82 Desire

nicely, Skip thought. She’d successfully thrown them off the track of what she was getting at, and they were getting there anyway.
    She said, “I forgot to mention—I was so dumb I left my gun at the scene. I can’t hold anybody up to get an ID—and even if I could, I’m thinking now. My adrenaline’s kicked in, and I’m trying to be smart.”
    Dee-Dee said, “Couldn’t you just get a brick and knock someone in the head?”
    “Or you could grab them from behind, stick a finger in their back, and pretend to have a gun.”
    “Trouble is, how do you find someone who looks like you?”
    “Maybe you could just borrow an ID from a friend.” The ideas were coming thick and furious now.
    “But then you’d leave a witness.”
    Sheila shrugged. “So steal one from a friend. Ask him out to dinner and then when he goes to the men’s room, take his wallet out of his jacket.”
    “ ‘Course you’d have to pay for dinner,” Dee-Dee said.
    Layne said, “They’re always warning office workers not to leave their wallets in their pockets. You know how you hang your jacket in your office? Anybody could come along.”
    “Not if they looked like they didn’t belong,” said Sheila.
    “Hey! I got it.” Kenny was shouting. “You get a belt like Steve’s.”
    Everyone stared at him, mystified.
    He turned to Steve. “You know. That belt you wear when you’re working on your house.”
    “My tool belt?”
    “Yeah. You get one of those so you look like a repairman. Then you walk into any building you want and no one notices. You’ve got your choice of wallets.”
    Dee-Dee tousled the boy’s imaginary hair. “Hey. Pretty smart, kiddo.”
    Skip nodded. “Very elegant.”
    But Sheila evidently felt her little brother was getting attention that was rightfully hers. “So how did Russell get out of town?”
    Skip said, “Who?”
    “Russell Fortier. That’s what this is about, isn’t it?”
    “Of course not. You know I never discuss my cases.” She hadn’t meant it as a joke, but for some reason it provoked merriment.
    It may have been unconventional, but it was a damned good brainstorming session. She’d gotten at least one good idea and a bunch of backups from it. She eliminated car-stealing and mugging on grounds they just weren’t Russell’s style. The Greyhound bus was a possibility, but she put it in the backup category for several reasons—first of all, the inconvenience. If you were at the airport, why take a bus? An easy answer might be simply that you wouldn’t need ID to do it, but if you’d planned this thing in advance—unlike her postulated bank robber—why not plan a smooth, clean, easy getaway? Second, the taxi dispatcher and dozens of cab drivers had been shown Russell’s picture and no one remembered him (though that certainly wasn’t conclusive). The taxi ride to Baton Rouge or a nearby fishing village wasn’t likely either, for the same reason. (Though she would check car rentals in Baton Rouge and maybe some other places, like Biloxi, maybe.)
    The fake ID stolen from a friend was the plan she liked best. And best of the best was the office idea—only Russell wouldn’t need a tool belt to get in. He already had the run of the United Oil building.
    She dropped by there on her way to the office, surprising Douglas Seaberry sipping his morning mug. He had on a crisp striped shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and his face was all pink and healthy, like he’d jogged before work. He gave her a million-dollar smile—the man was nothing if not attractive—and then banished it almost immediately, as if he expected the worst. “Detective Langdon—do you have news?”
    She was so wrapped up in her ID fantasies, she was momentarily taken aback. “News? Oh, about Russell. No, I’m sorry to say I don’t. I just came by to ask you a question.”
    “Sit down. Can I get you some coffee?”
    She accepted the seat, but declined the coffee. “I was wondering if you’ve had any problems with thieves lately.”
    Seaberry looked truly mystified, as well he might. “What I mean is, is this the kind of place where you can go to the ladies’ room with your purse on your desk, and know it’ll be there when you return?”
    He seemed to be thinking. She was trying not to ask the question too directly. “Small robberies. Purses, wallets—any problems like that?”
    “Can you tell me why you’re asking? I guess I could call Security and ask them.” Uncertainty blinked like a sign on his