Thorpe smiled. "I'm thinking you shouldn't do that again, Dale."
Bingham considered it. "How did you find me?"
"That's not important."
"To you, maybe." Bingham blotted his face again, tossed the towel aside. "You want to talk? Step into the court. I've got it reserved for another twenty minutes." He opened the door. "Come on, Frank, it's private in here. We can say anything we want."
Thorpe stepped inside and closed the door behind him. "I'm looking for the Engineer. You're the only one in the outfit who spent any time with him before he linked up with Lazurus."
Bingham kneaded the squash ball. "I don't like thinking about the Engineer."
"I think about him all the time."
Bingham glared at him. "I imagine you do."
"Did… did you know Kimberly? Is that what this is about?"
Bingham slammed the ball, sent it rocketing off the front wall. Thorpe jerked his head, the ball grazing his cheek. "One to nothing," said Bingham, picking up the ball as it dribbled toward him.
Thorpe's cheek burned. "Do I get a racket?"
Bingham hit the ball again, even harder this time. Thorpe caught it as it flew by. "Two to nothing." Bingham held his hand out. "Still my serve."
"You blame me for Kimberly's death." Thorpe held on to the ball. "See, we have something in common."
Bingham wiggled his fingers, impatient. "My serve."
Thorpe tossed him the ball.
Bingham bent forward at the service line, not looking at Thorpe. "I only spent a couple of days with the Engineer. That was ample."
"You and he were doing surveillance on Lazurus." Thorpe darted to the side as Bingham served, then scampered forward, the serve a cream puff that hit just above the line. He managed to get it, made the return with the palm of his hand.
Bingham stepped into the return, slammed the ball off the side wall, hitting Thorpe's forehead on the bounce. "Three to zero." He stepped back to the service line. "The Engineer was doing surveillance, I was monitoring the conversation between Lazurus and his crew with a laser microphone." He hammered another serve past Thorpe's head, then went and picked up the ball. "Four to zero." He got back into position. "I was the outfit's bug man. Not quite the glamour of your work, but necessary."
"You spent a couple days sitting in a van with the Engineer."
Bingham rocked forward and back. "You want to know what we talked about? If we exchanged addresses, pet peeves?" He worked the ball over between his fingers, warming it up. "Sorry, Frank. Mostly, we just sat and-" He slam-served.
Thorpe was ready: He turned and smacked the ball as it bounced off the back wall, made a perfect cross-court shot, which was unreturnable. "My serve." He walked to the service line. "The Engineer's a talker. I know that much."
"Yes, but I'm not." Bingham adjusted the grip on his racket. "Aren't you going to ask me how I knew Kimberly?"
"We'll get to that. First, I want-"
"Does it always have to be what you want, Frank?"
"It is my serve." Thorpe bounced the ball. "What kind of food did he like? Did he ever mention a restaurant, someplace special?"
Bingham shook his head. "Just serve."
Thorpe served, put some side spin on it, so that the ball barely hit the line, and Bingham hit the floor trying to reach it, his racket outstretched. He made it, too, but Thorpe returned the shot before he could get up. "Four to one."
Bingham slowly got back into position, wincing with every step.
"Did the Engineer have any health problems? Did you ever see him use an asthma inhaler or take any prescription medication?"
"I was with her before you were." Bingham was rocking again, eager to get another whack at him. "Then Billy recruited her and things changed. Not at first, but later. There wasn't anything I could do about it, either."
Thorpe's head still throbbed from where the ball had hit him before. "Did the Engineer collect anything? Stamps? Coins? Comic books? Baseball cards? He must have said something-"
"You didn't replace me, Frank." Bingham swished his racket through the air, and Thorpe felt the breeze. "We shared her attentions. Your share was just bigger than mine." The racket flailed the air again, closer this time. "Not much fun finding out you're not special."
Thorpe punched him, knocked him down, the racket flying across the court. When Bingham got up, he knocked him down again.
"You don't play fair," gasped Bingham, wiping his lip with the tail of his shirt.
"I just want to know about the Engineer."
"The first time I met Kimberly, she wanted somebody to sweep her new apartment for devices," said Bingham. "She was always a careful girl, well organized, a very… compartmentalized mind. That's important in your line of work, isn't it? That's how you people do the things you do." He glared at Thorpe. "Me, I'm just a glorified technician. No real creativity. Not like Kimberly. Not like you."
Thorpe bent down beside him but kept his guard up. "I'm not your enemy."
"I came back a month later to do another sweep, and her apartment was clean, just like before, and she asked me to stick around. The next time, I showed up with a bottle of wine that cost me a week's salary, and she didn't even open it. She was honest-you have to give her that. I would have come by every night, but she had a schedule, and after she joined Billy's shop, her schedule seemed to get busier all the time." Bingham dabbed at his lip again. "I asked her if she was seeing someone else. 'Of course,' she said, with that little laugh of hers. Take it or leave it, right, Frank?"
"That's right."
Bingham stared at Thorpe now. "You knew about me?"
Thorpe nodded.
Bingham stepped closer. "You took it, too, didn't you?"
"I told you I wasn't your enemy."
Bingham sat with his back against the wall. "You knew."
Thorpe sat beside him. He ran a hand across the smooth floorboards, thinking of Kimberly's face by moonlight, how she raised herself up on one elbow in bed, deciding whether they had time for another round. Deciding whether he should go home.
"I didn't give her any ultimatums, never told her to make a choice," said Bingham, looking straight ahead. "It wouldn't have made any difference. She would have laughed."
"I remember the first time I saw her," Thorpe said softly. "Billy introduced us, said she was incredibly bright, not a classic beauty, but had 'a real way with the male of the species'-those were his exact words-and I could hear him, but it was like he was a million miles away, because my attention was so focused on her. She just looked back at me, amused, knowing what I was going through, and I played along, pretended I was the smitten suitor while Billy droned on about me, and it was like she and I were in on some private joke. We didn't say a word, but by the time Billy was done with the introductions, I was in love." His voice was even softer now. "I thought she was, too."
"Maybe you were right," said Bingham. "She certainly didn't love me. I didn't care."
"Love wasn't something she was interested in. It would have made her too vulnerable. I probably would have felt the same way if I'd had a choice… but I didn't."
"Did you ever wonder about me?" said Bingham.
"Sometimes."
"You never did anything about it, though, did you? You never tried to find out who she was seeing. It wouldn't have taken much effort on your part, but I guess I didn't count. You knew I was no threat to-"
"When I was with Kimberly, it was just the two of us. That was as much as I could expect. It was enough. I told myself it was enough, anyway."
"It wasn't just the two of you." Bingham jabbed a finger at him. "You see, I did something, Frank. Like they say, when you're number two, you try harder." He tried to laugh. "I bugged her bedroom. That's how I found out who you were. So you were never alone. I was there, too."
"You might have had your ear pressed up against the wall, but there was just Kimberly and me in the room." Thorpe had never talked about his feelings for Kimberly with anyone. "That's why I can't let go. I was used to being alone, happy with it, and then I met her, and everything changed. Everything. Now she's gone, and I can't stand being by myself, because now I know what I'm missing."