“Leave her a note. Tell her you’re having coffee with a friend and don’t specify the gender. Want my opinion, you’d benefit from creating an air of mystery around yourself. She’s doubtless taking you for granted and that won’t help your cause.”
• • •
Pete picked up Willard at the prearranged spot, a block and a half from the Bryces’ apartment. He liked the cloak-and-dagger aspects of the meeting. He’d wanted to put Willard in the proper frame of mind, talking him through the findings before he surrendered the written account. Willard was having none of it, already impatient at having had to wait this long. He held out his hand, snapping his fingers twice as though Pete were a dog. Pete had no choice but to pass him the manila envelope.
He drove south on the 101 while Willard removed the report and read it. Pete was uncomfortably aware of Willard’s mounting distress. He took the off-ramp at the bird refuge, where he pulled into the abbreviated parking strip twenty-five feet from the water’s edge. As a goodwill gesture, he’d picked up a bag of assorted doughnuts and two oversize cups of coffee he hoped would pacify Willard’s angst. He experienced a twinge of guilt when Willard saw the photographs, almost as though he’d betrayed the man himself.
Once Pete shut down the engine, they sat in the car. Pete was quiet, looking out at the saltwater lagoon where a passel of ducks squatted on the muddy shore. Certain times of the year, the lagoon threw off an aroma of rotten eggs. Pete didn’t know how any of the nearby businesses could survive. Across from the parking lot, there was a restaurant, an athletic facility, and a bar called CC’s, the Caliente Café, where the off-duty cops hung out. Today the odor wasn’t too bad. The lagoon smelled faintly dank with a secondary aroma of soggy vegetation and bird doo-doo.
Willard held the papers loosely in his lap. “This is embarrassing.”
“I wouldn’t take that attitude. At least you know your instincts were good. Only difference is Dr. Reed’s not the one you should be worried about. From the information I managed to dig up, this is a former high school classmate. Fellow named Owen Pensky.”
Willard’s expression was a curious mix of perplexity and gloom.
Pete said, “I don’t mean to suggest a course of action. That’s your decision. I will say if it was me, I’d push this. Right now you really don’t know what’s going on.”
“Why’s she even talking to the guy? I don’t understand.”
“That’s because you don’t have all the information. If I might make a recommendation, your next move would be to put a tap on the line.”
“Are you talking about tapping our home phone?”
“Well, if she’s calling him on her work phone, that’s a tricky proposition. I’m not sure how I’d get into the lab to put a bug on that line. Simpler and more sensible to monitor her calls from home. That might tell us where to go next.”
“I don’t like it.”
“I understand,” Pete said. “The connection with this Pensky fellow may be entirely innocent. High school buddy lives in Reno? No big deal. She knows she’ll be in town for this conference so she sets up a meeting to say howdy and catch up on old times. I suspect there might be something more, but we’re not going to know unless I’m authorized to act.”
“Shit.”
“No need to assume the worst. There’s probably more to it than meets the eye, but from what I observed, I don’t believe it’s anything of a romantic nature.”
“What is it then?” Willard sorted through the pages a second time and then studied the copies of the black-and-white photos from the high school yearbook. His complexion, ruddy by nature, now looked like he’d spent too much time under a heat lamp.
“I wouldn’t want to speculate. She ever mention this Pensky fellow?”
“No.”
“She might have looked him up when she got to Reno, on the off chance he was still in town. Old high school chum, a classmate. Nothing wrong with that.”
“But look how intense they are.”
“Fellow might have marital issues. Had you thought of that? She calls him to say hi, letting him know she’s in town, he might have jumped at the idea of having a confidante.”
“Is he married?”
“Records check is next on my list if you decide to proceed. I didn’t have a chance to go over to the Washoe County courthouse while I was there. Enough going on at the hotel that I felt my time was better spent on the premises.”
“What am I supposed to do now?”
“Up to you,” Pete said. “Phone calls in the bedroom with the door shut? I don’t like the sound of that.” He paused to shake his head. “Easiest solution is to install a bug.”
“Stop saying that. I don’t like spying on her. It’s not right.”
“It’s a little late to fret when you have a guy like me chasing all the way to Reno to take photographs. What’s the point of stopping short when it might all be easily explained?”
Willard sank into a brooding silence.
Pete had to suppress his impatience. Here he was spoon-feeding the fellow, coaxing him toward the obvious conclusion. Nothing as persuasive as a self-generated decision even if it was Pete nudging him in the right direction. Let Willard think he’d come up with it on his own. Pete grew uneasy, wondering if he’d pushed the man too hard. “Believe me, I understand where you’re coming from. You love your wife, so it’s natural to want to maintain trust. At the same time, I can think of other explanations for what seems troublesome.”
“Such as what?”
“Suppose he had personal problems. Might have had a setback of some kind in his career. Fellow’s a journalist, so it might be worthwhile to check that out.”
“What’s involved in a phone bug? I mean, assuming I agree.”
“Simple matter of installing a device in the handset before she gets home. I can put a voice-activated tape recorder on remote; close by, but not actually in the apartment. You don’t want her to come across a piece of hardware while she’s cleaning house. I can also plant a pen mike. Looks like a ballpoint pen, but it’s capable of transmitting sound for short distances.”
“What will that accomplish?”
“Remains to be seen. My suggestion is we run audio a few days and see what we pick up. This whole business might not have anything to do with you.”
Willard turned and stared out of the car window. “Okay.”
“Good man,” Pete said. He continued to sit in silence.
Willard looked over at him. “So is that it?”
“There’s the matter of another advance. Soon as I have that in hand, I’ll go to work. Any more contact between the two and I’ll head back to Reno and do deep background on him.”
• • •
Which is how Pete ended up two days later in Colgate, wearing a coverall while pretending to weed the flower border under Willard’s bedroom window. He avoided yard work as a rule. Here, it wasn’t unpleasant, but it seemed undignified to be crawling around the building on his hands and knees. This was the second late afternoon he’d weeded. Day One had produced nothing. He’d started his labors in the central courtyard, uncertain where he’d pick up the best reception. Several residents had noticed him and nodded in acknowledgment though none had stopped to chat. They seemed pleased that someone was actually being paid to tidy up.
In addition to the phone bug, he’d supplied Willard with a pen mike and suggested he place it in the bedroom, preferably on the floor near the bedside table where the phone sat. There was an off chance Mary Lee might notice it, but if she was intent on shenanigans, she probably wouldn’t be that observant.
Day Two, Pete picked up a most enlightening fragment of conversation. Mary Lee was home by 4:00. Pete had advised Willard to run an errand, giving her the opportunity to make a call, which is exactly what she did. Pete heard a lilting melody of numbers being punched, long-distance judging by the length. Sure enough, when a fellow on the other end picked up, all she said was, “It’s me. I don’t have much time, so let’s make this quick. What’s happening on your end?”