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Reba pointed. Ten car lengths to our right there was a nondescript door marked "Service. No Admittance." Beyond that, the ramp for second-, third-, and fourth-level parking spiraled up and out of sight.
"Won't that be locked?" I asked, feeling that queasy sense of excitement at the notion of going where we weren't supposed to be.
"For sure. I told you I did some reco
O
"A second set? That's not smart."
"Not real books. The information's all on disks. He's over there every couple of days, dropping off the updates. What's he going to do? He's a businessman. Even if what he's doing is illegal, he still has to keep records. You think he doesn't have to provide a full accounting to Salustio?"
"Sure, but it still seems risky."
"Beck adores taking risks. He's addicted to the rush."
"I can relate to that."
Reba continued to finger the safe-deposit keys. "Wonder if there's any way to get into these boxes…"
"Reba…"
"I didn't say I'd do it. He changed banks the minute I went to prison, so I wouldn't be a signatory in any event. It's probably Marty now."
"Swear you're going to put those back."
"I told you I would. As soon as I've made dupes."
"Goddamn it, Reba. Are you totally out of your mind?"
"Pretty much." She glanced back over her shoulder at the vast empty garage. "We better get going before someone else shows up."
We got out of the car and walked to the service door, our footsteps echoing against the bare concrete walls. Reba tried the knob, locked as anticipated, and then used the key O
I pointed to the left. She shrugged and handed me the keys. I had to do a bit of experimenting to find the right one. O
Reba said, "Aha!"
We closed the first door and moved to the second. "Your turn," I said. "I'd go for the key marked number four."
"No sweat. I already know what's behind this one." She eased the key into the lock, turned it, and pushed the door open. We stood looking into a long windowless corridor. Flats of fluorescent lights affixed to the ceiling lent a bluish cast to the air. At regular intervals, oversize metal doors on either side of the hall opened into the shipping and receiving departments of the various shops along the mall, some of which fronted on Chapel Street and some on the mall's interior esplanade. Signs above the doors indicated the respective retailers: the luggage shop, a children's clothing store, an Italian pottery outlet, the jewelry store, and so on down the line.
I studied the layout. There was no sign of the two elevators I'd seen in the lobby above, but a solid wall of concrete suggested the bottom of the shaft that housed them. A short distance away, a mirror located in the upper right-hand corner was tilted to reveal the alcove, reflecting an image of the service elevator and the second elevator I'd noticed on the lobby level. I started to move forward, but Reba extended her arm, effectively blocking me like the gate at a railroad crossing. She put a finger to her lips and pointed up and to the right.
I spotted a corner-mounted security camera, its aperture focused squarely on the far end of the hall. There was a telephone attached to the wall, presumably to facilitate communication between the front desk and deliverymen. We backed up and eased the door shut. Even so, she dropped her voice to an almost inaudible murmur. "After you dropped me off last night, I picked up my car and came back so I could chat with Willie. He's nice, not as tight-assed as you'd think. Big chess buff. Plays duplicate bridge, and I swear to god, he bakes sourdough bread. Says he's had the same starter for nine years. Whole time we're yakking, I'm checking out the monitors – all ten of 'em – so I'll know what he sees. I was catching flashes of this view, but I didn't know where it was until we opened the door down here. Upstairs, he's got line of sight in both directions on all the hallways, but nothing in the elevators and nothing on the roof."
"What about Beck's offices?"
"Oh, please. Beck wouldn't put up with that Big Brother shit. He doesn't mind Willie spying on his tenants, but not on him."
"Seems like heavy security for a building this size."
"Interesting, isn't it? I thought so myself."
"So where'd the elevators disappear to?"
"The public elevators stop at lobby level. Clearly, Beck doesn't want anyone to have access to his offices from down here," she said. "One elevator does a short loop between the parking garage and the lobby. Anybody who needs to reach floors two, three, or four has to exit into the lobby and cross to the public elevators. That way, Willie can intercept them and quiz them. You better have a pretty good reason for being in the building or you're out of luck. If you need to take an elevator down this far, you have to have a key. There isn't any button you can push."
"But if the service elevator originates down here, can't someone hop on down here and bypass Willard altogether?" I asked. "I mean, even with the cameras rolling he can't be watching all ten monitors at once."
"In theory, you're right, but it'd be tricky. For one thing, all these passageways are kept locked -"
"Which didn't keep us out."
"And for another," she said, plowing right on, "there's a security code for every floor. You could risk the service elevator – assuming Willie didn't spot you in the corridor down here – but you couldn't get off unless you knew the code for the alarm panel on any given floor. Mess up the numbers and all hell breaks loose."
"Which means what to us, exactly?"
"Which means we better impose on Willie's good nature and retrieve your purse before the end of his shift."
Chapter 21
We retraced our steps, emerging from the service corridor in the parking garage near Macy's. We crossed to the escalator and went up one level to the esplanade. When we reached the front entrance to the Beckwith Building, Reba pushed the door and discovered that it was locked. She cupped her hands to the plate glass. "Hey, Willie. Over here."
She tapped on the glass to get the security guard's attention. The minute he looked up, she gave him an enthusiastic wave and pantomimed his unlocking of the door. Willard shook her off, like a pitcher shaking off a sign. Reba motioned him over with an exaggerated rolling of her arm. He stared at her, unmoved, and she clasped her hands together earnestly as though in prayer. Reluctantly he left his perch at the desk and crossed to the door, where he said, "Building's closed!" from his side of the glass.
"Come o
He considered the request, his ambivalence clearly evident.
She put her mouth against the glass and made a big sucky kiss. She gave him the big eyes and produced the dimples for effect. "Please, please, please?"