“Treasure Island,” Dryden said.
He stared at the distance for another moment, then looked at the houses on the screen again. Rachel wouldn’t need to be in the one right next to Holly’s to get in her head. She could do it from two or even three houses away. Maybe even from across the street.
“Interesting,” he said.
Rachel managed a smile.
Dryden opened a real estate site, entered Amarillo, selected the rental tab, and pulled up a map. Within thirty seconds he was staring at Holly’s house.
There were three apartments available within the necessary range. The best was a second-floor walk-up, two doors down. That would put Holly’s entire residence in a zone between thirty and sixty feet from Rachel.
“When can we be there?” Rachel asked.
Dryden looked at the clock in the corner of the screen. He did the math. “Midnight local time, give or take.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
He kept to five above the limit the whole way. They stopped twice for gas, and once at a hardware store to buy a metal file. Dryden burned another ten minutes using the tool on one of the house keys that hung from Dena Sobel’s key ring.
They pulled off I-40 into Amarillo at 12:35 Central Time. Dryden found a quiet parking lot a block and a half from Holly’s home. The night was cool and full of the smells of restaurant food and vehicle exhaust.
*
“Don’t look around for anyone watching,” Dryden said. “We’re two people walking home with groceries. Nothing more than that.”
They were on Holly’s street now, a hundred yards from the place they wanted. Dryden had the shopping bags Dena had bought in Modesto. The sidewalk was deserted and mostly dark. No sound in the night except the background hum of the city. The diesel groan of a bus trundling by, a few blocks over.
The building’s entry was locked, as expected. Dryden already had the modified key in his hand. A bump key, to use the common term. He had notched its blade into five equal-sized teeth, like little shark fins. With skill, a person could use one of these to bypass most of the standard door locks in the world. Dryden had used them in a dozen or more countries, at times when quiet entry into a structure was critical. In the years since his service, he’d never used anything less than a disc-tumbler lock for his own door. Those were immune to bump keys. They were also rare as hell.
The house two doors down from Holly’s had a standard lock. Dryden got through it about as quickly as he would’ve with the correct key. The apartment door, on the second-floor landing, was no more difficult.
The unit was bare of furniture. They left the lights off and locked the door behind them. The interior was like most empty apartments Dryden had seen: new paint on the walls, the air scented by carpet shampoo.
The moment they were inside with the door shut, Rachel went to the east wall—the closest she could get to Holly’s home—and shut her eyes. She stood there, leaning with her fingers splayed on the plaster, and said nothing for over a minute.
Dryden’s vision began adjusting to the gloom. The only light came from the glow of streetlamps against the closed window blinds and the blue LED display of the stove.
“You must be hearing fifty people from here,” Dryden said.
Rachel nodded. “It’s like trying to find one voice in a crowd.”
“It’s late. Maybe she’s sleeping.”
“I don’t think so. I can read people even when they’re asleep. Right now I’m getting a bunch of people in the building right beside us, and a few that are a lot farther away, in that direction. But in between, there’s a big space where there’s nobody. I think that’s Holly’s house. I think it’s empty.”
Rachel continued listening, waiting.
“Doctors keep strange hours,” Dryden said. “Don’t worry too much just yet.”
Rachel nodded again.
“You hearing anyone else?” Dryden asked. “Anyone Gaul might have sent?”
For a long time Rachel didn’t reply. Dryden saw her face tighten in concentration.
“Not that I can tell,” she said. “Even bad people’s thoughts are pretty normal, most of the time.”
She gave it another minute, then opened her eyes and turned from the wall.
Dryden went to the living room window; it faced out over the street in front of the building. He left the blinds closed but put his eye to the crack at their edge. From just the right angle he could see Holly’s front porch. A single newspaper lay atop the steps, in a plastic sleeve.
Dryden returned to the door, where he’d set down the groceries. He opened the bag with the gauze pads and disinfectant.
“Let’s have a look at your arm,” he said.
*