Mistaken Identity

“Yes,” he said, on the line after a split second.

Alice fake-coughed into the receiver. “I think I caught a cold,” she said. She didn’t say more in case Bullock’s lines were tapped. She didn’t need to, Bullock would understand. They’d worked out a code for the business and for times like this. Alice had given Bullock a name to call if she got into trouble on the inside. They’d try to stop the contract from the outside. It wasn’t exactly Bullock’s element of society, but he’d do it for her because he had no choice.

“A cough?” Bullock said. “Sorry to hear that.”

“Gotta go.” Alice hung up, satisfied for the time being. Bullock was reliable, if nothing else. It was good to have an accountant and lawyer in one shot. Bullock was one of the suits from the Chamber of Commerce who’d wanted to invest in Star. Then Alice found a surer way for him to make a buck, only tax-free.

Alice’s eyes swept the last of the lines and Leonia wasn’t anywhere in sight. Bullock would get to work on the outside, but on the inside she’d have to watch her back. She slipped into the housing unit and headed for her cell.

25

Be

“Lou,” Be

“I ain’t blind,” he said. “I been putting up with those jerks since lunch. Already they’re finding who else is in the building and makin’ up fake appointments.” He scowled at the reporters, his crow’s-feet wrinkling deeply in skin thickened with tan, from weekends on his motorboat. He wore his silvery hair slicked back, and his nose was strong as a seagull’s beak. A compact man, Lou wore his navy-blue uniform with a certain pride, which Be

“I have to get out of here, Lou. Can I take the freight elevator?”

“No way. You don’t have freight.”

“Pretend I’m holding a fax machine.”

“Forget it.”

“Come on, Lou. You go

“If I can watch.”

Be

Lou shook his head. “You can’t use the freight. It’s against the rules.”

“Christ, Lou, don’t give me the rules. You want rules or you want reporters? Your choice, bucko.”

Lyman Bullock leapt to his wingtips behind his mahogany desk, his light eyes wide and his small mouth partly open, emphasizing his cleft chin. His pale skin reddened and his neck bulged over a stiff white collar, fastened by a collar pin that threatened asphyxiation. The lawyer’s demeanor told the truth, though he never would. “I don’t know anyone named Alice Co

“You obviously do, you’re not even a good liar. Didn’t you go to law school?”

“I thought you said you wanted to see me about a case.”

“I do, Alice Co

“No.”

“Listen, Lyman. I’m not here to disrupt your life or to pry. May I sit down?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Thank you.” Be

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Bullock remained standing, his back stiff as a Chippendale chair. Behind his desk, twin diplomas hung on the wall, evidencing law and accounting degrees, and framed photographs of his family rested on a cherrywood credenza. His wife, with frosted hair and graduated pearls, smiled untroubled from a photo in an engraved silver frame. “I told you,” he repeated, “I don’t know anyone named Alice Co

“I have reason to believe you do. You were seen picking her up at the Free Library. You drive a late-model brown Mercedes.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He bent from the waist, only far enough to pick up the phone. “Martha, call security. There’s an intruder in my office.”

“It’s in your best interest to talk to me. If you’ll talk here, we won’t have to chat in court, where there’s an almost criminal lack of good taste.”

“Think twice before you consider serving me with a subpoena. I wouldn’t make a very good witness at all.” Bullock let the telephone receiver clatter to its cradle. “I have a terrible memory. I couldn’t answer any of your questions. It would make you look foolish in front of the jury.”

“You and Alice were having an affair.”

“I don’t know any Alice and I’m offended by such an accusation. I’m a married man.”

“What were you doing then, picking her up at the library?”

“I never did any such a thing.”

“I have an eyewitness.”

“Your witness must have seen someone else.”

“Christ, who are you kidding?” Be

“Mr. Bullock?” the guard said, looking around for the terrorist he’d been told to expect and finding only a pissed-off blonde.

Bullock waved a soft hand in Be

Be

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you care about her at all?” she asked, hating the emotion in her voice, but her question was mooted by the security guard, who propelled her from the office.

Back in her building, Be

“I don’t give a damn what you do,” Lou said grimly. He carried a cardboard box that held pictures of his grandchildren and the blue squeeze ball he palmed most of the day. “My days of baby-sittin’ you are over.”

“You going somewhere?”

“Looks that way. I’m retired again.”

“You hate being retired. Why did you quit?”

“I didn’t. I got fired.”

“Fired? Why?”

“Breach of company policy. Step aside, please. I got freight.”

Be

“Forget about it. Move over.” Lou edged past her and walked into the elevator cab, draped in blue quilting. He hit the DOWN button, but Be

“But what are you go

“I told you. Retire. Take the boat out. Go diving. Ride my bike. Fish.”

“Fish?”

“You know, those things that swim in water.”

“You won’t get another job?”

“It’ll take time. Not many jobs for men my age, even as good-lookin’ as I am. Now step aside,” Lou said, but Be

“Lou, I need an investigator. You want the job?”

“You’re kidding.” He smiled dryly.