Crouching Buzzard, Leaping Loon

by Donna Andrews

  Then again, if Rob really was getting interested in Liz…

  Snap out of it^ I told myself. They're all grown-ups; they can run their own lives.

  I arrived at the Mutant Wizards office to find the parking lot nearly empty. The only vehicle there was Frankie's fifteen-year-old van, which would probably sit there until he'd saved enough for a new transmission. Of course, Caerphilly was small enough that a lot of people walked to work, but the empty lot was a good sign. As were the darkened office windows.

  I let myself into the building and climbed the stairs to the second floor, where the Mutant Wizards offices were. I stuck my key in the suite door lock, but before I could turn it, the door slipped open.

  Damn, I thought. Probably the therapists again. They were used to leaving the front door unlocked so they wouldn't have to interrupt a session with one patient to buzz in another. I'd been trying to explain to them that they couldn't keep doing this – not considering Mutant Wizards' extensive investment in hardware, to say nothing of the possibility of corporate espionage. I would read them the riot act tomorrow. Point out that their actions could have enabled the murderer to enter the building, or reenter to destroy evidence.

  I was fuming and already beginning to compose my stern lecture as I stepped into the office and groped to the left of the door for the light switch.

  “Lorelei!“ someone whispered.

  As I turned, startled, toward the sound, two hands gripped my shoulders and a mouth closed over mine.

  At least the mouth tried to close over mine. One of the things martial arts is supposed to do, if you're paying attention, is train your reflexes, so you react quickly and effectively when you think someone's attacking you. As Michael found out rather painfully one day when he decided to drive up and surprise me upon my return from a craft show. Unfortunately, he decided to surprise me by sneaking up behind me and grabbing me.

  “I won't ever do that again,“ he'd said, nursing his bruises.

  “Don't,“ I'd replied. “Because if you do it again, I'll react the same way. If someone grabs me, I can't stop to worry about whether it might be someone I know.“

  It was nice to see my reflexes were still okay. In fact, better than okay, I thought as I flipped on the light switch and looked down at my would-be assailant. Or, perhaps, would-be admirer. I made a mental note to call my karate instructor and thank him. Then again, maybe not; he was sure to want a blow-by-blow description, and I was already having a hard time remembering exactly which technique I'd used to shake off the clutching arms, and exactly how I'd knocked the attacker to the floor. I could report that the side kick to the groin worked splendidly, though. The intruder kad curled into a fetal position, his face almost touching his knees, and he was making faint whimpering noises. I didn't recognize him immediately, but then, what little I could see of his face was starting to bruise. And, wonder of wonders, I didn't seem to have reinjured my left hand in the fray.

  George, awakened by the light, blinked sleepily at the sight of me.

  “Okay,“ I said to the groveling intruder. “Who the hell are you, and what do you mean by attacking me like that?“

  I had to repeat myself several times before he stopped whimpering and looked up.

  “Why did you do that?“ he asked.

  “You attacked me in the dark,“ I said. “I defended myself.“

  “I thought you were someone else,“ he said, heaving himself up on his knees.

  “I figured out that much. Don't get up just yet,“ I said, turning my body slightly so I was ready to deliver another good, solid kick.

  George added to the effect by choosing that moment to shriek rather loudly. I knew he had just recognized me and assumed, in his single-minded way, that I had arrived to feed him, but it must have sounded rather ominous to the intruder. He dropped back to the floor and curled up again, watching me warily.

  I recognized him now – a therapy patient. One of Dr. Lorelei's flock, a small, plump, graying man who could have been any age between thirty and fifty. This was the first time I'd seen him unaccompanied by his wife, also small, plump, graying, and of indeterminate age.

  “You thought I was Dr. Lorelei?“ I asked.

  He reduced his chances of getting kicked again by blushing.

  “So you were coming to see Dr. Lorelei.“

  He nodded.

  “Why?“

  “I'm a patient of hers,“ he said.

  “Her office hours were over a long time ago,“ I said.

