Invasion of Privacy

both of which could use some highlighting, as she wore no makeup and had the hair pulled back in a severe bun. There was a pie-wedge of harbor and airport runway visible through the window, if you craned your neck a little. Loiselle gave the impression that it wasn’t worth the effort.
    Sitting behind her desk, a utilitarian metal job that would have looked just right on the movie set of 1984, she gestured at her computer in a way that made me feel stupid for not understanding exactly what I’d interrupted. “This had better be good, Mr. Detective.”
    “Private investigator.”
    “What’s the difference?”
    “Detectives are confused police officers. I’m just confused.”
    A studiously blank stare. “About what?”
    “About why all of a sudden I can’t reach my client and your friend, either at home or at work.”
    Loiselle dropped the stare. “To be frank with you, John, I can’t either.”
    Leaning forward in my chair, I said, “When’s the last time you saw or heard from her?”
    “Yesterday afternoon.”
    “What time?”
    “Around three.”
    About when I’d phoned Evorova from Vermont , telling her what I’d discovered at the university and newspaper. “She say anything to you?”
    “I didn’t talk with her directly. She just left a message with Craig.”
    “Your secretary?”
    “Yes. The message was that she had to go out, think something through toward making a decision.”
    “About what?”
    “She didn’t say.”
    I shook my head.
    Loiselle said, “But you have some idea, don’t you?”
    I looked at her. “You a mind reader, Claude?”
    She gave me one of the lopsided smiles. “You know what my nickname is around here?”
    “No.”
    “It’s a play on Helen of Troy.”
    “ ‘The face that launched a thousand ships.’ ”
    “Very good. Only mine’s ‘the face that launched a thousand shits.’ ”
    “Intimidation.”
    “It works, John.”
    “Not on me.”
    Loiselle stopped. Then, her voice quieter, “What’s happened to Olga?”
    “I honestly don’t know. Can you think of anything else?”
    “Only what I’ve told you, and the fact that her secretary said she had two things on for this morning and she’s blown off both of them.”
    I processed that. “Anybody seen her?”
    “Today? No. I called Olga—at home, I mean—and got just her tape. Left a message.”
    “Behind the ones on there from me.”
    Loiselle closed her eyes.
    I said, “Can you try her at Dees’ place for me?”
    “Already did. No answer at his condo, and some woman at his shop said he was out and she didn’t know when he’d be back.”
    “Can you try Olga at home one more time?”
    Loiselle opened her eyes. “Now?”
    “Now.”
    She dialed. After a moment, “Olga, this is Claude again. If you’re there, please pick up.” Another moment. “Olga, please!” A shorter wait before Loiselle slammed the receiver back into its console. Rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands, she said, “Goddammit. What’s going on?”
    “I can’t tell you without Olga’s permission, but it could be bad. Can you get me into her office?”
    Loiselle looked left-right-left in quick succession.
    “Why?”
    “I’d like to see whether there’s anything there that could help us.”
    Loiselle seemed to consider that. Then she stood up and walked past me in a way I remembered from the Army, a way that said I was supposed to follow.

    “Have you heard from Olga?”
    The secretary looked up at Claude Loiselle. When the seated woman spoke, I recognized the formal voice from my earlier calls. “No, not since the last time you asked me.”
    The secretary sounded more frightened than insubordinate, and Loiselle blew by her and through an inner door that showed a nicer view of the harbor than Loiselle’s own. The furniture was exotic, reminding me of the stuff in Evorova’s apartment and making me appreciate that bankers of her rank probably bought—or at least got to pick out—their own office decor.
    Loiselle closed the door. “All right, how many rules do you want me to break?”
    “You know her routine better than I do. Where would we look for where she might be?”
    Loiselle moved past me to the desk and sat near the computer, adjusting the monitor on a kind of ball-bearing stand for her own eye level. “Olga probably didn’t come in early this morning and leave early.”
    “Because?”
    “She’d have logged on, then used a screen-saver to avoid burning an image.”
    Loiselle flicked a