Persuader

Not even the world's finest actress at the peak of her powers could do that. So Elizabeth Beck was for real.
    I didn't abandon sensible precautions entirely. They were too deeply ingrained for that. I finished my coffee like an innocent person with all the time in the world. Then I strolled out to the mall's internal sidewalks and turned random lefts and rights until I was sure I was alone. Then I went back to the coffee shop and bought another cup. Borrowed their restroom key and locked myself in. Sat on the lid of the john and took off my shoe. There was a message waiting from Duffy: Why interest in Teresa Daniel's real name? I ignored it and sent: Where is your motel? Ninety seconds later she answered: What did you have for breakfast first day in Boston? I smiled. Duffy was a practical woman. She was worried my e-mail device had been compromised. She was asking a security question. I sent: Short stack with egg, coffee, three-dollar tip, I ate it. Any other answer than that and she would be running for her car. Ninety seconds later she came back with: West side of Route One 100 yards south of Kennebunk River. I figured that was about ten miles away.
    I sent: See you in 10 minutes.
    It took me more like fifteen minutes by the time I had gotten back to the car and fought the traffic where Route One bottlenecked through Saco. I kept one eye on the mirror the whole way and saw nothing to worry about. I crossed the river and found a motel on my right. It was a cheerful bright gray place pretending to be a string of classic New England saltboxes. It was April and not very busy. I saw the Taurus I had been a passenger in out of Boston parked next to the end room. It was the only plain sedan I could see. I put the Cadillac thirty yards away behind a wooden shed hiding a big propane tank. No sense in leaving it visible to everybody passing by on Route One.
    I walked back and knocked once and Susan Duffy opened the door fast and we hugged.
    We just went straight into it. It took me completely by surprise. I think it took her by surprise, too. We probably wouldn't have done it if we had thought about it first. But I guess she was anxious and I was stressed and it just happened. And it felt real good. She was tall, but she was slight. My hand spanned almost the whole width of her back and I felt her ribs give a little. She smelled fresh and clean. No perfume. Just skin, not long out of the shower.
    "What do you know about Teresa?" she asked.
    "You alone?" I asked.
    She nodded. "The others are in Portland. Customs says Beck's got a boat coming in today." We let go of each other. Moved on into the room.
    "What are they going to do?" I asked.
    "Observation only," she said. "Don't worry. They're good at it. Nobody will see them." It was a very generic motel room. One queen bed, a chair, a desk, a TV, a window, a through-the-wall air conditioner. The only things that distinguished it from a hundred thousand other motel rooms were a blue-and-gray color scheme and nautical prints on the wall. They gave it a definite New England coastal flavor.
    "What do you know about Teresa?" she asked again.
    I told her about the name carved into the basement room floor. And the date. Duffy stared at me. Then she closed her eyes.
    "She's alive," she said. "Thank you."
    "Well, she was alive yesterday," I said.
    She opened her eyes. "You think she's alive today?" I nodded. "I think the odds are pretty good. They want her for something. Why keep her alive nine weeks and kill her now?" Duffy said nothing.
    "I think they just moved her," I said. "That's all. That's my best guess. The door was locked in the morning, she was gone by the evening."
    "You think she's been treated OK?" I didn't tell her what Paulie liked to do with Elizabeth Beck. She already had enough to worry about.
    "I think she scratched her name with a fork," I said. "And there was a spare plate of steak and potatoes lying around last night, like they took her out in such a hurry they forgot to tell the cook. So I think they were probably feeding her. I think she's a prisoner, plain and simple."
    "Where would they have taken her?"
    "I think Quinn's got her," I said.
    "Why?"
    "Because it seems to me what we're looking at here is one organization superimposed over another. Beck's a bad guy for sure, but he's been taken over by a worse guy."
    "Like a corporate thing?"
    "Exactly," I said. "Like a hostile takeover. Quinn's put his staff into Beck's operation.
    He's riding it like a