  “This was urgent,“ he said.

  “Men usually seem to think so, yes.“

  “I needed to talk to her. Urgently. She agreed to meet me here.“

  “Right,“ I said.

  He could see I didn't believe him – he didn't look as if he expected me to. But at least he stopped babbling inanities.

  “Show me some ID,“ I said.

  He reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet, and handed over a driver's license. The picture matched his face, or would when the swelling went down, and the name sounded vaguely familiar – about the way it would from seeing it on the visitor's list a couple of times. I pulled out my notebook-that-tells-me-when-to-breathe and wrote down his name and address; my handwriting was somewhat more ragged than usual because I was still keeping one eye on him.

  “I think you should leave now,“ I said as I flipped the driver's license onto the floor beside him. “If you still need Dr. Lorelei, why don't you meet her in the College Diner? It's open twenty-four hours, and they didn't have a murder on the premises yesterday, so the waitresses are probably a little less apt to kick first and ask questions later. I can send the doctor over when she shows up.“

  “No, no. I'm feeling much better,“ he said. “Just apologize to her for dragging her out so late, okay?“

  Somehow he didn't look better. He looked a little traumatized. I'd probably set his therapy back years. I'd feel sorry if it wasn't clear that the little swine was cheating on his wife.

  He looked relieved. Perhaps he was expecting me to call the police. Which I still could, later, if I decided it was a good idea. Like if I checked the visitor's logs and found out he was at the office Monday.

  I stood at a safe distance as he hauled himself to his feet and staggered out of the suite. I kept my eye on him for the whole five minutes it took for the elevator to lurch up to our floor and drag its doors open so he could limp inside.

  If he really was expecting Dr. Lorelei, it might be interesting to catch her off guard when she arrived. Which might be very soon, if he had mistaken me for her. I turned out the overhead lights and my flashlight, and was about to hide behind the partition that separated the reception area from the rest of the office when it occurred to me that Dr. Lorelei might already be inside her office. But no, surely if she'd heard the commotion in the reception area, she'd have appeared already.

  While I was debating where to hide, I heard a noise out in the hall. I pulled open the coat closet door, only to find the space in which I was planning to hide filled with a giant cardboard box. Dammit, nothing was supposed to be in the coat closet but visitor's coats and the fire extinguisher. I made a mental note to figure out tomorrow who had junked it up. Meanwhile, I ducked under the reception desk, barely making it out of sight before the door opened.

  I heard cautious footsteps.

  “Randall?“ a voice called. “Are you here?“

  I stood up, turning on my flashlight as I did, and aiming it toward the voice. Dr. Lorelei stood, bunking, in my beam. She was wearing a slinky black dress and four-inch heels – which made her about six feet four inches.

  “Fancy meeting you here,“ I said, putting one hand on my hip while keeping her pinned with the beam.

  She looked uncomfortable but didn't say anything. Was she too surprised to talk, or was she trying to figure out what to say? Or perhaps just trying to wait me out. Two could play at that game.

  But long before the pressure of my withering glance had a chance to demorali
ze Dr. Lorelei to the point that she would confess her rendezvous – heck, if she wanted to confess to Ted's murder while she was at it, I wouldn't complain – the office door popped open behind her, and I saw the pasty face of the rabid fan who had been trying to sneak into the offices all week.

  “Aarrgghh!“ I yelled, and flapped my arms, much the way I'd do to chase squirrels off Dad's bird feeder. The fan reacted much as the squirrels did: after a moment of frozen shock, she turned and ran.

  And like the squirrels, she would probably lurk just out of sight, waiting for a chance to come back and steal something. I turned angrily to Dr. Lorelei.

