RAY THOMAS PAUSED AT THE OPEN DOOR and peered inside. “Good night, Cal.”
Griffen looked up from the stack of reading. “Good night, Ray.”
“No receptions or meetings tonight?”
The other shook his head. “After I finish catching up on a few things, I’m headed home. Once in a while, I like to get some sleep.”
“Pleasant dreams, then.”
In time, a second figure appeared at the door. “Cal, I’m leaving. Is it all right if I lock up? You aren’t expecting anyone, are you?”
Griffen smiled pleasantly. “No, Martha. Not tonight. I won’t be too much longer, but go ahead and lock up. I did remember my keys.”
“Don’t stay too late,” cautioned the dark-haired woman.
“I won’t.”
“That’s what you always say.”
“I’ll try to do better this time.”
With a headshake and a smile, she turned and made her way across the outer office to the front door.
The ecologist continued reading for a time after the front door had clicked shut. With a sigh, he pulled out several index cards covered in his own precise writing and studied them. Then he lifted the telephone.
“I’m sorry, but I’m not available at the moment. Please leave a message at the sound of the tone.” The low, almost harsh, voice echoed in the receiver.
“Elizabeth, this is Cal. Our friend is getting out of hand. You can call me at home tonight or tomorrow night after eight. Thank you.”
He set down the receiver and stood up, looking down at the reading he had yet to finish. Finally, he scooped it into a folder and set the folder on the corner of the desk while he put on his suit coat and his overcoat.
Then, folder in one hand, keys in the other, he walked toward the door.