DAYTON.BAK 2k
DIAZ 4k
DIAZ.BAK 4k
DIEGO 5k
DIEGO.BAK 5k
DOMINGUEZ 4k
DOMINGUEZ.BAK 4k
DRUMMER 5k
DRUMMOND.BAK 5k
DURAN 3k
DURAN.BAK 3k
DURANGO 5k
DURANGO.BAK 5k
Quickly, Buchanan opened the top drawer of the filing cabinet and took out the printed documents for D. The only way he could think of to learn whether someone had removed any of the files was to compare the names on the files with those in the computer's subdirectory. Even so, he didn't have much hope. The man who'd been hiding here to kill Juana had said that he'd erased some files in the computer, presumably to stop an investigator from doing what Buchanan was trying to do. Almost certainly the computer's list would match the names on the printed files. He wouldn't be able to tell which documents were missing.
Each computer file had a companion file marked BAK, the short form for BACKUP, signifying that the computer's memory retained the previous version of a newly updated file. DARNELL. DARNELL.BAK. Comparing, Buchanan found a printed file for that name.
He continued. DAYTON. DAYTON.BAK. Check. DIAZ. DIAZ.BAK. Check. DIEGO. DIEGO.BAK. Check. He was finding printed files for every name on the computer screen. DOMINGUEZ. DOMINGUEZ.BAK. DRUMMER. DRUMMER.BAK. DURAN. DURAN.BAK. DURANGO. DURANGO.BAK. Every name was accounted for.
He leaned back, exhausted. He'd wasted his time. There'd been no point in risking his life to come here. All he'd learned was that someone was determined to kill Juana, which he'd known already.
And for that, he himself had nearly been killed.
He rubbed his swollen eyelids, glanced at the computer screen, reached to turn off the computer, but at the final instant, stopped his trembling hand, telling himself that no matter how hopeless, he had to keep trying. Even though the subdirectory for the files that began with 'I would probably be as uninformative as the subdirectory for D, he couldn't ignore it.
He shifted his hand from the OFF button to the keyboard, about to switch subdirectories, when something about the image on the screen made him feel cold. He'd been aware that a detail had been troubling the edge of his consciousness, but he'd attributed his unease to apprehension and the disturbing aftermath of violence.
Now he realized what had been troubling him. His eyes had played a trick on him. DRUMMER. DRUMMER.BAK. Like hell. Drummer didn't have a backup file. The backup file was for DRUMMOND. Buchanan was certain that he hadn't seen a file for Drummond, but by now exhaustion so controlled him that he couldn't trust what he thought he was sure of. His hands shook as he sorted through the printed files. DRUMMER. DURAN. DURANGO. No Drummond.
Christ, he thought. When the killer erased the Drummond file, he hadn't thought to erase the backup file, or maybe he'd considered doing so but had been stopped because his eyes played the same trick on him that Buchanan's eyes had played, creating the impression that DRUMMOND.BAK was actually DRUMMER.BAK. The names looked so much alike.
Drummond.
Buchanan didn't know what the name signified, and when he accessed the DRUMMOND.BAK file, he found to his dismay that it was empty. Either Juana had created the file but never put information into it, or else the assassin had erased it from the inside.
Buchanan accessed the subdirectory for T, and now that he knew what to look for, he checked the backup files rather than the primary ones, comparing the names to those on the printed 'I documents that he took from the filing cabinet.
TAYLOR.BAK. TAMAYO.BAK. TANBERG.BAK. TERRA-ZA.BAK. TOLSA.BAK. He was becoming more aware of the considerable number of Hispanic names. TOMEZ.BAK. Buchanan's pulse increased.
There wasn't any Tomez in the printed files or in the primary files of the computer's subdirectory for T. Again, Buchanan entered the file, and again he found nothing. Cursing, he wondered if Juana herself had erased the contents of the file. All Buchanan had was two last names, and if the assassin hadn't made the mistake of not deleting the backup titles, Buchanan wouldn't even have learned those names.
Frustrated, he debated what else to do, reluctantly shut off the computer, and decided to make a quick search of the house, even though he was sure that whoever wanted to kill Juana had sanitized the place.
That was when a chill swept through him as he remembered something odd that the killer had said. 'Where I bunked. Weird. No wonder the woman had it locked. Probably didn't want her parents to see what she had in there. At first, I thought it was body parts.'
17
Body parts? There'd been so much to do that until now Buchanan hadn't had the time to find out what the killer referred to. Apprehensive, he stood, left the computer room, and walked along the short hallway toward the next room on the left. The door was open, but the light was off, so that Buchanan couldn't see what was in there. When the killer had gone in to get his cellular phone, he evidently had known exactly where to find it and hadn't needed to turn on a light. Now Buchanan braced himself, noticed that the door had a dead-bolt lock, unusual for an indoor room, and groped along the inside wall to find a light switch.
When the overhead light gleamed, he blinked, not only from the sudden illumination but as well because of what he saw.
The room was startling.
Body parts? Yes, Buchanan could understand why the killer had first thought that body parts were what he was looking at.
Everywhere, except for a corner where the killer had placed a mattress for himself, there were tables upon which objects that resembled noses, ears, chins, cheeks, teeth, and foreheads were laid out in front of mirrors that had lights around them. One table had nothing but hair - different colors, different styles. Wigs, Buchanan realized. And what seemed to be body parts were prosthetic devices similar to what plastic surgeons used to reconstruct damaged faces. Another table was devoted exclusively to several makeup kits.
As Buchanan entered the room, staring to the right and then the left, then straight ahead, studying each table and the various array of eerily realistic imitations of human features, he understood that in her security business Juana had become a version of what he was. But whereas his own specialty was creating new personalities, hers was creating new appearances.
He'd never been confident with disguises. On occasion, he would grow a mustache or a beard, or else he would put on well-made facsimiles. A few times, he had used non-corrective contact lenses that changed the color of his eyes. A few other times, he had altered the length, style, and color of his hair. As well, he always tried to make each of his identities dress differently from the others, preferring particular watches, belts, shoes, shirts, sunglasses, even ballpoint pens, anything to make each character distinctive, just as each character had a favorite food, favorite music, favorite writer, favorite.
But Juana had become the ultimate impersonator. If Buchanan's suspicion was correct, she hadn't only been altering her personality with each job - she had been totally altering her physical appearance, not just her clothes but her facial characteristics, her weight, her height. Buchanan found padding that would have increased Juana's bust size. He found other padding that would have made her look pregnant. He found cleverly designed sneakers that had lifts that would have made her seem taller. He found makeup cream that would even have lightened the color of her skin.