The Escape Artist

  "Did you call the police?"

  She should have guessed that would be his first question. "No, I—"

  "I'll be right over. I'll call the police from here and have them meet us there."

  "No!" She panicked, leaning toward the phone. "I mean, please don't. Please just come over yourself."

  He hesitated. "All right. I'll be there in a few minutes. Don't go in by yourself."

  She hung up in relief, trying to ignore the little wave of guilt she felt over turning to Adam for help when she'd spent the night before with Linc.

  She was pulling up in front of the house again when she suddenly remembered the leaky faucet, and she felt like a fool. Of course. The plumber had probably gone in to fix the leak and neglected to shut the door tightly when he let himself out.

  She had convinced herself of that explanation by the time Adam arrived. She was sitting on the front steps with Cody, shivering in the cold, and although Cody was dressed warmly enough, he was fussy, annoyed at being carted around when he belonged sound asleep in his crib.

  "Hi." Adam stood at the bottom of the porch steps and looked up at the darkened windows of her apartment.

  "I think I know what happened," she said. "I forgot that I'd asked Ellen to fix the faucet in my bathroom. The plumber probably did his work and then forgot to lock the door."

  "Well, let me take a look." Adam started up the porch steps.

  She stood up. "I'll come with you."

  "No. You and Cody stay down here while I make sure the coast's clear."

  She walked into the house with him and waited at the bottom of the stairs while he went up to her apartment. After a minute, he leaned his head out the door. "All clear," he said.

  She walked up the stairs, her exhausted son in her arms. Adam had turned on the lights in the apartment, and Kim carried Cody into the bedroom and laid him in his crib. She would get him into his pajamas later. She turned on the heat and began to look around the apartment. "Nothing's out of place," she said. "I bet it was the plumber. Although…" She cocked her head to listen. The drip of the faucet was as loud as it had been when she left. She rolled her eyes. "I don't believe it," she said.

  "Did you leave your computer on?" Adam was standing in front of the computer, and she walked over to join him. The screen saver was on, and she realized that had been the source of the pale light she'd seen reflected on the wall.

  "No." She stared woodenly at the screen. "No, I'm certain I didn't."

  The floppy discs were out of their storage case and scattered across the table top. "And I didn't leave these out either."

  "Why would anyone care about your floppy disks?" Adam asked,

  "Just a minute." She walked into her bedroom and opened the lingerie drawer. The disk containing the hit list was still there, under her bras. You could be in danger, Linc had said.

  "What's that?" Adam asked when she returned with the disk.

  Her hands were shaking. "I have to tell you something," she said. She sat down in front of the computer, then looked up at Adam. "When I bought this computer, it was very inexpensive because someone had owned it before me." For the second time in two days she repeated the story of how she'd come to own the computer and described the information she'd found on it.

  Adam sat down on the sofa, the color draining from his face as he listened to her. When she had finished, he stood up and paced toward the kitchen, then back to the sofa again, running a hand over his beard.

  "You mean that bombing we saw on TV," he said, "that law firm…that's on the disk?"

  "And that woman, too." She slipped the disk into the drive and the list of names appeared on the screen. Adam stood behind her. "This first woman was killed in an explosion on this exact date." She pointed to the information on the screen. "And here's Sellers, Sellers, and Wittaker. And as you can see, there's a man scheduled for the thirteenth of November."

  "Good God." Adam looked even more shaken by the information than she had been. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Kim. How long have you known this?" There was a reprimand in his voice. "Why haven't you called the police?"

  She stared straight ahead at the screen, unsure how to answer him. She felt his hands on her shoulders.

  "Kim?" His voice was gentler now.

  She turned to look up at him. His face was puzzled but kind and lined with worry. She bit her lip, then took his hand.

  "Can I trust you?" she asked.

  "What do you think?"

  "I want to tell you, but I…" She knew she was going to tell him everything. She was exhausted from keeping it in. "Can we sit on the couch?" she asked.

  He nodded, and they walked over to the sofa and sat down. She faced him, gripping his right hand with both of hers.

  "Please, please, don't tell anyone what I'm going to tell you. Not even Jessie. Promise me?"

  "I promise."

  "I can't call the police about this because…I have to avoid the police."

  He looked puzzled. "Have you committed a crime?"

  "Some people would say I have. You see, my ex-husband and his wife were given custody of Cody. I was going to be allowed to see him once a week. That's all. So I left with him before I had to turn him over to them."

  "But why on earth would you lose custody? You're such a good mother to him."

  His words made her smile, but only for a second. "Because they're rich and have good jobs—they're both attorneys—and live in a great house," she said. "I should know. I picked it out thinking my husband and I would be living there."

  "Did your husband have an affair with this woman?"

  She liked the way he said "this woman," as if the words tasted sour in his mouth. "Yes."

  "I didn't think their having more money than you would be enough for them to win custody."

  "Probably in and of itself, it wouldn't be. But the woman's brother was the doctor who performed heart surgery on Cody. So that added to their argument about being able to take better care of Cody than I could." She couldn't tell him about her involvement with Linc and his conviction for the murder of her father. It was far too complicated, and she didn't want Adam to think the court had made the right decision.