  “You see!“ I said. “That's why we can't have people leaving the doors unlocked all the time. I don't know whether it was you or one of the other therapists who told my brother that playing Lawyers from Hell was a silly, useless way for grown people to spend their time – well, fine, no one's forcing you to play it. But you have to realize that there are people who take it very, very seriously, and will stop at nothing to get some kind of inside information about the new release, and if you persist in leaving the doors unlocked, it's going to cause problems. For all we know, these crazy fans could have had something to do with the murder!“

  Dr. Lorelei didn't say anything, but I saw her eyes dart sideways a couple of times to glance at the door. Did she think I was so unbalanced that she'd need to make a run for it?

  Then I realized she might be thinking what had just occurred to me: if a crazy fan really did have something to do with the murder – and while I admit that having the police suspect my brother made me biased, I still thought the fans were logical suspects – then maybe the police should check them out. Only I'd just chased the craziest of them all away, instead of trying to sic the police on her.

  Oh, well. Odds were she'd be back tomorrow. In fact, if she didn't show up again fairly soon, that would be even more suspicious.

  Dr. Lorelei finally found her voice. “I didn't leave the door open,“ she said. “I was just as surprised and shocked as you were to find it open.“

  “Really,“ I said.

  “I came down to meet a patient who's having a crisis,“ she said, glancing again at the door. “I need to let him in when he arrives.“

  “If you mean Randall, he managed to find his own way in, and he seems to be over his crisis, so I sent him home.“

  She opened and closed her mouth a few times, as if not sure what to say. “I don't know what you're thinking,“ she began.

  Actually, from the look on her face, she'd probably already figured out what I was thinking. I'd have to ask one of my therapist relatives to be sure, but I had a pretty good idea that having an affair with a patient would be a first-class violation of Dr. Lorelei's professional ethics. Not to mention a violation of ordinary human morality – Randall was married, and so was Dr. Lorelei, unless the ring she wore on her left hand was some kind of camouflage to deflect the romantic fantasies of her patients.

  But I wasn't mean enough to say all that. Okay, maybe I was mean enough, but something more interesting occurred to me instead, and I decided to take a wild chance.

  “Is that what Ted was blackmailing you about?“ I asked. “Your affair with Randall?“

  Bull's-eye. Even with just the flashlight beam for light, I could see her flinch.

  “He wasn't blackmailing me,“ she said. “I mean, he tried, but I told him off. I never paid anything. Why should I –? I'm not having an affair. I'm having a small problem with a patient who has become obsessed with me, true, but I'm working that out.“

  “And meeting him here at one A.M. was part of working it out?“ I asked, checking my watch.

  “I should have known you'd assume the worst,“ she said, drawing herself up and turning on her heel.

  “Doesn't much matter what I assume,“ I said, to her departing back. “Be interesting to hear what Chief Burke makes of it.“

  Maybe it was my imagination, but I think her shoulders fell a little as I said that.

  I watched as she crossed the lobby and disappeared down the stairway.

  I'd guessed correctly – Ted had tried to blackmail her. Wasn't there an entry for The Valkyrie on his list of targets? That would fit Dr. Lorelei perfectly. But did this have anything to do with his murder?

  Perhaps not, if her reason for showing up here was as innocent as she would like me to think. Then again, maybe even the appearance of an ethics violation would damage her career – especially her brand-new national radio show. And if she really was having an affair –?

  Whether or not she was having an affair wasn't important, though I admit I was curious. What mattered was whether or not she'd kill to protect her professional reputation and her growing fame as the star of Lorelei Listens. And for my money, yes, she was ambitious enough. Not to mention the fact that, given her size and strength, she could probably have strangled Ted even without stunning him first.

  Maybe I should be glad she left quietly.

  Maybe I should have stayed in hiding instead of confronting her. And speaking of hiding – I checked the box in the coat closet and found it full of pink Affirmation Bears. So Dr. Brown would receive tomorrow's complaint about people usurping shared space for personal use. Or maybe I should focus on the safety angle – if a fire broke out and I reached into the closet, I wanted to put my hands on the extinguisher, not a fuzzy pink cheering section.

