"I don't know who paid," the Voice said. "I don't know what it was. But money was delivered. And then he was killed."
It sounded like he was fed a version of the truth from Charlie, but was that version correct? The Voice had said he didn't want whatever came with that key; he'd been kept insulated from the hard facts, which made it hard to untangle reality from conjecture. But everything he'd told me pointed to Caruthers. Which, in turn, pointed to Frank.
I nudged the plate away. My mouth was dry. "How was Frank Durant mixed up in all this?" I asked.
"Frank Durant? Hell if I know. I do know that he and Charlie went back to the old days. Thick as thieves, those two."
His choice of wording did not seem accidental. In light of the night-vision goggles, I tried to keep my face impassive, but it was a struggle.
Fortunately, the Voice didn't seem to notice. He continued, "Charlie did this for me, but it turned into more. He wanted to do what was right. He wanted whatever he had to be made public."
"But his conscience only kicked in once he got double-crossed by Caruthers's buyers," I said sardonically. No response from the darkness. I added, "And you won't see it through."
"I can't. I can't be seen. It's not safe for me right now. This is all… It's all my fault."
"How are they into you?" I asked. Again no answer. I said, "So you have the other piece."
"No. Just the other key. There's another P.O. box, another item. He kept them separate. Insurance. But you can't carry insurance against these people."
"How do I get the key?"
"We swap," he said. "The money for the key."
"When?"
"Soon. I had to see if I could trust you first."
"Can you?"
"Yes."
"How are you reachable?" I asked.
"I'm not."
Jocelyn came back. "Bet you're done with that dessert?"
I waited patiently while she cleared, humming to herself. Then she said, "I'll be back in a minute with some coffee."
I waited for her footsteps to fade, and then I said, "So how do we do this? Voice? Voice?"
But I was alone, talking to the darkness.
Chapter 24
Slumped against the wall of the elevator, I ran through the ambiguities and half answers I'd gotten out of the Voice. For every question I'd knocked off the list, four more had popped up. After being led out of the darkness by Jocelyn, I'd asked the staff about my mysterious dinner partner. Of course no one had seen anything-the blind waitstaff at least had an excuse-but the host's goatee had twitched with a faint smirk that said he was exercising Swiss discretion.
The doors dinged open, and I stepped out into the hall. Kim Kendall was leaning against my doorframe, shoulders pressed to the wood, her body an arc beneath them. Her thick hippie braids squirmed on her shoulders as she rolled her head to take me in. Her full lips, pronounced on her slender face, tensed, and she said, "His wife's gonna let it drop. The homeless guy. Wendell Alton. What do you call him again?"
I walked toward her. "Homer."
"Right, Homer. I thought you'd want to know. I mean, you seemed so worried about the guy, Nick."
"How do you know my name?"
"I work for a PI, remember? You didn't think I'd spy on your and Homer's little charity get-togethers without putting a name to the face."
I slid the key into the lock next to her. "It's not charity."
She put her hand on my arm. "How about you shut up and be flattered I came back here?" She shoved herself off the wall and kissed me on the cheek, catching me off guard. Those lips felt as good as I'd imagined they would. The effect was enhanced by relief-relief to be doing something normal again after chasing down spooks, getting calls from the president, being summoned to pitch-black rendezvous.
She said, "What's a girl gotta do to get invited in?"
I fumbled my keys into the locks, and we entered. She looked around and said, "The hell happened here?"
"Tasmanian devil."
She walked straight into the bedroom and fell on the mattress, propping her head on her fist and looking at me. Her waistband had slipped below one pale hip, and I could see the side thread of her thong. She said, "I brought you something."
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a black-cord necklace. The perceive-no-evil monkeys, carved from boxwood, formed a small, circular pendant. "I saw it on Melrose and figured it was appropriate. For you not ratting me out."
I draped it over my hand. "This is cool. Thanks."
"Let's see it on." She lowered it over my head. Her translucent green eyes, up close, showed sparks of orange.
"Lemme check it out in the mirror." I got up, went into the bathroom, and closed the door. The pendant had a seam along the edge where the sculpted face was attached to the backing. I took a can of shaving cream from the shower and set the pendant on the counter. Reaching for the raised toilet seat, I flipped it closed just as I hammered the shaving cream can down on the three monkeys. I poked through the wood pieces and saw the little silver bug, half the size of a Tylenol capsule, glued into the hollow.
"It looks really good on!" I called out.
I swept the wood shards into my pocket and walked out quickly, breezing past her toward my front door. "Hey, Kim-right? — I just realized I parked my truck on the wrong side of the road. Street cleaning tomorrow at seven A.M. Lemme move it real quick."
I figured she'd be thrilled at the chance to poke around. The cash and sheet of numbers were hidden in the kitchen, and I doubted she'd make it out of my bedroom if I hurried.
I moved swiftly down the hall, dropped the bug down the trash chute, then tapped at Evelyn's door. She answered, New York Times in hand, folded back to the dimpled crossword. "Ten-letter word for unkempt?"
"Thanks a lot," I said. "Listen, I locked myself out of my apartment again. Can I climb over your balcony?"
A mournful sigh. "You know that scares the hell out of me, Nick."
"I know, but Eldy's not in until Monday with the master keys."
"Fine, but I'm not watching." She aimed the newspaper at me. "You be careful."
I thanked her and slipped onto her balcony, then climbed one apartment over the other direction. I moved through the vacant living room into the bedroom. Kim's pillow and blanket were still there, and the overnight bag. The bathroom smelled of darkroom chemicals. I clicked on the light. My face stared back from all around. Photographs, clipped to the shower rod, taped to the tile, hung from the clothesline above the tub. Some of them still wet. She'd captured me putting the disassembled Nokia phone on the lawn. Wanding down my truck in the alley. Removing the bug from behind the visor.
I collected the photos and walked back down the hall to my place. Quietly I opened the door. As I'd hoped, she was still in my bedroom. I heard her flop back to the mattress. "That didn't take long," she called out.
I walked in and threw the pictures on the bed, then the broken pieces of the pendant. She sat up quickly. "Shit," she said.
A quick knock, then Evelyn took a step into my living room, clutching the newspaper section. For once I'd left the door unlocked. She tilted her eyeglasses, peering into my bedroom. " 'Disheveled,' " she said triumphantly. She frowned, lowering the crossword. "You made it in one piece?"
"I did. Thank you."
"Is someone there with you?"
"This is a bad time," I said. "A really bad time."
She nodded and withdrew, holding her gaze on me.
I looked back at Kim. She was staring at the photos spread across the mattress, and I could have sworn it looked like she felt bad.
"Do I know you?" I asked. "Is this personal?"
"No. I was paid. To watch you."
"By who?"
"I don't know." She noted my face and said, "Look, I swear. I feel really bad about this."