“It’s almost five,” Albert said. “Tomlinson’s warehouse will be closing soon.”
“Then I’d better call.” With the texter’s phone, Eric dialed Barney Tomlinson’s warehouse and a woman answered. “Hi,” Eric said, “my name is John Davis and I’m with Airtight Security. We make video security systems.”
“If you’ll leave your number, I’ll have the manager get back to you,” the woman said in a bored tone. “I’m not authorized to listen to sales pitches.”
Bitch. “We’re offering a special. We’ll install the cameras, then hook up a wireless router for free, then store and back up all your feeds on our servers here.”
“We’ve got a system and it works fine. Old-fashioned video, pop in a new tape every month. Nothing fancy to break. Look, kid, leave a number or I’m hanging up.”
“Wait,” Eric blurted. “Don’t hang up, please. You’re my first call. My first job. I really need the money to pay for school. Just let me practice my pitch. Please?”
She sighed dramatically. “Go ahead. God, I’m a sap.”
“Thank you. Are you sure your system works fine? Have you checked the video quality lately? Extreme temperatures can damage the sensors.”
“The recorder’s inside,” she said. “No temperature problems.”
Damn. He’d hoped for an outside unit. “You might think that, but if it’s near a loading dock or an external door, you’re letting in Mr. Freeze several times a day.”
“Mr. Freeze? Look, it’s not near an external door. It’s in the electrical room, right next to the john. Your pitch sucks. Better work it or you’re going to be very poor.”
She hung up and Eric breathed a sigh of relief. “The videotape will be in the electrical closet next to the bathroom. We’ll take it with us. That way we don’t need to worry about disabling the cameras. Although we should still wear masks, just in case.”
Albert still didn’t look up. “What about the alarm?”
“He’s got a dog. I’m betting his alarm system isn’t that advanced.”
Albert’s jaw clenched. “Don’t bet. Be sure.”
Eric wondered how he could make things right. Then dropped his eyes to his laptop where he’d been trying all afternoon to hack into Tomlinson’s system. “I’ll do my best.”
Monday, September 20, 5:00 p.m.
David studied the face in his bathroom mirror. Laying the floor in 2A hadn’t taken long, and wound with nervous energy, he’d done 2B as well. Now he was showered, cleanly shaven, and wearing a Sunday shirt and the trousers that went with his suit. He’d even picked out a tie. He hated this feeling. This unsure, unsteady, oh-God-what-if-I’m-a-monster feeling. He hated not knowing. At least that would soon be over.
He didn’t look in the mirror very often. Usually he shaved in the shower. For a long time after Megan died, he’d forced himself to look in the mirror. Forced himself to come to terms with the man he was, not the man everyone saw.
People saw what they wanted to see, he knew. On the surface, he’d been blessed with a nice face. What could he say? He’d be lying if he denied it. He knew women gave him second and even third looks. Sometimes he was even flattered.
But most of the time it was a pain in the ass. Nice women assumed he was a player or that they’d never have a chance. There had been so few who’d taken the time to look beneath the face. To find out who he really was. Who he’d made himself to be.
“So who are you?” he murmured. But he had no good answer.
He wandered through his apartment, empty save the absolutely necessary pieces of furniture he’d brought with him from Chicago. A table, a few straight-backed chairs, the easy chair that sat in front of his TV. And the bed he’d bought right after moving in. A new bed. A big bed. Hopefully for a new beginning. Please.
He could tell himself not to worry, but it was folly. Looking for distraction that wouldn’t get him sweaty again, he grabbed his laptop and dropped into his easy chair.
He’d thought about the glass ball off and on all day. David believed in fate, divine providence. That the ball had slid so neatly into his glove had been no accident.
In his mind he saw the dead girl’s waxen face, her wide eyes staring up at them. In a few hours her father would have to identify her body. Her life was ended, so young.
Just like Megan’s. He’d thought about Megan more today than he had in a long time. Nothing could bring her back, just like nothing could bring the girl from the condo back. It was a waste. An evil, senseless waste.
For Megan, it had been because a selfish bastard wanted to control those weaker than himself. For today’s victim, it was because a group of radicals wanted to save the environment. They might talk passionate, even selfless rhetoric, but under it all they were selfish bastards, too. Seemed to be a common theme.
He wondered if they’d known the girl was there. He hoped not. Still he hoped Olivia found them, and quickly. He hoped they went to prison for a very long time.
The ball that had slid into his hand had been their signature. He typed glass ball and environmental arson into Google and settled back to read.
He found an article on the group known as SPOT, then another. He found the account of how an innocent woman had died twelve years before, during the last fire for which they’d claimed responsibility, and his heart chilled. Surely they didn’t know the girl was there last night. He thought about the guard, shot through the heart. That had been no accident. The arsonists were no idealists. They were murderers.
David found a link to a man recognized if not as the leader, then as their inspiration. Preston Moss. He’d been a university philosophy professor. Hadn’t been heard from in twelve years. But before Moss had disappeared, he’d been prolific in his writing.
Someone had captured Moss’s articles on a Web site. Reading Moss’s words, David could almost hear the man’s voice ringing in his mind.
“David? You here, boy?”
Abruptly David jerked his eyes from his laptop screen, blinking to refocus on his front door, which was opening. Glenn Redman stuck his head in. “David?”
“Yeah, Glenn, I’m here. Come in.”
Glenn did, frowning. “I knocked three times. I saw your truck outside, so I knew you were here. You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
David’s mind was still caught up in the stirring words of Preston Moss. Stirring and frightening, the barely veiled advocation of violence to make their voices heard if arson did not succeed. David rubbed his palm over his chest. His heart was still beating hard.
“I was reading,” he said distractedly, then blinked again. “What do you need?”
Glenn’s frown deepened. “You tell me. You left me a note.” He produced it from his pocket, the sight instantly bringing David back to the present.
“Right. I knocked earlier, but thought you might be resting.” Propping his laptop on the arm of his chair, he brought one of the kitchen chairs into the living room, motioning for Glenn to sit in the easy chair. “I wanted to talk to you about what you told my mom today.”
Glenn’s eyes narrowed. “Which thing?”
The way he said it had David’s brows shooting up. “About me catching the ball in that condo fire.”
“Oh, that.” Glenn’s frown eased, making David wonder what else Glenn had told his mother. “Heard it was a hell of a save.”
“It was. And it turned out to be important. The cops don’t want us talking about it.”
“To who?”
“Well, to the press for sure, but to each other, also. Loose lips and all that.”
“All right.” The older man regarded him steadily. “You’re looking pretty clean behind the ears. Sunday clothes. You going out tonight?”
David’s cheeks warmed. He’d hoped he didn’t look that obvious. “Yeah.” He returned the old man’s stare. “You’re looking pretty clean yourself, old man.”
“I was thinking your mama might like to see the town, but if you two got plans…”