No Immunity

in them. Closet: empty.
    On the floor on the far side of the bed he found a backpack/suitcase half disemboweled. He could “see” Grady hunting for something on the bottom, yanking a yellow polo shirt half out, leaving it hanging like a pineapple leaf as his hand dove in again. Tchernak nodded at the garment bag, unopened on a chair, the LAS tag for McCarran Airport still on the handle. Dated Friday, eight days ago.
    Eight days, a long time to put off unpacking, even for Grady.
    Tchernak moved into the bathroom. Towels were in a wad on the floor. So Grady’d come from the airport, taken a shower. His shaving kit was open, but his toothbrush wasn’t visible. If he had used it, it would still be on the sink. Tchernak smiled again, recalling a guy on Grady’s hall saying that Grady’s gear—suitcases, shaving kit—were like archeological digs. You didn’t need carbon dating for any one of Grady’s belongings, you just needed to see how far down it was. The toothbrush was not part of most recent civilization.
    But if he’d tossed around on the bed, dragged himself up, and taken a shower, he’d have brushed his teeth. Even Grady. And the maid would have straightened the bed. So—Logical Conclusion Number One—-Grady was here since the maid was. Even if she came only once a week, that meant Grady had left here Monday night at the earliest.
    Left with what? Did the guy have another set of suitcases standing ready for a second trip? Tchernak picked up the duffel, emptied it onto the floor, and grunted in irritation. Nothing he couldn’t have guessed. Clothes so wadded and dirty, they stank. Now he recalled the smell of Grady Hummacher’s college room. He dug around the inside of the bag, feeling for a pocket that might hold Grady’s passport. Tchernak couldn’t imagine Grady walking across the street without a passport, still.... But there were no pockets, nothing left in the duffel but a folded newspaper. A Spanish newspaper. The Ciudad de Panama Something or Other. Damn, now’ he knew why he should have taken a foreign language in school. There was some reason Grady saved this paper. Tchernak stared at it as if force of will would translate the words. City of Panama. Panama City. Something something. Novembre 12. November twelfth. Twelfth? Today was the fifteenth. Grady got home Friday, November seventh. What was he doing with Wednesday the twelfth’s newspaper from Panama City? Was there some Las Vegas outlet?
    “Leave no trace,” Kiernan had said. The hell to that. Tchernak yanked out the bed-table drawers, the dresser drawers, the desk drawers. Empty, empty, empty. Dammit, the guy had to have left some hint of himself here. Tchernak moved to the kitchen and attacked the drawers. It was in the living room by the computer he found the repository of scraps of paper, sales slips with the business name too pale to read, note from the landlord about reroofing, and— voilà —a receipt from a Panama City hotel dated November twelfth.
    Suddenly the air seemed close, stale. Whatever Grady was up to with this trip to Panama between his official U.S. return Friday the seventh and whenever he got back the last time, it left him too rushed or preoccupied to open any windows here. Nevadans, trained on the desert heat of summer, might leave their windows closed in November, but Grady was an outdoor guy. Tchernak nodded to himself, recalling Grady on a flight to Phoenix one June (Grady’d gotten a deal on the flight and the use of a guy’s grandmother’s condo for five of them). Even back then before Grady got hooked on the wilds, he spent the whole flight griping about the canned aircraft air. And when he’d gotten to the condo in the middle of the desert, he’d shoved those windows open wide, let in the 100-plus-degree air, and laughed when the guy’s grandmother screamed so loud long-distance she didn’t need a phone.
    Grady must have been in one big hurry to race past the closed windows here. Big hurry or big fog. Whichever, he’d moved out fast.
    Out where? Tchernak checked the bedside table. No pad. Adcock said Grady had no messages at the service but the ones Adcock had left him himself.
    Now what? If Kiernan were here, she’d check the computer. Adcock had given him Grady’s business card with phone, fax, password, and e-mail address. He checked the computer. God, he loved this. He was doing it, checking out the apartment, grazing through Grady’s files, all of it better than she’d do