She said nothing.
He turned and saw that she was gazing listlessly at the table. It had already been set with silverware and napkins, glasses of juice and a small crock of maple syrup. Again he felt that stab of regret. I’ve finally found a woman I care about, a woman I could love, and I’m doing my best to push her away.
“So,” she said softly. “What do you propose, Sam?”
“I think another man should be assigned to protect you. Someone who has no personal involvement with you.”
“Is that what we have? A personal involvement?”
“What else would you call it?”
She shook her head. “I’m beginning to think we have no involvement at all.”
“For God’s sake, Nina. We slept with each other! How can two people get more involved than that?”
“For some people, sex is purely a physical act. And that’s all it is.” Her chin tilted up in silent inquiry. For some people.
Meaning me?
Damn it, he refused to get caught up in this hopeless conversation. She was baiting him, trying to get him to admit there was more to that act of lovemaking than just sex. He was not about to admit the truth, not about to let her know how terrified he was of losing her.
He knew what had to be done.
He crossed the kitchen to the telephone. He’d call Coopersmith, ask him to assign a man to pull guard duty. He was about to pick up the receiver when the phone suddenly rang.
He answered it with a curt “Navarro.”
“Sam, it’s me.”
“Morning, Gillis.”
“Morning? It’s nearly noon. I’ve already put in a full day here.”
“Yeah, I’m hanging my head in shame.”
“You should. We’ve got that lineup scheduled for one o’clock. Bellhops from five different hotels. You think you can bring Nina Cormier down here to take a look? That is, if she’s there with you.”
“She’s here,” admitted Sam.
“That’s what I figured. Be here at one o’clock, got it?”
“We’ll be there.” He hung up and ran his hand through his damp hair. God. Nearly noon? He was getting lazy. Careless. All this agonizing over him and Nina, over a relationship that really had nowhere to go, was cutting into his effectiveness as a cop. If he didn’t do his job right, she was the one who’d suffer.
“What did Gillis say?” he heard her ask.
He turned to her. “They’ve scheduled a lineup at one o’clock. Want you to look at a few hotel bellhops. You up to it?”
“Of course. I want this over with as much as you do.”
“Good.”
“And you’re right about turning me over to another cop. It’s all for the best.” She met his gaze with a look of clear-eyed determination. “You have more important things to do than baby-sit me.”
He didn’t try to argue with her. In fact, he didn’t say a thing. But as she walked out of the kitchen, leaving him standing alone by that cozily set breakfast table, he thought, You’re wrong. There’s no more important job in the world to me than watching over you.
* * *
EIGHT MEN STOOD on the other side of the one-way mirror. All of them were facing forward. All of them looked a little sheepish about being there.
Nina carefully regarded each man’s uniform in turn, searching for any hint of familiarity. Any detail at all that might trip a memory.
She shook her head. “I don’t see the right uniform.”
“You’re absolutely certain?” asked Gillis.
“I’m certain. It wasn’t any of those.”
She heard an undisguised snort of disappointment. It came from Norm Liddell, the D.A. who was standing next to Gillis. Sam, poker-faced, said nothing.
“Well, this was a big waste of my time,” muttered Liddell. “Is this all you’ve come up with, Navarro? A bellhop roundup?”
“We know Spectre was wearing some sort of uniform similar to a bellhop’s,” said Sam. “We just wanted her to look over a few.”
“We did track down a police report of that bike accident,” said Gillis. “The bicyclist himself called it in. I think he was worried about a lawsuit, so he made a point of stating that he hit the man outside a crosswalk. Apparently, Spectre was jaywalking when he was hit on Congress Street.”
“Congress?” Liddell frowned.
“Right near the Pioneer Hotel,” said Sam. “Which, we’ve found out, is where the Governor plans to stay day after tomorrow. He’s the guest speaker at some small business seminar.”
“You think Spectre’s target is the Governor?”
“It’s a possibility. We’re having the Pioneer checked and double-checked. Especially the Governor’s room.”
“What about the Pioneer’s bellhops?”
“We eliminated all of them, just based on height and age. No one’s missing any fingers. That one there—number three—is the closest to Spectre’s description. But he has all his fingers, too. We just wanted Nina to take a look at the uniform, see if it jogged a memory.”
“But no one in that lineup is Spectre.”
“No. We’ve looked at everyone’s hands. No missing fingers.”
Nina’s gaze turned to number three in the lineup. He was dressed in a bellhop’s red jacket and black pants. “Is that what all the Pioneer’s bellhops wear?” she asked.
“Yeah,” said Gillis. “Why?”
“I don’t think that’s the uniform I saw.”
“What’s different about it?”
“The man I saw in the E.R.—I’m just remembering it—his jacket was green. Sort of a forest green. It was definitely not red.”
Gillis shook his head. “We got us a problem then. The Holiday Inn’s uniform is red, too. Marriott’s green, but it’s not located anywhere near the bicycle accident.”
“Check out their staff anyway,” Liddell ordered. “If you have to interview every bellhop in town, I want this guy caught. And I sure as hell want him caught before he blows up some high-muck-a-muck. When’s the Governor arriving tomorrow?”
