Her plate was still on the table. She picked it up and pushed her laptop toward him. He opened it and began to type while she put the plate in the sink. He was glad he had memorized Peter Caldwell’s birth date, last address, and Social Security number. After he filled in a grid and clicked a couple of boxes, he turned the computer around and pushed it in front of her so she could see the screen.
As the information appeared on the screen, she began to read it. After a minute or two of silence, she looked up. “Okay.”
“Okay what?”
“You don’t seem to be a deadbeat or a screwup or something. You’ve got a whole lot of credit available, but still have a mammoth rating. You pay your bills on time.” She scrolled up and down. “Why so many banks?”
“I like banks.”
“Not as much as they like you.” She shrugged. “Okay, I’m satisfied.”
“Thank you.” He spun the computer around and terminated the connection. He stood up and started toward the living room.
“Wait,” she said.
He stopped. “For what?”
“The apology. Here it comes.”
“Keep it. I’m very impressed with you for being so tough and persistent. You’re a fine daughter. Now I hope you’ll stop invading my privacy.”
“I will.”
As he walked out of the kitchen toward his room, he hoped she would keep her promise. Since he had come to Chicago he had not yet forced himself to settle certain issues in his own mind, and dealing with Sarah made him think about them. He had been in wars, and he had a long familiarity with the necessity of killing an attacker. He wasn’t sure he was as comfortable with killing someone who threatened his life less directly or intentionally, like Sarah and Zoe.
10
The next evening, after his confrontation with Sarah, Caldwell was in his room listening to the radio with earphones attached to his computer while he studied various sources to give him an idea of what his pursuers might be doing, and who they were. Since the night he left Vermont, he wondered how the death of the man who had broken into his house had been kept out of the newspapers. He had called the police and cops had come and interviewed him. Others had examined the crime scene. Men from the medical examiner’s office had taken the body away.
He had discovered that the police blotter for Norwich was on the police website, and he searched it every few days, but found no mention of the incident. The only way he knew of for the record to be wiped away so completely was if intelligence officers had gone to the police and persuaded them that the case was a national security issue. But they would have had to do it right away, before word got out, and that meant someone in the government had known about the incident the night it happened.
Suddenly the dogs both lifted their heads at once. He watched them to see if it was simply a reaction to something too distant to be of concern or a developing threat. He took off the earphones. There was a quiet knock, and he stood up and went to open the door.
Standing in the doorway was Zoe, and she was smiling. She was wearing a blue dress with simple lines and no unnecessary ornamentation. It was very pretty on her. “You look very nice,” he said. “You don’t wear dresses very often. Are you going out?”
“No,” she said. “Sarah left a few minutes ago to spend the evening with some friends. They picked her up, and she’ll be gone for hours. I thought this dress might be appropriate for this occasion.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. Dresses aren’t what’s uncomfortable. It’s all the gear you wear under them.” She lifted the hem of her dress so he could see her thigh-high stockings. She lifted it higher, so he saw that she had nothing else under the dress. “I thought this might be better.”
“I agree,” he said. He scooped her up and began to carry her to his bed.
“Careful,” she said. “This is an expensive dress, and I’ve never worn it before.”
He set her on her feet, reached around her, and unzipped the dress. She let it slide down and stepped out of it, and then draped it on the nearest chair. He went to the door, reopened it, and said, “Carol. Dave. Out.”
The two dogs jumped to the floor and trotted out. He closed the door and locked it.
Peter and Zoe came together in an embrace, and kissed gently. She unbuttoned his shirt, and he shed the rest of his clothes. In a moment they were on his bed, making love. He was conscious and premeditated, trying to be the most thoughtful and considerate lover possible. He knew this was a chance to make her feel more attached to him, and he tried to work his way into her mind, to manipulate her into feeling pleasure at the thought of him, to make her feel safe and secure, and yet agitated and impatient for each touch. When it was over, they lay together on the cool sheet, the rest of the bedding pushed off the end of the bed. Their hands were clasped, but they didn’t speak.
Suddenly, there was a jarring sound, an insistent beep. They both sat up.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Oh, crap,” said Zoe. “It’s my watch. I set the alarm so I could be sure Sarah wouldn’t catch us.” She held up her wrist and pressed a button for silence.
“Kids her age don’t come home at ten,” he said.
She looked at him, her face concerned and apologetic. “She gets up very early to study. Haven’t you noticed?”