The copy machines had their own little carpeted area in the front of the office store. The clerk assigned us a machine. I asked Jenny to photocopy the diary. There were about eighty pages, but we could fit two to a legal-sized sheet. The machine collated our pair of copies for us. I kept an eye out for the guys from the parking lot.
About ninety seconds later a guy as nondescript as the maroon car came in. He had bland light hair, poorly cut, and was wearing shorts and a polo shirt. A couple of inches of belly flopped over his belt. He could have been an engineer out for a Sunday visit to the mall. Nice cover.
He gave the floor a quick scan. He didn’t linger, but his eye caught us. I knew, because it was the same fleeting glance an actor gives the camera if they’re not sure where it is. First rule of acting: Never stare at the camera.
“Bill,” Jenny said, “some of the pages have been torn out.”
I put my finger to my lips and nodded toward the guy. He was perusing the cell phones, which were across the center aisle from us. “Just try to remember where they are.”
When Jenny was done, I took the copies and the diary to the cashier. I kept them close to my body, hidden from the guy at the cell phones. I was wondering how to make our exit when the clerk slid our copies into a plastic bag.
“Can I also get fifty sheets of blank paper, legal-size?” I asked.
The clerk measured out a stack from below the counter. I asked for another bag, continuing to position myself between our watcher and our purchase. I taped shut the bag with the diary and copies, and did the same with the bag containing the blank paper.
“I’ll carry them,” I murmured to Jenny.
“Is he—?”
I gave her a small nod. I could be wrong about the guy. But I had to assume I wasn’t. With my back to the door, I tucked the bag with the diary under my shirt, the bottom half of it cinched under the waist of my jeans. It took me back to my teenage years, when I occasionally borrowed expensive film magazines from stores.
As we headed for the door, the guy moved so very casually and yet briskly to meet us, reminding me of the time I’d been caught. But instead of the hand on the shoulder, he followed us out the door. That sealed off any chance of getting help from inside the store.
I picked up my pace. Jenny was right beside me. “Get out your car keys,” I said.
She dug into her pocket. Her hands were shaking when she brought out the keys. “What’s happening, Bill?”
“Don’t worry. You’re doing great.”
The guy pulled even with us when we were still an aisle away from the car. “You’ve got something that’s not yours. Why don’t you give it to me.”
His voice was smooth and calm. Like there was no question he’d get what he wanted. “Who are you?” I said. I didn’t stop.
“We represent the rightful owners. Please. Make this easy.”
The top was down on the Miata. I had thought we’d be able to jump in, until I saw the second guy waiting by Jenny’s car. He was pretty much a replica of the first, but taller and chunkier. The main question in my mind was whether they were willing to get physical. There were enough people in the parking lot, potential witnesses, that I figured not. I hoped not.
I said to Jenny, “Can I use your phone?”
Jenny handed me her cell phone. We were at the Miata now. The big one blocked the path to the driver’s side door. I said to him, “Would you please let her by so she can get in the car?”
He made a little bow and stepped aside. “I’ll do the same for you, sir. Just as soon as you turn over the document.”
“You’re going to have to tell me who you represent first.” With the bag lazily squeezed between my side and my elbow, I flipped open the phone. I made sure they could see the numbers I dialed. 911.
The first guy made his lunge. He took the bag from me cleanly. “Got it!” he announced triumphantly. They took off.
I shook my fist after them. “Hey! Hey! I’m calling the cops!”
“Tell them hello,” the big guy said over his shoulder.
I dashed to the Miata’s door. Jenny had turned the ignition. I pushed her over to the passenger seat. “Let me drive.”
I released the brake and jerked the car into reverse, looking over my shoulder for the maroon sedan. It had already pulled out and was heading for an exit behind us.
“They should be untaping the bag just about now and finding those blank pages,” I said. I peeled out in the other direction, praying there was an exit from the lot on the far side of the mall. There was. I made a rather reckless left turn and sped away.
12
I’d never thought of myself as being subject to the psychology of wanting something just because someone else wants it, too. But I have to admit to a little extra spur when I confirmed that Dugan from LifeScience was burning to get his hands on Sheila’s journal.
After our escape at the copy shop, we’d decided to get the diary off our hands. We wrangled from Fay the name of the hotel where the Harroses were staying — one of those faceless corporate jobs near the airport. I left the original at the desk with strict instructions to give it to no one but Mr. Harros.
The message from the LifeScience man was waiting for us back on Jenny’s machine. The caller identified himself as Neil Dugan, chief operating officer. The “notebook” we had contained intellectual property owned by the company, he said, and we were obliged to turn it over.
Now I really wanted to know what Sheila had on him. Obviously it was enough to make him hire two guys to follow us and commit a felony to get it, and maybe to commit another felony of burgling my flat. How far up the ladder of felonies was he willing to go?
Dugan probably failed to realize that his threats had the opposite effect of what he intended. I did not like having those guys in our face in the parking lot, nor having the Harros family blame Jenny for her friend’s death. I hated seeing the dread in her eyes when the phone rang, or when we approached the door to her place. Her effervescence was gone.
But there was more at stake than Jenny’s peace of mind and my itch to get back at Dugan. There was Sheila herself. The moment I opened the door for her at the dinner party, I was drawn to her. I felt that buzz of connection you get so rarely. We shared a kindred feeling of curiosity for its own sake. I admired her willingness to expose a bit of herself, show what she really believed, instead of keeping it superficial. She didn’t stay alive long enough for us to know if there was more to the attraction. But I felt a strange intimacy with her now, having gazed down on her at the morgue, walked through her silent apartment, and read her diary. It was not right for her to be dead.
Jenny and I ate a quiet, tense dinner at her apartment. Afterward, I settled down with the copy of Sheila’s diary. Reading it backward in pieces, quickly, hadn’t turned up the answers I wanted. I’d seen Dugan’s name once, when he and a new CEO had come in to take charge of the company. She mentioned her family only a few times. I got the feeling they were out of touch with her.
I started again at the beginning. She didn’t write regularly, so the entries were spread out over a couple of years. At first she sounded optimistic. She had just started at LifeScience. She did, as time went on, have her bad moments. Maybe she even got morose, as Jenny put it. Her voice came across as being crowded by competing forces on all sides, yet alone. Still, she had an honest, penetrating way of examining herself.
The new job is everything I’d hoped for. The staff is inspired by Dr. McKinnon, and there’s a sense of collegiality. Strange that to find this I had to leave the university. The work there can be more exciting, but you don’t always get the satisfaction of seeing its immediate benefit. So many people are more concerned about where the next grant comes from, whose paper will be published first. Of course, people scare up money here, too, but they’re on the business side, that’s their job. Those of us at the bench are focused on a problem and are provided with the tools we need to solve it. Not that we’re free of hierarchy, but it’s quite clear, set down in the company bible. And yet the staff meetings are very open. Dr. McKinnon wants to hear ideas from everyone. If you go off in the wrong direction, he corrects you right away — not to put you down, but to save everyone time. We’re all on the same team.