  Should I wrestle the box into her office now? No. For now, I was going to make myself a copy of Ted's blackmail list, so no one would see me doing it in the morning, and leave it at the reception desk, with the keys. And then crawl around with the blick light, studying the mail cart track. The bears could hibernate where they were until morning, when Dr. Brown was available to move them herself.

  I strolled through the opening and turned right, rounding a corner and walking down the north hall, which led, eventually, to the copier room.

  And then I saw something down the hall and ducked into a nearby cube.

  I peered carefully out of the cube. I'd seen someone in the computer lab. During the daytime there were always people in the lab, of course; even at midnight, which it very nearly was, seeing someone working late would not be odd – but this someone was sitting in the dark.

  I'd never found out why, unlike the rest of the office, the computer lab had floor-to-ceiling glass walls. I didn't find the view of a large room full of hardware that aesthetically pleasing, but maybe I wasn't the intended audience. Maybe to the technically oriented, it was a symphony in plastic, metal, and silicon, a tone poem in black, white, gray, and beige.

  Or maybe it was a security measure, so no one could easily get up to any kind of sabotage. Anyone who walked down the north corridor could see everything that was happening in the lab.

  And anyone in the lab could see anyone who walked down the corridor.

  I peered carefully out of the cube where I was hiding. My eyes were more adjusted to the dark now, and the flicker from several monitors gave enough light for me to recognize the occupant of the lab.

  It was Roger.

  He was making CD-ROMs. “Burning“ them, as the guys said. Mutant Wizards had several CD burners in the lab, so the programmers could make a small quantity of CDs when they wanted to get people to test new versions of the game. As I watched, Roger punched a button on one of the CD burners. The drawer slid open. He removed the CD inside and put it on top of the inch-high stack of CDs beside the burner. Then he took a fresh CD from a stack to his left, placed it in the holder and pushed the drawer back in. His fingers flew over the keys for a few minutes, and then he sat back, clasped his arms behind his head, and went back to watching the various monitors and CD burners.

  Of course, it was always possible that he had some legitimate reason for being there. Doing some urgent task related to the new release. And that he hated the fluorescent lights and preferred to sit in a room lit only by the glow of the monitors. And found it more convenient to sneak in the back door, rather than through the fro
nt door, where I'd have seen him. But still…

  I ducked back into a cube and looked around. Luis's cube, I noticed. I rifled the papers by his phone and, as I'd hoped, found a copy of the emergency contact list. Roger was on it, and, more important, his work, home, and cell phones were listed.

  I called his cell phone. After a couple of rings, he answered. “Yeah?“

  “Roger!“ I exclaimed. “Thank God someone's got his phone on; I've been ringing people for fifteen minutes. Listen, you live pretty near the office, right?“

  “Right,“ he said.

  “Is there any chance you could do me a big favor and drop by the office really quickly?“

  “Why?“ he asked. Not mentioning, of course, that he was already at the office, which anyone who was here for any honest reason would have said right away.

  “I left Spike in his cage in the downstairs hall,“ I improvised. “Rob was supposed to pick him up, but I can't reach Rob – I'm beginning to worry that the police have taken him in again, and I don't want to abandon Spike there all night if Rob didn't have a chance to pick him up. Could you go over there and take a quick look?“

  “Yeah, I guess so,“ he said. “Hang on.“

  I heard some tapping noises through the phone, and then a door opening and closing as he left the computer lab. I waited until I heard the same noise again, this time from the reception area, and then I ran back to the computer lab, carefully opened the door, and tiptoed over to where I could see his monitor.

  “Okay,“ I muttered. “I see why you're slinking around in the middle of the night.“

  From the looks of it, Roger was being a very bad boy. One monitor showed a pornographic Web site. Not, as far as I could tell, a very good one. But perhaps the visitors didn't much care about the bad lighting and composition of the photos, or the fact that the women in them weren't particularly beautiful or enthusiastic about what they were doing. And I was sure no one else cared that the text – what there was of it – was poorly spelled and hideously ungrammatical. I was probably the only person who'd ever tried to read the text, aside from its author.