Partners in Crime (2 page)

He didn’t make the usual protests, and for that Jane was grateful. He lowered his body into the chair opposite her, and she watched it creak ominously. His own glass of whiskey was even darker than hers, and she wondered, not for the first time, if she’d made a very grave mistake in coming here. She hadn’t allowed herself time to think. She’d been so mad, so desperate at the events of the last few days that she’d thrown down the newspaper, slipped on her shoes, and marched down the walkway before she could have second thoughts. She was having far too many of them right now.

“So tell me,” the man said, “who are you, and why have you chosen me to commit arson for you?”

“I’d... I’d rather not give you my name right now.” She took another sip of the whiskey, wishing it were coffee. “Not until we see if we can come to an agreement.”

He really smiled then, not the small wry upturning of his mobile mouth but a full-fledged grin. “We’ll call you Madame X then,” he said solemnly. “Shouldn’t you be dressed in black, maybe with a veil covering your face? You look more like a Midwestern librarian.”

“I
am
a Midwestern librarian,” Jane said, coming close to hating him for a moment.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m a smart aleck sometimes. Why me?”

“I read the newspaper tonight. About your trial.”

“Did you? I didn’t bother.”

“It was very interesting.”

“It must have been, if it sent you to me.”

Jane took a deep breath. “It made it clear you were really guilty.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The article made it clear that you were a professional crook, and that only your lawyer’s brilliance got you off.”

A strange, half-pleased, half-disturbed expression crossed his face. “My lawyer?”

“His name is Calderwood?”

“Caldicott,” he corrected absently. “Alexander Caldicott.”

“Anyway, he managed to get you off. Though I must say he didn’t look that brilliant in the picture.”

“Looks can be deceiving.”

“Yes,” she said, looking at his handsome, patrician face, “they can. So anyway, I have need of an arsonist. That is, if you’re looking for work. I would think you’d be at loose ends. After all, you didn’t know till this afternoon whether you’d be going to jail or not, so you probably haven’t made too many long-range plans.”

“No, I hadn’t. Caldicott is a very great lawyer,” he said with a small grin, “but even he isn’t infallible. I thought he’d probably get me off but I couldn’t count on it. There’s one thing you haven’t taken into account, though.”

“What’s that?”

“Suppose I’ve decided to mend my ways? Go straight, live a life beyond reproach.”

She tried to keep the stricken expression from her face. “That would be wonderful,” she managed.

“Liar,” his voice was teasing, soft, dangerously beguiling. “Don’t worry, Madame X. I have the suspicion that my criminal career is just beginning.”

When Ms. Jane Dexter left his room forty-five minutes later she was weaving slightly. Sandy had plied her with Scotch, watching with fascination as she began to relax and expand under the influence of Cutty Sark. She’d given him her name within ten minutes, though he had to admit he preferred Madame X. Not that Jane didn’t suit her. Plain Jane, the librarian from Baraboo, Wisconsin, back in her hometown of Princeton, New Jersey, looking for an arsonist.

Sandy shook his head in disbelief and poured his half-filled glass down the stained bathroom sink. He’d have to get a copy of that paper. The caption must have gotten their names reversed. It was the first time in his life he’d ever been mistaken for someone of Jimmy the Stoolie’s ilk, and the experience was novel enough to be entertaining.

He should have told her, of course. He’d meant to, but she’d looked at him with such wonderful awe and distrust that he couldn’t resist stringing her along. For the first time in months the deadly lassitude had left him. That odd little encounter might be enough to make his trip to the Canary Islands entertaining after all. Anytime he got bored he could think back to little Ms. Jane Dexter and laugh.

She would wonder about him when he didn’t show up for dinner tonight. They were supposed to meet at the steak house in the mall, the most anonymous place he could think of, and there she’d outline her plan. He almost wished he could make it. His flight was at ten o’clock tonight—if he missed it he’d have to go back to New York and that was the last thing he wanted. If they’d picked a decent restaurant he could have sent her flowers and a graceful note of regret. He couldn’t see managing that in the cafeteria-style steak house he’d assiduously avoided in the past.

