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“All right,” Matt said,
“Are you gaining her confidence? Do you think she suspects you’re in Harrisburg for any reason but the cover story?”
“Yes and no. That was two questions.”
“Are you sure she’s not suspicious? That’s a clever female, Matt. She might be able to conceal her suspicions from you, to see what you’re really up to.”
“Hey, I was told to liaise—whatever the hell that means—with you, not have you question my conclusions.”
“What’s the matter with you?” Matthews asked, sounding shocked.
“Nothing. Why should there be?”
There was a pause, then Matthews asked, “What happens next? Are you going to see her again?”
“Dinner, tonight.”
“You haven’t picked up on anything?”
“Our relationship is not yet at the point where I can ask, ‘Hey, Susie, by the way, what do you hear from your friend, the bomber and bank robber?’ But I’m working on it.”
“You will, of course, call me if you do pick up on anything? I mean, presuming you got out of the right side of bed that morning?”
“Yeah. Of course I will. But for Christ’s sake, don’t expect miracles.”
“Be careful, buddy.”
“I will.”
Matthews hung up.
Ten minutes after her conversation with Matt Payne—while part of her mind was still occupied with wondering why she somehow just hadn’t been able to tell him that not only would she not have dinner with him tonight, but that the fun and games was over, period, don’t call me anymore, period—Susan Reynolds received a telephone call from Jennifer Ollwood.
“Hi,” Jennie began.
Susan gave her a telephone number and hung up. She rose from her desk and put her head in the door of Appeals Officer, Grade IV, Veronica Haynes.
“Cover for me, will you, Veronica? I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”
“Make it half an hour,” Veronica replied. “Fifteen minutes isn’t really long enough for an early-morning quickie, is it?”
“Is that all you ever have on your mind?”
“Yeah,” Veronica said, after appearing to have given the question serious thought. “What’s more important?”
“I can think of some things.”
“Some things that are as much fun?”
“Yeah,” Susan said, after appearing to give Veronica’s question as much serious thought as Veronica had given hers.
“Have fun,” Veronica said. “Keeping one eye on the clock, of course.”
Susan rode the elevator to the lobby and left the Department of Social Services Building. She walked to a car wash three blocks away. That morning, on her way to work, knowing Jennie—or less likely, Eloise Anne Fitzgerald—was going to call, she had had her Porsche washed.
While it had been going through—she hadn’t liked to think what the brushes and felt washing pads were going to do to the Porsche’s paint job, but doing this seemed necessary—she had walked to the corner, where there was a pay telephone booth, and written down—and later memorized—the number.
She entered the phone booth, took the handset off its hook, held the hook down with her finger, and pretended to be having a conversation until the phone rang.
