Chapter 22

I got in the car and after another antibomb inspection, started the engine.

“We’ve got some shopping to do,” I said.

“What?”

“We’ve got some things to pick up for the night shift.”

“What night shift?”

“The one we’re about to begin. You’ve just enrolled in detective school. Tonight’s course is Surveillance 101.”

“Why?”

“Because if Saunders is going home tomorrow, I’m the tooth fairy. I don’t know where he’s going, but I expect him to stay put for a few minutes to make sure we’re gone. That’s why we’re going shopping now. To be back in place before Saunders goes anywhere.”

We went around the block, and I pulled up in front of a convenience store. Wendy said it was okay to leave her in the car. I left the motor on when I got out and told Wendy to get behind the wheel. If anyone approached the car she was to sit on the horn. If that didn’t deter them, she should run them over. I got what we needed in less than five minutes and carried the bag back to the car. I handed it through the window to Wendy and then went to make two phone calls. Nothing that I learned surprised me.

I got back in the car and had Wendy drive us to a spot where we could watch Saunders’ motel room.

“Well, what have we got here?” She opened the bag and took out six large coffees, a $6.99 thermos, a quart jar of apple juice, three sports magazines, and half dozen comic books.

“Pour the coffees into the thermos, Watson.” As she did, I opened the door and poured the apple juice out on the ground.

“Why’d you do that?” she asked.

“Because what we need is an empty container, not the apple juice. I leave the reason for that to your imagination.”

She frowned for a moment and then laughed.

“Right, Watson. The coffee is to keep us alert. The reading material is to keep us from going bananas. I assumed the magazines would interest you. My apologies if I chose poorly. Don’t laugh at the comics. They keep my brain on without being engaged. An interesting book is either wasted or a distraction. These are perfect. If I forget where I am I can always start over without the ‘artistic merits’ being lost, and they aren’t so gripping that I’ll forget why I’m really out here in the dark.” I handed her the magazines and shoved the comics up on the dashboard. The thermos I put on the floor between us along with the empty jar.

“Make yourself comfortable. We can talk. You can read. Sleep if you can. I’ll ask you to spell me after midnight. If you feel like you’re fading, wake me right away. Have you got all this? There’s going to be a quiz in the morning.”

“Sure. No sweat.”

“Fine. If the police pull up and ask us what we’re doing here, we’re having a fight about getting married. I’m having cold feet because you want six kids. Okay?”

“No way. I want to back out because you want six kids.”

“Okay. They’ll come around for another sweep probably a couple of hours later. Keep an eye out in the mirror for them. As they pull up, let’s embrace like we’re making up. They love happy endings and will probably pass us by.”

“Okay, Sherlock.”

“Last thing: any car that goes by real slowly or more than once or pulls up and parks and no one gets out is trouble. Wake me right away. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Okay. That’s the fine points of surveillance.”

“Except for one thing. How’d you know Saunders isn’t going home?”

“Two things. First, he was just too accommodating. Too willing to just pack up and go home. He didn’t say good-bye to you. You got to that man. If he was really calling it quits and leaving, he’d have said good-bye to you. No. It was all a show. Plus I’m a naturally suspicious guy. So I called the hospital. No one’s called Mrs. Saunders since this afternoon. She’s still sedated. That was all a show for us in the restaurant. Secondly, he was real interested in a conversation that the police dispatcher was having at her table while he was on the phone. I called the police. They wouldn’t tell me anything, and Hungerford was out of the office. But I’ll bet you dollars to donuts Saunders heard something about Randolph. So we sit and wait. If I’m wrong we can wave bye-bye when he drives off to go home. If I’m right, he may lead us to Randolph.”

That night passed like most of them do on surveillance. The silence, darkness, and stillness are a blessed relief at first, especially if you’ve been busting your chops trying to keep someone in sight all day and remain invisible yourself. You start to relax and unwind. I wished we’d gone back and gotten my car. I spent a fortune putting a custom contoured reclining bucket seat in my car just for times like these. Once you’ve relaxed, the lack of action begins to be irritating. You ask “why am I here? I should be home sleeping.” Custom seat or no, it’s not comfortable. You swear you’ll up your rates for this crap. The person you’re watching is either sleeping better or having more fun than you are. You can’t sleep but you’re tired, so about then you insert the IV drip of caffeine. More nothing happens. You’re bored stupid, tired, uncomfortable, downright cranky. You fire yourself from the case. The minutes go by so slowly you swear you’re watching isolated replays of sloths on parade.

When I was younger, about this time I’d start to sing to myself, tap the steering wheel, look for someone to kill. My partner, Arnie, taught me how to go into a light trance, a hypnoid state of consciousness. Unfocused but easily alerted. So at 3 A.M., I began to imagine my arms and legs were lying off the ends of a soft float, dangling in warm moving water. I slowed my breathing and heart rate. I imagined a stream of water washing through my mind, cleansing me, taking away the grit, the sediment, all thought passing out my fingertips to the sea I imagined I was in.

I looked over at Wendy. After reading her magazine, we had talked for a while. We created fantasy biographies. I was the illegitimate son of Robert Mitchum and Katharine Hepburn. Like most twenty-year-olds, she couldn’t imagine a past longer than two weeks ago. I told her she was the whispered-about legendary child of Joe DiMaggio and Marilyn Monroe.

She dug a Walkman out from the glove compartment, plugged herself in, and mercifully fell asleep. In my waking dream state she was lovely. She turned sideways with her legs curled up. Her head lay against the seat back with her hands for a pillow. I watched the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest. She slept without incident. I was glad for her.

I watched the night sky absorb the rays of the coming sun until daybreak. First, light leaked and then streamed through the saturated sky. As the giant orange ball burned off the cloud cover, Herb Saunders came down the motel stairs. He stopped and looked carefully both ways before crossing. Then he walked quickly down the street away from us. He was carrying a black bag.