No, she was going to have to wonder about Jimmy the Stoolie. She’d probably figure he went back to his life of crime in the bowels of New York. He wondered if the paper would correct its error. He wasn’t about to bring it to their attention, and he doubted Jimmy would. So Ms. Jane Dexter would have to make other arrangements, always wondering what happened to her first-choice felon.

Sandy stripped off his clothes and headed for the rusty shower stall. He should be delighted to get away from his self-imposed exile, to immerse himself in the luxurious surroundings that would be provided for him. The memory of Jane Dexter’s offer of employment would keep him going. Who knows, when he got back he’d probably find she needed a lawyer. Maybe he could offer his services.

Now if he had even an ounce of decency left in him, he would fight his way through the hordes of teenagers that crowded into the mall and meet Madame X long enough to tell her the truth. If he had any conscience at all he’d warn her against committing the felony of arson, or even conspiring to. They’d laugh over her misunderstanding, admit to the error of her ways, and he’d head off to Newark Airport in plenty of time to get his flight, secure in his own nobility.

He cursed as the hot water turned abruptly icy, and jumped out of the shower, banging his elbow and knee as he went. That’s what he’d do. He’d make the time to stop there and meet her, out of pure decency and love for his fellow man. And he’d do it because if he didn’t, he’d go absolutely crazy wondering why a conventional-looking creature like Ms. Jane Dexter wanted to commit arson. So much for noble motives.

The phone rang as he let himself out the door. He paused for a moment. Apart from Jimmy the Stoolie, only the chief legal clerk of MacDougal and Sullivan knew where he was. Right now he wasn’t interested in last-minute details, in the law, in anything at all but getting out of this motel. He’d check in with them once he got to the Canary Islands. In the meantime he was going to settle up his account and head for Quaker Bridge Mall and a woman of mystery. And he found himself whistling as he shut the door behind him.

S
andy had to park half a mile away from the entrance to the sprawling structure of Quaker Bridge Mall. It was a Wednesday night, hardly peak time for shoppers and browsers, but it might as well have been the height of Christmas shopping instead of a balmy evening in mid-October. He cursed under his breath as he crossed the wide expanse of the parking lot. He’d have to remember to take this hike into account when he left Madame X. He didn’t want to miss his plane.

It took him even longer to thread his way through the crowds wandering aimlessly around the enclosed mall. He’d miscalculated where the steak house was, and had chosen the parking lot and entrance farthest away. Once he found the coy, Old English facade he had to wait again, shuffling through the cafeteria line like a bag lady, eyeing his purported strip sirloin with deep misgivings. He knew just what his librarian would be doing: munching politely on a salad, eating barely enough to keep a bird alive. While he, for the first time in months, was famished. It didn’t matter if it was strip loin of urban rat, he’d eat it, and the microwaved potato, and the limp salad, and the grease-soaked roll. It took him a while to find Jane in the crowded dining room, and he wondered for a moment whether she’d turned the tables and stood him up. Finally he spotted her over in a dark corner, hunched over her tray, and made his way across the room, only to stop in amazement and stare at her dinner.

He’d never seen so much food in his life. She had the Lumberjack Special, the largest steak the place offered, and it was covered with mushrooms, onions, and green peppers. She had a mound of limp french fries, a half-eaten roll, two desserts, and what looked like a small bathtub of some sort of soft drink. He sank down in the chair opposite her, placing his own more discreet tray on the table, and he wished he’d succumbed to the violently pink strawberry shortcake the place served. Maybe Jane would offer him some of hers.

“Are you pregnant?” he asked abruptly.

It was the second time he’d seen her blush. The first had been when he told her to sit on his bed. He didn’t realize women still blushed, particularly women over thirty.

“No, I’m not. Why do you ask?”

“Pregnant women eat a lot.”

“So do I,” she said defiantly.

“You don’t look like you do.”

She blushed again, and there was just the tiniest bit of a smile behind the wire-rimmed glasses. Not so plain Jane after all, he thought, biting into his greasy roll. “I thought maybe you wanted to torch the father,” he added lazily. “Seduced and abandoned and all that.”

The smile left her eyes. “He’s not the one I want you to torch.”

They ate in silence for a few moments. “You want to tell me who he is?” Sandy said finally.

“Who? The man who seduced and abandoned me or the man I want you to torch?” She managed to sound flippant through the strawberry shortcake that she showed no inclination to share.