“Sometime in the afternoon,” said Gillis.
Liddell glanced at his watch. “We have a full twenty-four hours. If anything comes up, I get called. Got it?”
“Yes, sir, your highness,” muttered Gillis.
Liddell glanced sharply at him, but obviously decided to drop it. “My wife and I’ll be at the Brant Theater tonight. I’ll have my beeper with me, just in case.”
“You’ll be first on our list to call,” said Sam.
“We’re in the spotlight on this. So let’s not screw up.” It was Liddell’s parting shot, and the two cops took it in silence.
Only after Liddell had left the room did Gillis growl, “I’m gonna get that guy. I swear, I’m gonna get him.”
“Cool it, Gillis. He may be governor someday.”
“In which case, I’ll help Spectre plant the damn bomb myself.”
Sam took Nina’s arm and walked her out of the room. “Come on. I have my hands full today. I’ll introduce you to your new watchdog.”
Passing me off already, she thought. Was she such a nuisance to him?
“For now, we’re keeping you in a hotel,” he said. “Officer Pressler’s been assigned to watch over you. He’s a sharp cop. I trust him.”
“Meaning I should, too?”
“Absolutely. I’ll call you if we turn up any suspects. We’ll need you to identify them.”
“So I may not be seeing you for a while.”
He stopped in the hallway and looked at her. “No. It may be a while.”
They faced each other for a moment. The hallway was hardly private; certainly this wasn’t the time or the place to confess how she felt about him. She wasn’t even sure how she felt about him. All she knew was that it hurt to say goodbye. What hurt even worse was to look in his eyes and see no regret, no distress. Just that flat, unemotional gaze.
So it was back to Mr. Civil Servant. She could deal with that. After the trauma of this last
week, she could deal with anything, including the realization that she had, once again, gotten involved with the wrong man.
She met his gaze with one just as cool and said, “You find Spectre. I’ll identify him. Just do it soon, okay? So I can get on with my life.”
“We’re working on it round the clock. We’ll keep you informed.”
“Can I count on that?”
He answered with a curt dip of the head. “It’s part of my job.”
* * *
OFFICER LEON PRESSLER was not a conversationalist. In fact, whether he could converse at all was in question. For the past three hours, the muscular young cop had done a terrific sphinx imitation, saying nary a word as he roamed the hotel room, alternately checking the door and glancing out the third floor window. The most he would say was “Yes, ma’am,” or “No, ma’am,” and that was only in response to a direct question. Was the strong, silent bit some kind of cop thing? Nina wondered. Or was he under orders not to get too chatty with the witness?
She tried to read a novel she’d picked up in the hotel gift shop, but after a few chapters she gave up. His silence made her too nervous. It was simply not natural to spend a day in a hotel room with another person and not, at the very least, talk to each other. Lord knew, she tried to draw him out.
“Have you been a cop a long time, Leon?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Do you enjoy it?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Does it ever scare you?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Never?”
“Sometimes.”
Now they were getting somewhere, she thought.
But then Officer Pressler crossed the room and peered out the window, ignoring her.
She put her book aside and launched another attempt at conversation.
“Does this sort of assignment bore you?” she asked.
“No, ma’am.”
“It would bore me. Spending all day in a hotel room doing nothing.”
“Things could happen.”
“And I’m sure you’ll be ready for it.” Sighing, she reached for the remote and clicked on the TV. Five minutes of channel surfing turned up nothing of interest. She clicked it off again. “Can I make a phone call?” she asked.
“Sorry.”
“I just want to call my nursing supervisor at Maine Medical. To tell her I won’t be coming in next week.”
“Detective Navarro said no phone calls. It’s necessary for your safety. He was very specific on that.”
“What else did the good detective tell you?”
“I’m to keep a close eye. Not let my guard down for a minute. Because if anything happened to you…” He paused and gave a nervous cough.
“What?”
“He’d, uh, have my hide.”
“That’s quite an incentive.”
“He wanted to make sure I took special care. Not that I’d let anything happen. I owe him that much.”
She frowned at him. He was at the window again, peering down at the street. “What do you mean, you owe him?”
Officer Pressler didn’t move from the window. He stood looking out, as though unwilling to meet her gaze. “It was a few years back. I was on this domestic call. Husband didn’t much like me sticking my nose into his business. So he shot me.”
“My god.”
“I radioed for help. Navarro was first to respond.” Pressler turned and looked at her. “So you see, I do owe him.” Calmly he turned back to the window.
“How well do you know him?” she asked softly.
Pressler shrugged. “He’s a good cop. But real private. I’m not sure anyone knows him very well.”
Including me, she thought. Sighing, she clicked on the boob tube again and channel surfed past a jumble of daytime soaps, a TV court show and a golf tournament. She could almost feel another few brain cells collapse into mush.
What was Sam doing right now? she wondered.
And ruthlessly suppressed the thought. Sam Navarro was his own man. That much was perfectly clear.
She would have to be her own woman.
* * *
I WONDER WHAT Nina’s doing right now. At once Sam tried to suppress the thought, tried to concentrate instead on what was being said at the meeting, but his mind kept drifting back to the subject of Nina. Specifically, her safety. He had every reason to trust Leon Pressler. The young cop was sharp and reliable, and he owed his life to Sam. If anyone could be trusted to keep Nina out of harm’s way, it would be Pressler.
