Eye of the Beholder

minutes. When he had emerged, he had the place to himself.
    But not for long, he thought. He had to move quickly.
    He adjusted the strap of the computer case on his shoulder and started along an unlit corridor. The passage was lined on each side by twin rows of glass-paneled office and seminar room doors. Assuming nothing had changed since the time Alexa had spent here, Radstone's office was up ahead and to the left.
    He had made the decision to search Radstone's files first because everything he had indicated that it was Radstone who managed the Institute's money. And money was at the core of this. It was the only motive that explained both his father's death and Guthrie's as well.
    He reached the junction of two hallways, turned, and started along the corridor that led to his destination.
    A squeak sounded, unnaturally loud in the darkness. He recognized the noise immediately. It was the sort that was made by the soles of a pair of running shoes on hardwood floors. It emanated from the intersecting hallway.
    So much for the theory that he was alone in the seminar facility.
    Trask halted and looked at the door directly across from where he stood. There was a small sign printed on the translucent glass, but he could not read it in the dim light. He had to get out of sight. Whoever was coming down the hall might decide to turn right and walk along this passage.
    He crossed the corridor in two strides and tried the doorknob. It refused to turn in his hand.
    He swore silently and tried the next one. It, too, was locked. He was thinking up reasonable excuses for hanging around dark corridors when he passed a third door. This one did not have a glass panel in it. It opened easily.
    He caught a glimpse of a toilet and a gleaming washbasin before the door swung shut, leaving him in absolute darkness. It looked like he'd picked the women's room this time. At least it made a change of pace.
    It occurred to him that he was spending a lot of time in rest rooms this evening. He hoped that was not a bad omen.
    He heard the squeak outside in the hall and knew that whoever had come down the intersecting corridor had turned in to this one. It had been close. Five seconds later and he would have been seen, Trask thought.
    He wondered who had just walked past the rest room door. A member of the Institute's faculty, possibly. Someone with an office in this hall. But if that was the case, why hadn't he turned on the lights?
    Trask waited until the squeaks had receded into the distance. Then he counted to ten and cracked open the rest room door. He glanced down the shadowy length of the corridor.
    There was a figure at the end of the hall, barely visible in the darkness. As Trask watched, the dark shape disappeared through the doorway into an office.
    Trask reviewed the map in his head. Radstone's office was at the end of this hall. First big deduction of the evening: It was Foster Radstone himself who had walked down the hall in squeaky running shoes.
    In the dark .
    So much for searching that office. The only option left was Bell 's. That meant backtracking to the intersection and turning left.
    "I got your message. What the hell do you want?"
    The angry, muffled voice came from the far end of the corridor. It belonged to Foster Radstone . Trask stopped.
    "Are you crazy? Get the hell out of my office."
    Trask gazed into the shadows at the end of the hall.
    "You're outta your fucking mind." Radstone's voice echoed through the glass panel on the door, loud and getting louder. "You can't threaten me. Get the hell out of my office, you bastard."
    Second big deduction of the evening: There was someone else besides Foster in the office. This was simply too interesting to pass up. Trask went silently back down the hall toward Radstone's office. He glanced at the bottom of the door as he approached. No light showed beneath it. The glass panel was luminous, however. Inside, the office was flooded with moonlight and the glow of the lamps that lined the path outside.
    Why wasn't Radstone turning on any lights tonight?
    He reached the door and saw the shadowy outlines of two figures etched against the glass. There was something wrong with the head of one of them. Strange, pointed shapes stuck out from the skull.
    The jester.
    As Trask watched, the jester raised one arm in an ominous movement. The shadowy fist clutched a small, blunt object.
    "No. No ," Radstone's voice rose. "Wait. How much do you want? Name your price."
    The jester mumbled