"I don't think she saw me, she was focused on getting out of there. She wasn't a runner, didn't have that natural runner's gait, but she was really graceful, I remember thinking that. She moved fluidly, I don't know how else to put it."
Sherlock sat forward. "Interesting way to put it-fluidly. Could you try to describe that more to us?"
"I don't know, really, like I said, she wasn't a practiced runner, didn't have those natural moves, but the thing is-" Tallman paused, shook his head. "Damned if I know, it's just that I know an athlete when I see one and that's what she was. She was in really good shape, you could tell. I could see she was scared but not panicked. Smooth, she looked smooth, controlled."
Sherlock pulled a stuffed bear from behind the sofa and stroked its soft fur. Sean still had his own white rabbit, but it only had one ear now. "Did you see the color of her ponytail, Mr. Tallman?"
Tallman thought about that. "It was thick-the tail was flopping around when she ran, I can see that clearly. The color-hmm, not black like mine, not red like yours, Agent, brown, I'd have to say. Her skin was very white in the moonlight."
Bowie sat forward, clasping his hands between his legs. "You said her jacket was zipped up?"
"Yeah, it looked kind of weird since it was pretty warm Sunday night." He frowned a moment. "Do you know, now that I think about it, maybe she looked a little thick through the torso, a bit on the bulky side."
"Like she'd maybe zipped up something beneath that jacket she was wearing?" Sherlock asked.
"Yes, perhaps."
Bowie said, "Do you remember her size? Tall? Short?"
"That's tough since I didn't have any perspective. I guess I'd have to say pretty tall. I didn't have my cell phone with me or I might have called the cops. When I got home, Luke was sick and it fell right out of my mind. Then Monday morning I heard about the break-in at the pharmaceutical company on the news, and that someone was murdered in the park Sunday night. That shook me, I'll tell you, I mean, I saw the woman who was the thief. My wife Linda said I had to call you guys right away."
Savich spoke for the first time. "You're sure she was alone, Mr. Tallman? No one was there in Van Wie Park, waiting for her?"
"No one I saw. I'm always glad I don't see anyone when I run because it's dark and it's late and someone else might not want to just wish me a good evening, you know?"
They repeated the same questions, giving them a slightly different slant, but Eric Tallman didn't know any more.
Bowie rose about the same time as a baby's loud cry came over the monitor. He smiled. "You've given this lots of thought, we really appreciate your calling. Have fun with Luke."
Tallman rose to shake their hands. "This woman who broke in, do you think she also murdered that man?"
"We'll see," Bowie said.
Luke yelled again from the bowels of the house.
Tallman said, "The little champ's better than an alarm clock. It's ten on the button, and Luke is ready to suck down formula, burp, and gnaw on his stuffed dog's ears."
"What's his dog's name?" Savich asked him.
"Maynard the Brave. He's getting so tatty I'm afraid he's going to fall apart every time I wash him."
Savich smiled. "My little boy has a one-eared rabbit named Goober. We never found the other ear. As for the tail, we've reattached it a good dozen times."
As they were walking to their cars, Bowie said, "Georgie's all-time favorite stuffed animal is a crocodile named Rufus, not that she pays him all that much attention anymore since she's discovered the glorious world of dolls. Do you guys know there have got to be a thousand different Barbies and all of them have cars and planes and a thousand pairs of shoes?"
Ten minutes later, at Luther's Big Bite, they were drinking coffee, Savich tea. After Bowie took a grateful sip he said, "I'll check the photo IDs of all the female Schiffer Hartwin employees. If any of them look promising-tall, slender, brown hair-I'll show Mr. Tallman some photos. I don't think a police artist could get anything useful out of him."
Sherlock said as she sipped her coffee, not bad for a diner, but not nearly as good as Dillon's, the prince of the coffee bean, "What struck me was a guy, who's a runner himself, saying the woman ran gracefully, fluidly, even though he said she looked scared. Interesting description."
They thought about this.
Bowie sipped his coffee. "Maybe she's used to moving gracefully-maybe at one time our girl was a model? Or a dancer?"
"Possible," Savich said.
Bowie said, "My agents in New Haven found out Blauvelt's air ticket was paid for on his personal account, not a company card. The Schiffer Hartwin travel staff told the BND, who told us they didn't even know he was coming to America. He rented a car at JFK, a dark blue Ford Taurus, license RWI 4749. Still no sign of it. As for where he was staying, no luck yet with that either, but he probably used an alias, paid cash."
"It would have to be a motel off the highway," Savich said, "a lodging that wouldn't care who or what he was. On the other hand, maybe he was staying with his murderer."
Bowie said, "Agents have checked the residences of all upper management Schiffer Hartwin employees, looking for the blue Taurus, speaking to neighbors. Nothing yet. Oh, yes, I meant to tell you the most important news this morning: our local police chief, Clifford Amos, has agreed to let us use his conference room for interviews, though he'd just as soon kick all our federal butts to Alaska. I asked Caskie Royal to come down at eleven."
Sherlock saluted him with her cup. "That's good, Bowie, take him out of his comfort zone."
Savich said, "Being close to a jail cell just might make him reevaluate his talking points." He smiled. He couldn't wait to have Royal on cop turf.
Sherlock said, "He knows exactly what the woman copied, he's afraid of it getting out, and so he's not cooperating, murder or no murder. The file or files she copied, that's got to be the key. And there were enough pages zipped into her jacket that she looked a bit bulky, Mr. Tallman said.
"Whatever she took, I'll bet my sneakers it shows something Schiffer Hartwin very much wants to keep quiet. I'll bet whatever it is, it's pretty big. I wonder what she's planning on doing with the file?"
Bowie said, "I was wondering that myself. It could be anything from extortion to espionage to someone trying to be a Good Samaritan."
Savich said, "Question is, what does she do with the files now that Blauvelt got himself murdered right out back at about the same time? Even if she didn't have anything to do with Blauvelt's murder herself, she's got to be scared. She's got to be praying we'll find the murderer soon so she'll be free to act."