Still, he couldn’t shake that lingering sense of uneasiness. And fear. It was one more indication that he’d lost his objectivity, that his feelings were way out of control. To the point of affecting his work…
“…the best we can do? Sam?”
Sam suddenly focused on Abe Coopersmith. “Excuse me?”
Coopersmith sighed. “Where the hell are you, Navarro?”
“I’m sorry. I let my attention drift for a moment.”
Gillis said, “Chief asked if we’re following any other leads.”
“We’re following every lead we have,” Sam informed him. “The sketch of Spectre is circulating. We’ve checked all the hotels in Portland. So far, no employees with a missing finger. Problem is, we’re operating blind. We don’t know Spectre’s target, when he plans to strike or where he plans to strike. All we have is a witness who’s seen his face.”
“And this bit about the bellhop’s uniform.”
“That’s right.”
“Have you shown all those uniforms to Miss Cormier? To help us identify which hotel we’re talking about?”
“We’re getting together a few more samples for her to look at,” said Gillis. “Also, we’ve interviewed that bicyclist. He doesn’t remember much about the man he hit. It happened so fast, he didn’t really pay attention to the face. But he does back up Miss Cormier’s recollection that the uniform jacket was green. Some shade of it, anyway. And he confirms that it happened on Congress Street, near Franklin Avenue.”
“We’ve combed that whole area,” said Sam. “Showed the sketch to every shopkeeper and clerk within a five-block radius. No one recognized the face.”
Coopersmith gave a grunt of frustration. “We’ve got the Governor arriving tomorrow afternoon. And a bomber somewhere in the city.”
“We don’t know if there’s a connection. Spectre could be targeting someone else entirely. It all depends on who hired him.”
“He may not even plan a hit at all,” suggested Gillis. “Maybe he’s finished his job. Maybe he’s left town.”
“We have to assume he’s still here,” cautioned Coopersmith. “And up to no good.”
Sam nodded in agreement. “We have twenty-four hours before the Governor’s meeting. By then, something’s bound to turn up.”
“God, I hope so,” said Coopersmith, and he rose to leave. “If there’s one thing we don’t need, it’s another bomb going off. And a dead Governor.”
* * *
“LET’S TAKE IT from the top. Measure 36.” The conductor raised his baton, brought it down again. Four beats later, the trumpets blared out the opening notes of “Wrong Side of the Track Blues,” to be joined seconds later by woodwinds and bass. Then the sax slid in, its plaintive whine picking up the melody.
“Never did understand jazz,” complained the Brant Theater manager, watching the rehearsal from the middle aisle. “Lotta sour notes if you ask me. All the instruments fighting with each other.”
“I like jazz,” said the head usher.
“Yeah, well, you like rap, too. So I don’t think much of your taste.” The manager glanced around the theater, surveying the empty seats. He noted that everything was clean, that there was no litter in the aisles. The audience tonight would be a discriminating crowd. Bunch of lawyer types. They wouldn’t appreciate sticky floors or wadded-up programs in the chairs.
Just a year ago, this building had been a porn palace, showing X-rated films to an audience of na
meless, faceless men. The new owner had changed all that. Now, with a little private money from a local benefactor, the Brant Theater had been rehabilitated into a live performance center, featuring stage plays and musical artists. Unfortunately, the live performances brought in fewer crowds than the porn had. The manager wasn’t surprised.
Tonight, at least, a big audience was assured—five hundred paid and reserved seats, with additional walk-ins expected, to benefit the local Legal Aid office. Imagine that. All those lawyers actually paying to hear jazz. He didn’t get it. But he was glad these seats would be filled.
“Looks like we may be short a man tonight,” said the head usher.
“Who?”
“That new guy you hired. You know, the one from the agency. Showed up for work two days ago. Haven’t heard from him since. I tried calling him, but no luck.”
The manager cursed. “Can’t rely on these agency hires.”
“That’s for sure.”
“You just gotta work the crowd with four men tonight.”
“Gonna be a bear. Five hundred reserved seats and all.”
“Let some of ’em find their own seats. They’re lawyers. They’re supposed to have brains.” The manager glanced at his watch. It was six-thirty. He’d have just enough time to wolf down that corned beef sandwich in his office. “Doors open in an hour,” he said. “Better get your supper now.”
“Sure thing,” replied the head usher. He swept up the green uniform jacket from the seat where he’d left it. And, whistling, he headed up the aisle for his dinner.
* * *
AT SEVEN-THIRTY, OFFICER Pressler escorted Nina back to police headquarters. The building was quieter than it had been that afternoon, most of the desks deserted, and only an occasional clerk circulating in the halls. Pressler brought Nina upstairs and ushered her into an office.
Sam was there.
He gave her only the most noncommittal of greetings: a nod, a quiet hello. She responded in kind. Pressler was in the room too, as were Gillis and another man in plainclothes, no doubt a cop as well. With an audience watching, she was not about to let her feelings show. Obviously Sam wasn’t, either.