  Adam's face had not yet regained its color. "I'm stunned," he said. "I thought I knew you and now I—"

  "I know," she interrupted him. "I'm sorry."

  "Is Kim Stratton your real name?"

  She shook her head.

  "You poor thing," he said. "You must wake up in the morning and not know who you are."

  "That was true, at first. But now I do feel like Kim Stratton."

  "Are they looking for you?"

  "Yes, absolutely. Some sort of organization that hunts for missing children is looking for me. Plus the police. Plus the FBI. And a private investigator."

  "Holy shit, Kim. How do you know all that?"

  She hesitated. "Because of the friend I saw this weekend," she said. "He told me."

  "Oh." Adam's lips tightened. "The man in your heart."

  She nodded.

  "I don't like him much."

  She smiled. "He's not crazy about you either."

  "You told him about me?"

  "I'm honest to a fault." She nodded toward the computer. "So anyhow, I realize I do have to get this information to the police, but I want to do it without them being able to trace it to me. I thought I could print out a fresh copy of it and send it to them from—"

  "Give me the disk," Adam offered quickly. "I'll find a way to get it to them."

  "No, I really have a need to do this myself," she said.

  "Kim, that's ridiculous. Why take the chance when you don't have to? Ill figure out a way to get it to them without implicating you."

  She gnawed at her lower lip again. Maybe he was right. "How would you do it, though?" she asked.

  "I'm not sure, but I'll think of something."

  "All right." She stood up and popped the disk out of the computer, then handed it to him with an undeniable sense of relief. "But they nee
d to know right away," she said. "The next bombing is only a little more than a week away."

  "It'll be in their hands tomorrow. I promise."

  She looked around the room. It was still cold in the apartment, and she shivered. "Creepy, imagining someone being in here." She sat down next to him again. "I feel violated."

  He nodded. "Come home with me. You and Cody." He reached out to touch her cheek.

  She couldn't look him in the eye. A few hours ago, Linc had touched her the same way.

  "Just temporarily," Adam said. "You'll be safe there. And I'd love having you around."

  She could not stay with Adam tonight, not after spending the previous night with Linc. She was about to answer him when she heard Lucy's unmistakable footsteps on the stairs and the sound of her neighbor's apartment door opening and closing

  "Thanks," she said. "But I'll be all right. Lucy's home."

  "Are you going to tell her what happened?"

  She shook her head. "No. I don't need someone else asking me why I didn't call the police."

  "Good. The fewer people who know, the better."

  She could hardly believe how easy it had been, telling him everything. "Thanks for being so accepting, Adam," she said. "And for not getting upset."

  He looked pensive for a moment, then asked her, "All those things you've told me about your life, though," he said. "Were they true? That stuff about your parents being alcoholic?"

  "Yes. That was the truth."

  "And the kittens?"

  "The truth."

  "So the guy you saw in Philly. He was someone you left behind when you ran away with Cody?"

  "Yes."

  "But you're in touch with him. Isn't that risky?"

  "I'm not really in touch with him."

  "But you must be if you knew to meet him."

  She groaned with a smile. "This is hard to explain," she said. "He's a…public figure. He was able to get a message to me through a radio show."

  "Ah," Adam said, as though that made perfect sense. "Do you see him often?"

  "This was the first time since I left. And it might be the last. It's too dangerous to see him."

  "But you wish you could."

  "Adam …" She felt herself being backed into a corner. "He and I have been close friends since we were kids. I still miss him very much. I may very well never see him again, but even so, I still care about him. That's why I can't give our relationship, yours and mine, one hundred percent of myself. I'm not ready yet."

  He nodded with a rueful smile. "I think you might be too honest for your own good," he said. "Makes you too vulnerable."

  "The last thing I feel these days is honest."

  Adam stood up. "Well, look. You have a safe night tonight, and I'll come over tomorrow and put a deadbolt on this door for you, okay?"

  She nodded. "I'd appreciate it."

  He leaned forward for a light kiss, and she gave it willingly and without guilt. She'd been as honest with him about Linc as she was able to be.

  She changed her sleeping son into his pajamas after Adam left, then walked across the hall to Lucy's door.

  It was a minute before Lucy answered her knock. She was dressed in a beige terry-cloth robe, and the glow of her own computer burned on the table in her dining area.

  "Hi there," Lucy said. "Welcome back. Did you have a good little getaway?"

  "Great. How's everything here?" She was curious to know if Lucy had heard anything during the break-in, but didn't dare ask her outright.

  "It's been quiet. I'm working on an article, but would you like to come in for a minute? I could use a break."

  "No," she said. "I'm tired. I just wanted to say hi."

  "Well, good night, then, dear. See you in the morning."

  Kim lay awake in bed for an hour before finally getting up and pushing an end table in front of her apartment door. Even then, she couldn't sleep. It already felt like days since she'd been with Linc. She'd had far too short a time with him. It was like getting a taste of something rich and sweet and wonderful, and then being told she could never taste it again. She wished they had come up with some system of communicating, but maybe Linc was right. It would only make things harder for both of them.

