William Bernhardt - Double Jeopardy

She took the paper from his limp hands. At the top of page one, she saw the expected story on the Moroconi-Byrne manhunt. Scanning quickly, she learned that the police had received an anonymous note from someone who claimed to have been at the West End the night of the shoot-out. The note contained a message—for Travis Byrne. Although it was believed to be a threat of some sort, police were uncertain of its precise meaning.

The message on the front side of the note was only four words long: We have the girl.

On the flip side, in small, scribbled letters, someone had written: Moroconi’s motel room by midnight. Or she dies.

And in the same box with the note, the police found a charm bracelet bearing tiny gold figurines of various Disney characters. Inquiries were proceeding.

Cavanaugh laid down the newspaper. “It’s Staci, isn’t it?”

“Newspapers frequently receive threats like that,” Travis said evenly, “but they almost never print them.”

“Maybe they thought it would persuade you to turn yourself in.”

Travis shook his head. “Someone with the police or the paper is involved in this. Or is controlled by someone who is.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t have any choice.”

“Travis, you can’t turn yourself in to these fiends. They’ll kill you!”

“If I don’t, they’ll kill Staci.”

“Maybe not. Maybe they’re just bluffing.”

“Given all the people who have been killed so far, I think that’s unlikely.”

She grabbed him by the shoulders. “Travis, I won’t let you do this. It’s suicide.”

He turned away. “What else can I do?”

Cavanaugh reread the note as reported in the paper. “You’ve got until midnight. That gives us about sixteen hours.”

“To do what?”

“To locate Moroconi. To find out who’s behind this. And stop it!”

“That’s an impossible deadline.”

“We have to try!”

“I suppose.” Travis’s face was tight and grim. “But if we haven’t found them by—no. If we haven’t found Staci by midnight, I will turn myself in to them.”

“They’ll kill you, Travis.”

Travis nodded. “I know.”

57

8:50 A.M.

TRAVIS PARKED THE HYUNDAI in the parking garage for Reunion Tower, the high-rise home of the Elcon Corporation. He backed into the space so the car’s license-plate number wouldn’t be easily visible. If they were going to find him again, by God, they were going to have to work for it.

He and Cavanaugh entered the office building together, Travis still disguised with sunglasses and fishing hat. They checked the office directory and rode the elevator to the twenty-fourth floor.

The Elcon offices were small and low-key; they didn’t look as if many visitors were expected. As Travis peered through the glass in the front door, he saw a small reception area with a slender brunette secretary presiding. She wasn’t swamped with work; in fact, she was concentrating on a crossword puzzle. Oh, well, Travis mused. It’s Saturday. In the back, he saw a large door that led to an inner office. Travis had to assume that was the lair of Mario Catuara.

“Think she’ll let us see him?” Cavanaugh asked.

“Hard to say. He may not be in.”

“Maybe we should concoct some kind of plan.”

“You complicate things too much, Cavanaugh. The direct approach is usually best. Let me take a stab at her.”

“So you can turn on your animal magnetism?”

“I just think I might have more success with her than you.” Before Cavanaugh could reply, Travis pushed the door open and strolled inside.

The secretary was humming something: Travis thought it was “ Qué Sera Sera ,” but it was hard to be certain when she had the eraser end of a pencil in her mouth. He approached, smiled, and sat down on the edge of her desk. She was in her late thirties at least and, he noted, she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.

“Hi there,” Travis said cheerily. “My name’s Sam Jones. I’d like to see Mr. Catuara. I’m an old family friend.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“I’m afraid not. But he’ll want to see me.”

“Is he expecting you?”

“In a way.”

“That’s odd,” she said, “since he isn’t even here.”

“Well … do you expect him in later?”

“No.” She batted a pencil against her desk.

“Well … do you know where he is?”

“Of course I do,” she replied.

“Well … would you like to tell me where he is?”

She seemed to be considering at great length. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt. Since you’re an old family friend. He’s at his home.”

“Oh. And where is that?”

“You’re an old family friend, and you don’t know where he lives?” Her voice carried more than a hint of suspicion. “I’m not authorized to release that information.”

“Maybe you could give me his phone number.” With which Crescatelli could obtain his address, Travis thought.

“No.”

“Aw, what could it hurt?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “And I don’t plan to find out.”

“Mr. Catuara will be mighty disappointed if he finds out I was in town and he didn’t get to see me.”

“I’ll take that risk.”

“Look, it’s vital that I talk with him today. As soon as possible. Can I at least make an appointment?”

“I’m not authorized to make appointments for Mr. Catuara. He does that for himself. I can take a number, though, and ask him to call you.”

“No, that won’t work.” Travis searched his brain for a different approach. He leaned across her desk, hovering precariously over the out box, and stroked her chin. “Are you sure you can’t help me out here?”

“I’m afraid not,” she replied frostily.

“I bet you have his home address right there in your Rolodex,” Travis continued. “You could just sort of … look away for a moment. I’d be very appreciative.” He ran his fingers across her cheek and down her neck.

The secretary removed his hand from her face. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave, Mr. Jones. Or whatever your name is.”

“There must be some way you can help me.”

“I can help you out the door. That’s it.”

“But surely—”

She picked up her phone. “I’m calling Security. They take a dim view of office mashers.”

“But I didn’t—”

“Five more seconds, then I cry rape.”

“I’m going, I’m going.” Travis slid off the desk. “I’m gone.”

Cavanaugh was waiting for him in the hallway outside. “Good work, Casanova.”

“You were watching?”

“From a respectful distance. You should’ve let me go. Your act isn’t exactly subtle.”

“How was I supposed to know she would be—”

“What? Offended by your heavy-handed pseudosexual advances? You were supposed to get into her Rolodex, not her pants.”

“Pseudosexual? What’s that supposed to mean? I can’t tell if you’re mad or just jealous.”

“ Jealous ? Why, you insufferable—” She swung her fist around and socked him on the shoulder.

He rubbed his arm vigorously. “All right, since I’m such a loser, let’s hear your brilliant plan for getting Catuara’s address.”

“Well, the easiest methods are all gone now because she’s going to be suspicious of anyone who comes near that Rolodex. We need a diversion.”

“And so you’re going to … what? Do a striptease in the lobby?”

“Just stay out of the way and watch, pig.”

She marched back toward the elevators and directed Travis’s attention to the fire alarm.

“You’re not going to set that off, are you?”