The interior of the safe was cylindrical, with a diameter a little greater than that of his calf. He reached inside and felt around, withdrawing three pieces of correspondence from Banco de Pegado (Panama) and a U.S. passport. There were also four Polaroid photographs, each of which showed a different faded-looking and overly made-up blonde performing oral sex upon the photographer, presumably Argenziano, right here in this room. The photographs saddened Hanshaw in a way he couldn’t articulate to himself. He put them back. The passport was Argenziano’s, and it showed that in April 2007 he’d traveled to Juan Santamaria International Airport in San José, Costa Rica, made a two-day trip to Panama City a week after arriving, and then had returned to Costa Rica for another four days before traveling back to the United States, entering the country in Miami. The correspondence was addressed to a P.O. box in Cherry City. Inside one of the envelopes was a smaller envelope that contained a safe deposit box key. Hanshaw thought about it for a moment. Then he laughed and tucked the key back in its little envelope. He returned everything to the safe. He straightened the room up and prepared to go. As he was headed to put his shoes back on, the door opened and he found himself face to face with one of the maids from the elevator.
“You’re still here,” she said. “Did you fix the problem?” She stood with her shoulder to the door, holding it open. He could see her trolley behind her in the hallway.
“Yes,” he said. He set the toolbox down and reached for his shoes.
“That’s very thoughtful of you,” she said. “You can’t imagine the stuff the guests here track in.”
“Who you talking to, Patty?” said a man’s voice. “Mr. A’s not in there.” Hanshaw drew his breath in slowly and held it.
“Myself, of course,” said Patty. “Who else do I have to talk to all day?” She winked at Hanshaw.
“Watch out,” the man’s voice said. “People’ll think you’re nuts.”
“I am nuts. This job makes you nuts.”
The voice laughed. “Well, I need to get in there, but I’ll stay out of your way. About how long’ll you be?”
“Me? Super quick. Ten minutes, tops.”
“OK.” The voice was already moving away. Hanshaw let out his breath.
“Guy’s such a pain in the rear end,” Patty said, coming in and letting the door close. “He wants me to tell him who’s in here. Like he’s not the one whose job it is to know.” She shook her head. Hanshaw laced his shoes quickly. He nodded and moved past her and to the door.
“It feels nice in here,” she said as he left. “Warm, like it’s supposed to.”
“WE BEES DOING this shit up right, yo,” said Jeramy, looking over Hanshaw’s shoulder. They were in the front room of Jeramy’s house. The hallway receded behind them, doors on either side.
“Oh, you think so?” Hanshaw gave him a silencing look and then jotted down the make, model, and plate number of Argenziano’s car and logged off the CJIC system. He handed Jeramy the information and a portable GPS tracker in a magnetic case. “It’s in the underground garage,” he said.
“How’m I’ma get there?”
“Howmima?” said Hanshaw. “Does she make pancakes? Wear a bandanna?”
Jeramy looked at him blankly.
“Take the truck,” said Hanshaw. He handed him the keys. “Remember, in and out. No fucking around. And put it under the rear end, ennit? If you put it under the front all he has to do is take a curb cut too fast, that’s the end of the story.”
Hanshaw stood up, as if he were the host and Jeramy were a visitor he was shooing away. Jeramy shrugged into his coat and ambled toward the door using his peculiar hobbling walk.
“Drive carefully,” said Hanshaw, and walked outside with him, standing on the porch in his shirtsleeves. He watched Jeramy drive off and hoped for the best. He thought that the surveillance was probably unnecessary, but he also knew enough about Argenziano to know that he was a man of fixed and limited habits. He didn’t like to take long lonely walks in the woods or jog the length of isolated beaches. Opportunities might be few. In and out. Hanshaw nodded to himself. He went back into the house and picked up the stolen laptop, opening it as wide as it would go. He leaned it against the leg of the coffee table, and then broke it into two pieces with one quick stomp. Mazel tov! he thought. He took the pieces and found a plastic shopping bag for them, then put on his coat and turned out the light in the front room. Carrying the broken computer in its plastic bag, he went down the porch steps and walked two, three houses up the road. He lifted the lid on the garbage can there, tossed in the computer, and then headed back to his place.
TODAY
Kat settled in the armchair where Mulligan liked to do his reading and he felt a vague discomfiture — his father rising up in him, he figured. Slave to habit and obscure household rituals. He fought it off. She closed her eyes and rather unceremoniously fell asleep. Pure of heart, he thought. In her fashion. He felt better, now that he was at home. It was just a little before two o’clock, but he went into the kitchen and made himself a drink, then returned and stood watching her for a few minutes. In the light of the lamp beside the armchair, her face looked like something that ought to be carved on the lid of a sarcophagus. He finished the drink, found her purse, quickly went through it. Someone named Nables had called three times and left a text message saying it was urgent that Kat should call back. He chucked the phone back into her bag, then made another drink and sat on the couch. He wondered how much more interesting things could get.