  Adam arrived in the morning with his bag of bagels and a deadbolt lock. She was working on Noel's novel, but put it aside when Adam told her he had good news.

  "It's taken care of," he said.

  "What is?" she asked, then thought she understood. "You mean, the police have the disk? Already?"

  He nodded.

  "How did you do it?"

  He set the bag of bagels on the kitchen counter and began to explain. "I felt like I was in a movie," he said. "A thriller. First, I copied the information to another disk, so there'd be no fingerprints on it. Then I typed a note, explaining the significance of the information, and I put the disk and the note in an envelope marked 'urgent.' Then I drove around last night until I found a police car—it was parked at the all-night doughnut shop, of course." He smiled. "I put the envelope on the windshield. It was dark and I'm positive no one saw me. I parked a half a block away and watched as the cop came out of the shop and found the envelope. I saw him open it. It's in their hands now."

  She threw her arms around him. "Oh, thank you," she said. "I'm so relieved."

  She made coffee to go with the bagels, but she didn't really have time to visit with him. "I'm behind in my work," she said.

  "That's all right. Will I make too much noise for you if I install the deadbolt now?"

  "I don't think so,"

  She poured him a second cup of coffee to sip as he worked on the door, then returned to her seat in front of the computer. She began typing the next chapter in Noel's book, but was unable to concentrate. She wished now that she hadn't left that list of names with Linc. What if he tried to get it to the police himself? She hadn't really thought about the whole issue of fingerprints. Linc's would be easily traceable.

  She closed the file containing Noel's book and opened a new document.

  Dear Mr. Sebastian, she typed,

  Thanks for playing my favorites for me, but you don't have to worry about that other list I sent you. The artist has taken care of it. Still, I do hope you'll play something special for me from time to time.

  S.T.U. Downe

  –30–

  Linc was reading a paper written by one of his students when the fax arrived. He studied the brief message, his eyes instantly drawn to the middle two lines—you don't have to worry about that other list I sent you. The artist has taken care of it.

  He knew he should be pleased and relieved, but he was not. The artist was taking care of too much, it seemed.

  He had not been able to shake this heavy, dejected feeling since leaving Philadelphia the day before. Maybe it had been a mistake to see her. He wanted to be glad that she and Cody were well, that she was making friends and had so efficiently begun her life again. It had taken him by surprise, though. He thought she needed him more than she apparently did. So what did he want? Did he want her to be miserable? To have no one?

  Let her go, he told himself. Let her and Cody go.

  He remembered what she'd told him about the artist's family: they'd been killed by a drunk driver, wiped out in an instant. He should pretend that's what had happened to her. Then he could grieve, assign her and Cody to a warmly remembered part of his past, and move on. He would send her no messages in this week's show. He would not even play "Suzanne" for her. What was the point?

  The list of names and addresses and dates she'd given him was tacked on the bulletin board above his desk. He removed it from the board and carried it into the kitchen, where he poured himself a bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee. Then he sat down to eat, both the list and Susanna's fax lying on the table in front of him. Very bizarre, that list. Halfway through his breakfast, he reached for the phone and dialed Grace's number at the university library.

  "Have a minute?" he asked when he'd gotten her on the line. br />
  "For you," she answered.

  "I have a situation I want to discuss with you," he said. "If I had a list of people who all had something terrible happen to them, and I suspected that they all had something terrible happen to them because they all had something in common, how could I find out what that something is?"

  Grace was silent, and he knew he had not explained himself well.

  "Could you run that by me again?" she asked.

  He laughed. "Okay. Let's say you knew of a bunch of people who had been killed. Murdered. On the surface, they seem to have nothing in common, but you suspect that there must be something that unites them. Some reason they've been singled out for murder. Assuming they did have something in common, how would you find out what it is?"

  "Linc, what have you gotten yourself mixed up with now?"

  "This is hypothetical, Grace."

  "Oh, right. If you say so. Hold on. I've got to take another call."

  He used her absence from the line to light up a cigarette. In a moment, she was back.

  "Okay, so you think something unites these people. Do you have addresses for them? Do they all live in the same neighborhood, or work in the same office, or go to the same university?"

  He felt instantly overwhelmed. It could be any of those things and there was no way he could possibly know. "I have no idea," he said.

  "Well, you know what I would do? I would start by looking at the news coverage of their murders to see if you can tie them together that way. Or you could check the newspaper abstracts using the names of the victims to see if there might be other articles on them that could tell you something about them."

  "How do I… how does one check the newspaper abstracts?"

  "In the library, Linc. Remember that big building with all the books?"

  "But what if the people live far away?"

  "You'd want to check the local papers in the area where they live."

  "Could I check local papers from here?"

  "Depends on what we mean by local. What city are you talking about?"

  "Annapolis, Maryland." He blew a stream of smoke away from the phone, hoping Grace couldn't hear him.