No Immunity

spot her first, he remembered the time both safeties split the line and smacked his quarterback into the AstroTurf so hard, the guy was out cold for an eternity. He hated her being out there alone. With her it was a toss-up which were more of a threat—cops or crooks. Cops had some standards, but the woman had such an attitude and big mouth that she’d taunted them into locking her up more than once. “No taunting, no speeding, no defenestration!”—how many times had he told her that? Simple little aphorism that even the smallest detective could remember.
    For all the good that did. Sometimes he wondered if all it did was goad her into hitting ninety miles an hour so she could get home quicker to thumb her nose at him.
    One night, over a pitcher of margaritas, she had described the seductive allure of penetration. She’d detailed the foreplay, feeling the lock as she slipped in the celluloid strip.... And now Grady Hummacher’s apartment stood in front of him, needing no foreplay at all, ready to open up like a flasher’s raincoat and expose Grady’s secrets.
    Right, just what I need: rookie detective picked up wet-dreaming on porch . But Tchernak couldn’t restrain a grin as he grabbed the key Reston Adcock had given him and stuck it in the lock.
    Grady Hummacher’s place—four rooms over a double garage and storage area—was the smallest unit in this upscale suite for the upscale single moving in or out of the nation’s fastest-growing city.
    Tchernak’s first reaction to the living room was that it didn’t seem like Grady’s place. Of course it wasn’t, any more than it was Tom’s place, or Dick’s or Harry’s, or whoever else had sprawled on the off-white leather couch or eaten cereal on the pale oak table. The rumpled newspapers on the floor, now that was more Grady’s style. And the kitchen cabinet doors, none of them closed. That took some doing even for Grady. In the dorm twenty-one-year-old Grady had been a man of experience to the seventeen-year-old freshmen. Or a man of experiences. Before the first term was out, Grady had led his freshmen charges in a guerrilla war against Tasman Hall across the quad. He’d turned them on to underage bars, willing women, and a crazy car track with an amateur’s night. To the frosh he’d been a god, to the administration a disaster. His room reflected his life.
    Tchernak moved to the middle of the room and eyed the 360 degrees of beige. The place must cost a bundle, but that just showed that the furnishings of transience come in all economic levels. It would have been depressing to someone without Grady’s skill in overlooking what he didn’t want to see. In the dorm he’d ignored mail, shirts, slacks that needed a trip to the laundry room, and half-empty food wappers that drove the guys next to him crazy, and finally the ants. Mere bland wouldn’t have fazed Grady Hummacher. He would be in and out too fast to care. His mind would be on skiing, rock climbing, women, and getting back to where the action was.
    That’s what he knew about Grady Hummacher. He had assured Adcock that his insight into Grady would make up for being a babe-in-the-woods private eye. Well, that bit of knowledge was not going to make this no-thought apartment tell him Grady’s secrets. You check the bedroom, the bathroom, the phone pad, the computer, Kiernan had once said when he’d asked about starting a search. See if you can tell when the subject was last here.
    He moved quickly into the bedroom, the thick tan carpet nearly trampolining him. It had been over ten years since he’d seen Grady for more than a quick drink when he ran into him at McCarran Airport last month, but if the guy had changed, nothing of it manifested in this room. Grady was in his mid thirties now, but the room screamed “teenager.” The bed was a whirl of sheets and blankets. It looked as if it had been made—this type of place had to have maid service—but Grady had managed to rumple and crunch the covers as much as a guy could without actually getting beneath them. Had he napped on top, stirred up the covers as he unloaded his gear, or had a lady on call as he deplaned?
    Tchernak grinned. Grady was good, but he doubted he was that good. No, more likely Adcock’s fear was right. Grady had picked up some bug in Panama and he’d grabbed a catnap before heading out to—wherever.
    The dresser drawers were closed. Tchernak grinned as he pulled one open and confirmed his suspicion. Nothing