23.

Kirsten left the hospital and drove back to Chicago. She left the punctured tire, along with the postcard and the mail that came with it, at Renfroe Laboratories, and then went to her office. She was two steps into the little waiting room when she stopped, dead still. She looked around but didn’t touch anything. She moved to the inner office door, opened it and again looked around without touching anything. Back out in the hall she called Dugan on her cell phone.

“It’s no use,” Mollie said. “He’s in the middle of settling two cases. I try to put calls through and he won’t even answer. I guess I could go down there and—”

“No,” Kirsten said, “that’s all right.” She considered going next door for Mark Brumstein or one of his people, but it was Dugan she wanted.

*   *   *

When she got there Dugan had his back to her, looking out his office window with the phone to his ear. “Hey,” she said.

He turned and waved her in, but kept talking into the phone. “Don’t be silly, Julie,” he said. “My guy will prove he earned seventy thou, and if you prove he only reported thirty-five to the IRS, half the jury will ignore it and the other half will give him extra points. I mean, the guy’s got five major fractures and a punctured lung, for chrissake. And three kids.” He paused, obviously listening.

“Dugan,” Kirsten said, “I’m in a hurry.”

He grinned at her and, still listening to whoever was on the phone, gestured her toward one of his client’s chairs. When she made no move to sit down, he just shrugged.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he finally said. “I know, I know. But if I don’t hear from you in a week, Julie, I’m sending the case out to Milt Tunney to try the damn thing. You could lose big on this.” He listened some more. “Uh-huh, love you too. ’Bye.” He hung up, and at once his phone rang.

“Don’t answer it,” Kirsten said. “Period. We’re getting out of here.”

He stared at her, but he let the phone keep ringing and grabbed his suit coat from the back of a chair. “Yeah, I think a nap nap is a great i—”

“Stop that, dammit! I need you for something. Let’s go.”

On their way out Dugan told Mollie he’d be back “sometime this afternoon.” Mollie just shook her head and they walked on through the suite and out into the corridor. Kirsten didn’t like admitting it to herself, but she felt better—no, dammit, safer—in Dugan’s presence. Not physically safer, exactly, but psychologically.

They waited for the elevator and Dugan said, “I know I shouldn’t say this, but you seem … well … scared, or—”

“That’s bullshit.”

“I was going to say ‘or concerned.’ How’s that?” She didn’t answer. The elevator came and they stepped inside and rode down. “It’s not too early for lunch,” he said, as the doors opened onto the lobby.

“We’re going to my office. I want to see if … if you notice anything.”

*   *   *

It was a walk—actually, nearly a run—of only a few blocks and neither of them said anything on the way. At her office she unlocked the glass door but didn’t open it. “I want you to step inside and close the door,” she said. “Just stand there. See if anything’s … unusual. And then come back out. Okay?”

“Yeah, sure.” He went in and stood in one place and looked around.

When he came back out she said, “Well?”

“There’s the odor, right?” She nodded and he went on. “It’s … don’t know if it’s cologne … or perfume. But it’s a pretty common smell. To me it almost smells like soap or something.”

“But is it a scent I ever wear?”

“No,” he said. “Maybe a cleaning person?”

“They only come in once a week. That’ll be tonight.” She felt a little better knowing he’d smelled it, too. She locked the door again. “Let’s go get—”

“And the magazine on the table,” he said. “The Smithsonian. Part of the cover’s been cut off.”

“You’re right,” she said, peering back in through the glass.

“So you think that’s where the mailing label on your HERE I COME postcard came from?”

“I … I guess so.”

“Is it possible the magazine’s been there all along and you just overlooked it before today?”

“Not a chance.”

“I believe you,” he said, but she wasn’t sure he did. “So then, how did it get back in there? You always lock the door when you leave, right?”

“It’s not that great a lock. There’s nothing in there worth stealing. But yes, I always lock it.”

He took her arm. “Let’s get some lunch.”

She walked with him but doubted she’d be able to eat.

At the elevator he put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to his side. “You’re probably surprised I got ’em both, huh?” he said. “The smell and the magazine?”

“Yes, I am,” she said.

What she didn’t say was that just twenty minutes earlier, when she left to get him and bring him back, there’d been no Smithsonian magazine on that table.