“I hope you aren’t actually suggesting I set a person on fire,” he said plaintively. “I do buildings, not people, and I have an excellent safety record. No one’s ever been hurt in one of my fires, not even a fire fighter.” Now why was he repeating Jimmy’s words to her when he should be telling her the truth, making her see the error of her ways? But if he told her, she might very well get up and walk out, and he’d never know who she wanted to sabotage.

“It’s a building. A corporation, as a matter of fact.” She’d managed to eat everything on her tray and drain the gallon of soda besides, and Sandy looked at her with new respect.

“I’m listening.”

“Ever heard of Technocracies Limited?”

He had, but Jimmy the Stoolie wouldn’t. “Can’t say that I have.”

“It’s a research and development firm here in Princeton, run by a man named Stephen Tremaine. It’s run along simple enough lines—he provides the space and the funding for research scientists, and they come up with all sorts of things and split the patents. New kinds of baby formulas, new kinds of rocket boosters, new kinds of nail polish.”

“And?” he prompted as her recitation came to an abrupt halt.

“My brother worked for Tremaine. He developed a revolutionary process for coating tools and metal machine parts with titanium. It’s usually very expensive, but it makes the tools last practically forever. Richard figured out a way to do it cheaply.”

“Sounds innocuous enough.”

“It should have been. Richard, my brother, has always been intensely idealistic. If there’s been a cause he’s followed it. He’s spent more time in jail than you have, protesting the war in Vietnam, nuclear power, the exploitation of migrant farm workers, environmental polluters, everything. He had very strong principles.”

“Had?” Sandy prodded gently.

“He died a little over a month ago,” she said bleakly, pain still shadowing her eyes. “He was in a freak car crash in upstate New York. And now Tremaine’s planning to take his titanium coating process and sell it to the highest bidder. Do you know who the highest bidders are?”

“I can imagine.”

“It’ll either be the Defense Department of this country or one even worse. And that would betray everything Richard ever believed in. I can’t let Tremaine do it, I just can’t!”

“What did Tremaine say?”

“The same old garbage he’s always said.” Her voice was bitter. “That he understands my feelings in the matter but there’s nothing he can do about it. He insists Richard never signed a contract restricting the use of his inventions to peaceful applications. And he says as soon as things get settled he’ll take the best offer he can get.”

“Hold on a minute,” Sandy protested. “What things does he have to settle? I’d think it would be a fairly straightforward transaction.”

“I would have thought so, too. But something’s holding it up. He wanted access to Richard’s apartment, but of course I refused. Not that there’s anything useful in there, but I wasn’t about to give him anything.”

“Who’s Richard’s heir?”

“I am. Our parents are dead.”

“Then anything in his apartment should legally belong to you.”

She gave him an irritated look. “You’ve been hanging around your lawyer too long. I thought of that. Don’t you think I’ve checked into every possible legal alternative? Richard’s possessions belong to me, Richard’s work belongs to Technocracies. I have no legal claim on the formula.”

“If Richard did sign a contract stipulating his work was only to be used for peaceful purposes, wouldn’t there be a copy of it among his private papers?”

“I’ve searched through everything a dozen times. Richard wasn’t the most practical of men. He probably wrapped the garbage in it or something. Not that he was practical enough to even wrap his garbage.”

Sandy had long ago forgotten to look at his watch. “So what is it you want to torch?”

Jane took a deep breath. “Richard’s lab at Technocracies. I’d rather have no one use the formula than to have it get in the wrong hands, and I know Richard would agree with me. You’re good at that sort of thing, aren’t you? Minimizing the damage, making sure no one gets hurt.”

“It would be a waste of time. For one thing, the lab is on Tremaine’s home turf. Anything useful in the place would have been gotten out long ago. You’d just be destroying useless information.”

“You have any alternatives?”

“Of course,” he said, leaning back in the uncomfortable little chair. “We can find out what’s holding up the sale of the formula. It must be a damned good reason. There are rumors that Technocracies Limited is in financial trouble. Tremaine would want a fresh infusion of money as soon as he could get it. We might also be able to find a copy of your brother’s contract with the stipulation that his inventions be used for peaceful purposes.”