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"What hypothesis?"
"I'll tell you later. Quit worrying."
She left O
"It would help if I knew what you were looking for," I said.
"I know how his mind works. There's something here he doesn't want us to see. Let's try his office."
I wanted to protest but knew she wasn't listening.
Beck's corner location was prime – spacious, with clear cherry paneling and the same footstep-muffling green carpeting. The room was furnished with low-slung chrome-and-leather chairs of the sort that require winch and pulley action to remove yourself once you've been foolish enough to sit. His desktop was black slate, a curious surface unless he favored doing his long division in chalk along the length. Reba used the same tissue to avoid leaving latent prints on his desk drawers. I loitered uneasily in the doorway.
Dissatisfied, she pivoted. She studied every aspect of the room and finally crossed to the paneled wall, where she tapped her way across, listening for evidence of a hollow space behind. At one point, she activated a touch latch and a door sprang open, but the only treasure revealed was his liquor supply, complete with cut glass decanters and assorted glasses. She said, "Shit." She pushed the door shut and returned to his desk. She sat in his swivel chair and did a second survey from that vantage point.
"Would you hurry up?" I hissed. "Marty could show up any minute, wondering where we went."
She pushed the chair back and leaned down so she could examine the underside of his desk. She extended her hand, almost to the length of her arm. I wasn't sure what she'd discovered and I didn't care to be a witness. I stepped out into the hall and looked toward the reception area. So far no Marty. Idly I noted the fact that the paintings were graduated in size with the largest near the elevators and the smaller ones, in diminishing proportions back here. From the viewpoint of a visitor, the effect would be to create the illusion of corridors much longer than they were – an amusing trompe 1'oeil effect.
Reba emerged from Beck's office and grabbed me by the elbow, steering me toward the wide stairs that led up to the roof.
"What's up there besides the roof garden?"
"That's why we're going up – because we don't know," she said. She took the steps two at a time and I kept pace with her. A glass door at the top opened into a fully landscaped garden: trees, shrubs, and flower beds separated by gravel paths that meandered out of sight. Landscape lighting made the whole of it glow. Chairs and umbrella-shaded tables were placed in assorted patios that were dotted throughout. A four-foot wall encircled the perimeter with dazzling city views in all directions.
Central to the garden was what looked like a gardener's cottage, the exterior encompassed by trellises on which gaudy passionflower vines wound up and across, thick with purple blossoms. There was a sign half-concealed in the profusion of greenery. Curious, I pulled the foliage aside.
"What is it?" she asked.
"'Danger. High Voltage.' There's a phone number for the building supervisor if work needs to be done. Must be a transformer or maybe part of the electrical service. Who knows? I guess it could be housing for the elevators, along with central heating and air conditioning. You have to put stuff like that somewhere." The little building seemed to hum in a way that suggested you'd be fried to a crisp if you made one wrong move.
From the stairway, Marty called up to us. "Hey, Reba?"
"Up here."
"I don't mean to rush you, but we ought to get going. Beck doesn't like strangers on the premises."
"I'm hardly a stranger, Marty. I'm his favorite screw."
"Yeah, well, he'll be pissed anyway and take it out on me."
"No problem. We're ready anytime you are," she said, and then to me: "Take your car keys and wallet out of your shoulder bag and leave it behind that thing."
"My bag? I'm not going to leave my shoulder bag. Are you nuts?"
"Do it."
Marty appeared at the top of the stairs, apparently not trusting us to come down the stairs on our own. He leaned against the stair rail, his breathing stertorous from the climb. Reba crossed to the landing and linked her arm into his, turning to admire the mountains visible in the distance. "What a view! Perfect setting for an office party."
Marty took out a handkerchief and wiped his face, which was glistening with perspiration. "We haven't done that so far. Good weather, the gals eat their lunch out here and grab a little sun. Bad days, they use the break room like they did at the old place, only this one's fancier."
"The break room? I didn't see that."
"I can show you on the way out."
Reba turned to me. "Everything okay?"
"Right behind you," I said.
The two started down the stairs. Grousing to myself, I'd done as she'd instructed, removing my keys and wallet from my bag, which I shoved behind a big potted ficus tree. I hoped she knew what she was doing because I sure as shit didn't. Looking back wistfully, I moved toward the stairs.
I caught up with them in what looked like a midsize kitchen. Sink, dishwasher, two microwaves, a side-by-side refrigerator-freezer, and two vending machines, one with soft drinks, the other with candy bars, potato chips, peanut butter crackers, cookies, packages of nuts, and other fatty snacks. There was a large table in the center of the room surrounded by chairs.
"Is this great?" she said.
I said, "Swell."
"You ready?" Marty asked me.
"Sure. I'm fine. It's been fun."
"Good. Let me get my briefcase and I can lock up."
The three of us proceeded down the hall toward the elevators. As Marty passed his office, he ducked out of sight and reappeared with his briefcase. Reba leaned around the door frame. "Nice office. Did you do this yourself?"
"Oh god, no. Beck hired a design firm to handle everything, except the plants. We have another company for those."
"Pretty highfalutin," she remarked.
We watched as Marty pushed the elevator button, calling the car from down below. While we waited, Reba pointed to a third elevator on the far side of the reception desk. "What's that one for?"
"Service elevator. It's mostly for hauling cartons up and down, file cabinets, furniture, stuff like that. We have fifteen, twenty firms on these three upper floors. That's a lot of office supplies and copy machines. Plus, the cleaning crew uses it when they come in."
"Bart and his brother still work weekends?"
"Fridays, same as ever. They'll be coming in at midnight," he said.
"Nice to know some things don't change. The rest is a major upgrade. Might know Beck would do that as soon as I'm out the door."
The elevator arrived and the doors slid open. Marty reached around and pressed the Door Open button while he entered the alarm system code on the keypad to the right. Reba displayed only cursory interest. Once the three of us got on, Marty released the button and pressed 1 for the first floor. We descended without saying much, all three of us watching the digital floor numbers flash from 4 to 3 to 2 to 1.
As we emerged, the doors to one of the two elevators in the alcove opened and a two-man cleaning crew emerged with their cart and loaded a vacuum cleaner, assorted brooms and mops, industrial-size bottles of cleaning solutions, and packets of paper toweling to resupply the restrooms. Both wore coveralls with a company logo stitched across the back. One gave Willard a nod and he returned a one-finger salute. Reba watched the two men cross the alcove and enter the service elevator.