Dead Watch

been talking about a woman who had the package, and had automatically taken the cell phone out of his pocket, as though her number was there.
    The phone was unfamiliar, but it took him only a minute to figure out the menu system. The call log showed one outgoing call after Jake’s arrival, lasting twenty-four minutes. The call was to the 715 area code.
    Jake found a Yellow Pages in the closet, checked area codes. The 715 code covered most of the north half of Wisconsin. Now for the three-number prefix after the area code.
    He signed on to the hotel’s wireless service, went out on the Net, found a listing for Wisconsin prefixes. The three-number prefix was in Eau Claire. He checked an online map: Eau Claire was probably three hours away by car. If the killers had gotten a name, somebody in Eau Claire might already be dead. In fact, if the killers had gotten either the phone number or the name, that person almost surely was dead . . .
    He didn’t want to use the FBI search service to find the name behind the number; that could be tracked back to him.
    But . . .
    He lay on the bed, covered his eyes with his forearm, tried to think about it. If the killers had threatened Green and his secretary to get information on the package, did the killers get the information and then do the killing? Is that why the girl resisted, attacked a gun with her fingernails? Maybe she saw the bullet coming . . .
    But if they’d killed the secretary to force the information from Green, there wouldn’t have been any percentage in giving it to them, because Green would have known at that point that he was doomed.
    So maybe the killers didn’t have a name . . .

    He needed to know whom Green had called without leaving obvious tracks. A thought popped into his head: the public library. Could it be that easy? He went back online, looking for an address of the local public library. When he found it, on the library website, he also found a list of telephone references available online. He worked through the menu, tracking the number: and found it. The Eau Claire number went to a Sarah Levine. He checked another directory and had an address. He said her name aloud, tripping a memory: “Sarah Levine, Sarah Levine . . .”
    Lion Nerve. He picked up a pen, crossed out letters. He had Levine, plus o-n-r. Ron Levine.
    Back online, using his government access to Social Security records. Ran Ronald Levine against ITEM: Got an immediate hit. Ronald Levine worked for ITEM for seventeen years. Retired, started collecting Social Security, then showed a change-in-status. He checked: Levine had died.

    Okay. He knew who had the package—Ron Levine’s widow, Sarah. If she was still alive.

    If whoever had killed Green had done it to get the package, and if they had gotten Sarah Levine’s name, then she was probably dead. They’d had more than eight hours to get to her. If they hadn’t, then what? Then, Jake thought, they didn’t get her name, and they could be watching me. Or coming for me.

    The Dane County airport had an all-night Hertz car rental service. He called, gave them the rental information on his car, told them that it sounded funny to him—the engine would hesitate when it downshifted, after it got warm. Wondered if he might trade it for another. No problem. He told them he’d be in early.
    Tried to sleep. He got his four and a half hours, but he was restless, waiting for something to happen. At two-thirty he was up and moving. He cleaned up, packed, did the on-screen check-out, and carried his overnight bag and case down to the car. Moving fast. If they were going to try to take him, they’d have to catch him in the hundred feet between the hotel and the car, and at three o’clock in the morning, they might be a little slow to react.
    He saw nobody in the parking lot, but felt the chill in his spine as he was backing the car out. He made it to the Dane County airport, did the paperwork, upgrading to a Ford SUV, saw nobody out of place. As he was waiting for the Hertz guy to finish the paper, another thought popped into his head. If the watchers were good, and trained, he wouldn’t see anybody.
    But now, at least, he wouldn’t be driving a car that he’d been seen in, that might even have a locator hidden on it; maybe a change of cars would throw them.
    Out on the interstate, he headed north, driving a little too slow, watching for headlights that stayed back. Got off at a rural highway intersection, watched for