It opened a crack, but Baladine said, “No, no, my dear, bathroom’s the other door—that’s just a supply closet.”
Alex, sloppy Alex, didn’t close the door all the way. “I need to get back downstairs, BB. I just got beeped—that means Lacey Dowell’s limo is coming up the drive, and Teddy will want me on hand for her. She’s been temperamental since Frenada died, and we don’t want her going off half–cocked to some reporter.”
“Like Ryerson?” Baladine said.
“Ryerson was a newspaperman from day one. I shouldn’t have let him persuade Teddy he could handle television—he was in way over his head. Although we still haven’t found anyone who can handle that “Behind Scenes in Chicago’ segment. Anyway, as the man said, enough of this lovemaking—on with your clothes.”
“Want to see the replay on television while you dress?”
“You have a camera back here? God, I thought Teddy Trant was infatuated with his body, but not even he videos himself in the act.”
“I’m infatuated with your body. This is so I can watch it over and over.”
“Right, BB. I’ll take that. I don’t need to see myself on the Net, and you’re just the kind of guy to make that kind of use of a tape.”
They had a few more minutes grappling, with Baladine laughing and then cursing at her for being a damned bitch. I wasn’t an Alex fan, but I hoped that meant she’d wrested the tape from him. Then a sound of hand on flesh and a furious outburst from Alex. I put my eye on the crack in the door. Baladine had Alex’s left arm twisted back and was putting pressure on her wrist. Her face was contorted in pain and she dropped the tape.
He laughed and said, “I thought you’d see it my way, my dear. But don’t worry, I won’t share you with the Internet. The world at large can’t appreciate you the way I do.”
She swore at him but finally left when Eleanor phoned up to say Lacey was here and they were trying to find Alex. The door shut behind her. Baladine washed off noisily in the bathroom, humming “Anchors Aweigh.” In another minute he was gone as well.
By then I was so shaken that I was tempted to quit with what I had—but I didn’t know when I’d ever have another chance like this one. I turned off his personal camera again and went back to the computer. Shutting it off without exiting properly had made it unhappy; I had to wait an extra five minutes while it examined all its files. While it cycled through itself, I looked around for the tape he’d just made. He’d left it on the bathroom sink. I shrugged and slipped it into my pocket.
Finally I got back to Baladine’s e–mail server and went to his in–box. In June, on the date I’d been in Georgia, I found someone calling himself Shark at AOL reporting on successful drop–off.
Subject out of town. 3 packs of Colombian Gold successfully deployed in location 1, 4 others at location 2.
My stomach so tight that my incision started to ache, I copied all of Baladine’s correspondence with Shark. I logged off the Web and went into his data files to search for any material about me, or Shark. I found his detailed report from LifeStory and reports on the surveillance of my apartment. These files identified Shark as D.L. Not that I needed an acronym to tell me it was Douglas Lemour, but I was pleased that Baladine hadn’t felt a need for real secrecy.
As recently as three days ago, D.L. reported a cruise around my neighborhood to make sure I hadn’t surfaced. He was also looking at Lotty’s place off and on as the safe house the subject usually chooses. I scrolled quickly through the rest of the file and came to an expense report. Five thousand dollars to D.L. for security work. It didn’t seem like enough of a payoff for the amount of misery he’d caused me.
My heart was starting to beat too hard to focus on the screen. I copied the file and shut the system down. It was high time I was gone.
On a shelf in the closet where I’d waited out Alex and Baladine, he kept cassettes from the video monitor. After his byplay with Alex, I was curious to see them. I pulled one from the last month Nicola had worked here, another from six months previously. I peeled off the labels, stuck them on the blank cassettes I’d brought with me, and put the blanks in the empty slots.
I was halfway down the hall when I remembered Frenada. I counted dates frantically on my fingers. Even though I didn’t have a third blank to use as a replacement, I ran back to the study and took the tape for two weeks before July Fourth. As I was leaving the second time, I remembered to switch Baladine’s vanity recorder back on. I hurried down the hall again, through the girls’ playroom, past acres of Barbies and stuffed animals, and down the stairs to the kitchen. I stopped briefly in Rosario’s room to thank the Virgin of Guadalupe.
I’d been upstairs ninety minutes—nerves had made it seem even longer. I slipped outside and down the drive without anyone stopping me. Morrell was waiting for me at the bend in the road. His face was pinched with anxiety, but I felt lighter–hearted than I had in months.
45 Fugitive