.”
To his relief, Lockhart grunted and turned over. As Lockhart opened his eyes and squinted up, Cole waded through him and the bed to the windows. With luck, that would sell this as a dream without him saying so. He passed through the windows onto the terrace. Lockhart saw him. Rear vision watched the man sit up and stare sleepily after him.
After a few moments, Cole returned inside. “You have a great view. Sara said I’d like it.”
Lockhart’s forehead crinkled in puzzled furrows. “Sara?”
“Benay.”
Lockhart’s expression cleared. “Oh…yes…Sara. And who are you?”
“Just a dream figure.” Cole waded far enough into the bed to lounge back against the post at the foot of the bed. “Have you talked to her lately?”
Lockhart shook his head. “I haven’t seen her for a couple of months.”
That could be considered an evasive answer. Hope rose in Cole. “Have you talked to her? Did she call here Wednesday night asking for your help…maybe asking to use your place in Belize for a while?”
Lockhart blinked. “What? No.”
A thought struck Cole. Sara might not necessarily have called, just run. “Do you have permanent staff down there, or is it closed up when you’re gone?”
“There’s a caretaker couple.” Lockhart smiled wryly. “If someone doesn’t keep the jungle beaten back, it takes over.”
“Has Sara visited often enough that they’d know her on sight?”
Lockhart considered. “Probably. Why?”
“Then might they let her in if she just showed up and said you’d given her permission to stay there?”
“I can’t see Sara doing that. Why would she?”
“She could be in trouble and need a place to hide.”
“Hide?” Lockhart stiffened. The last of sleep disappeared from his face. He ran his hands back through his hair, smoothing it. “Why- ”