“Okay, I’ll keep it, but let me ask you another, personal question.”
“What’s that?” Pia asked. She stiffened, not knowing what was coming.
“Why are you avoiding looking at me? It makes me nervous, like you’re being secretive or you’re not telling me the truth.”
Pia forced herself to lock eyes with Paul at least for a few beats. It was hard for her as always. Then she came back to where she had been sitting and sat back down. Looking at her hands, she shook her head. “You’re right, but you’re wrong.”
It was time for Paul to shake his head. “If I’m supposed to understand that comment, you’re giving me far more credit than I deserve. What the hell are you saying?”
“You’re right about me not telling the truth, but you’re wrong about it being the reason I have difficulty looking you in the eye. This is probably more than you want to know, but I’ve been diagnosed with adult attachment disorder. Are you familiar with that?”
“I can’t say that I am.”
“Let’s put it this way and keep it simple. You can look it up online if you want. Basically I have trouble with social relationships.” Pia went on to give a quick explanation about her foster-care past. It was unusual for her to be as open as she was, but she liked Paul intuitively. She felt there was a beginning of a bond and she was willing to be uncharacteristically open in return. When she was finished, she forced herself to look at him again and try to hold it. She couldn’t.
After a moment of silence Paul said, “Thank you for telling me what you have. I feel honored. I felt yesterday I wanted to get to know you more, and now it is an even stronger feeling. But what about this comment you made that you weren’t telling me the truth? Do you have a drug problem, Pia?”
Pia couldn’t help herself. She laughed, and it wasn’t just a titter. It was a belly laugh, making her again glance over at the resident working away at the nearby desk. She was relieved to see he was still totally ignoring them. Pia redirected her attention back to Paul. “Oh, no,” she said, trying to control herself, and lowering her voice even more. “No, I don’t have a drug problem. What I wasn’t telling you the truth about is why I need a couple of Temazepam tablets. It’s not for me to go to sleep. It is for a particular gentleman to go to sleep. To be bluntly honest, I guess I need a kind of date-rape concoction but not for the usual reasons. I’m not going to rape anybody, at least not literally.”
Paul made an exaggerated expression of confusion. Now it was his turn to lean forward. “Okay,” he said. “I think you’d better tell me exactly what you have in mind, because I haven’t the slightest idea.” He and Pia’s heads were almost touching. He could smell her perfume. It was one of his favorites.
Sotto voce Pia told Paul of her idea of trying to discover the truth behind Nano by putting herself potentially in harm’s way at Zachary Berman’s extravagant home.
“You’re not joking, are you?” Paul questioned.
“Not in the slightest. I think it is the only way. The irony is that I’d be willing to bet that he’s probably done something similar to not a few women. Maybe not with Temazepam but at least with alcohol.”
“What made you think of Temazepam?”
Pia was encouraged. Paul had not dismissed the idea out of hand. “This afternoon I looked up date-rape drugs on the Internet. Apparently it’s one that is used quite frequently, and it’s readily available. Truthfully, I’m not choosy. You have a better idea?”
It was Paul’s turn to chuckle. “It’s not something I’ve had experience with except on a couple of rape cases that have come through the emergency room. We test for drugs like that if there is any indication to do so, meaning if the victim might have been given a Mickey Finn.”
“What do you say, now that I have told you the truth? Will you give me a couple of tablets or what?”
“I can’t, in good conscience as a doctor, give you medication, even two tablets, for you to commit what might be interpreted as a felony, provided you don’t sexually abuse your victim.”
“Fat chance,” Pia said. She couldn’t help smile. She liked Paul’s sense of humor.
“But I tell you what. I’ll give you a couple of Temazepam if you tell me they’re for you to take yourself.”
“Fair enough,” Pia said.
“But they are not tablets. They’re capsules. Is that okay?”
“That’s even better,” Pia said.
“And one other request. You have to tell me Berman’s address. If I don’t hear from you tomorrow by midmorning, I want to know where to send the police. I have to be honest: I’m not condoning this plan in the slightest.”
“Fair enough,” Pia repeated.
CHAPTER 21
So here I am again, thought Pia as she sat in her car in front of Zachary Berman’s house. She was wearing the same black sheath dress she had worn on Monday, since it was the only cocktail dress she owned. But this time there was no George, and, she hoped, no Whitney Jones. Pia had gone over in her mind what she intended to do tonight, but she realized the whole thing was going to have to be played by ear. With all her heart, she’d rather not have to go through the unpleasant charade she was about to inflict upon herself, but she was unable to let go of her intense need to know more about Nano. And to do that, she knew she had to go through the boss, Zachary Berman. Being a realist at heart, Pia knew she was accepting a certain amount of risk.
Pia flipped down the VW’s sun visor and reapplied her peach-shaded lipstick, which she knew set off her skin tone beautifully. Or so she had been told. She climbed out of the car and smoothed down her dress, aware that Berman was probably watching her. The security room he would be using, if he was watching her, was somewhere Pia wanted to locate as soon as possible.
As she walked up the steps and approached the front door, it swung open at just the right moment. As on the previous visit, Berman greeted her European-style with a kiss on each cheek. He was wearing a smart-casual getup similar to the one he had on her previous visit. The jacket was dark blue, and the mock turtleneck was a tan knit.
“You must have seen me coming,” said Pia in reference to Berman’s timing with the front door.
“I did,” said Berman, showing her inside. Pia paused just inside the threshold.
“I didn’t see a camera,” she said.
“It’s very discreet,” said Berman. “See if you can figure out where it is.”
Pia smiled. Berman had probably been the kid who loved to show off his train set. Like a lot of men, he had never grown out of the urge to point out his fancy toys.
“Okay,” said Pia. She went back and looked around the frame of the door and above, where the timbers of the wood-framed house were visible in a kind of modern Tudor style. Berman was amused.
“You’ll never find it.” He then pointed out the camera. It was a tiny reflective glass bubble in the middle of the granite lintel. It was all but invisible.
Pia made an expression that suggested she was duly impressed. “Cool! Where’s the monitoring room?”
“Please,” Berman said as he motioned for Pia to precede him back into the house. Just beyond the foyer he opened what looked like a closet door. It was a small room with a bank of electronic gear and two large TV screens showing a succession of pictures of the exterior of the house, the gate, the swimming pool, the tennis court, and the rest of the property.
“What about the interior?” Pia asked. “Is that included in this system or is this just for the grounds?”
Without even answering, Berman reached up to one of the pieces of equipment and touched a screen. Immediately one of the TV monitors switched to a succession of interior shots, going from room to room.