Enderby said. “What harm can it do? ”
“I should tell him tonight. I really should. But I just can’t,”
Preduski said. “He’s gotten behind in his work because of this case.
That’s my fault. I’m always calling him, talking to him, pressuring him
about it. He’s working late, trying to get caught up.
I don’t want to disturb him.” In the foyer by the front door, the
grandfather clock chimed the half hour, five minutes late again.
Preduski glanced at his wristwatch and said, “It’ll soon be ten o’clock.
I’ve got to be going.”
“Going? There’s work to do here.”
“I’m not on duty yet.”
“Graveyard?”
“Yeah.”
“I never knew you to hesitate about a bit of overtime.”
“Well, I just got out of bed. I was cooking spaghetti when Headquarters
called me about this. Never got a chance to eat any of it. I’m
starving.”
Enderby shook his head. “As long as I’ve known you, I don’t believe
I’ve ever seen you eat a square meal. You’re always grabbing sandwiches
so you don’t have to stop working to eat. And at home you’re cooking
spaghetti. You need a wife, Ira.”
“A wife?”
“Other men have them.”
“But me? Are you kidding?”
“Be good for you.”
“Andy, look at me.”
“I’m looking.”
“Look closer.”
“So?”
“You must be blind.”
“What should I see?”
“What woman in her right mind would marry me?”
“Don’t give me your usual crap, Ira,” Enderby said with a smile.
“I know that under all of that selfdeprecating chatter, you’ve got a
healthy and proper respect for yourself.”
“You’re the psychiatrist.”
“That’s right. I’m not a suspect or a witness; you can’t charm me with
that blather.”
Preduski grinned.
“I’ll bet there have been more than a few women who’ve fallen for that
calculated little-boy look of yours.”
“A few,” Preduski admitted uncomfortably. “But never the right woman.”
“Who said anything about the right one? Most men are happy to settle
for half-right.”
“Not me.” Preduski looked at his watch again. “I really have to be
going. I’ll come back around midnight. Martin probably won’t even have
finished questioning the other tenants by then. It’s a big building.”
Dr. Enderby sighed as if the troubles of the world were on his
shoulders alone. “We’ll be here too. Dusting the furniture for prints,
vacuuming the carpets for hairs and threads, finding nothing, but
working hard. The same old circus.”
*Dim Graham’s foot slipped off the rung.
Although he was still holding tightly with both hands, he panicked. He
struck out at the ladder with his feet, scrabbling wildly, as if the
ladder were alive, as if he had to kick it into submission before he
could regain his foothold on it.
“Graham, what’s wrong?” Connie asked from her position on the ladder
above him. “Graham?”
Her voice sohered him. He stopped kicking. He hung by his hands until
he was breathing almost normally, until the vivid memories of Everest
had faded.
“Graham?”
With his feet he probed for a rung, found one after several seconds that
seemed like hours. “I’m all right. My foot slipped. I’m okay now.”
“][)on’t look down.”
“I didn’t. I won’t.”
He sought the next rung, stepped to it, continued the descent.
He felt feverish. The hair was damp at the back of his neck.
Perspiration beaded his forehead, jeweled his eyebrows, stung the
corners of his eyes, filmed his cheeks, brought a salty taste to his
lips. In spite of the perspiration, he was cold. He shivered as he
moved down the long ladder.
He was as much aware of the void at his back as he would have been of a
knife pressed between his shoulder blades.
On the thirty-first floor, Frank Bollinger entered the maintenance
supply room.
He saw the red door. Someone had put down the doorstop that was fixed
to it, so that it was open an inch or two. He knew immediately that
Harris and the woman had gone through there.
But why was the door ajar?
It was like a signpost. Beckoning him.
Alert for a trap, he advanced cautiously. He held the Walther PPK in
his right hand. He kept his left hand out in front of him, arm extended