Programmed for Peril

way to open it.
    He tottered down the stairs, holding the banister with both hands like a lifeline. He had to stop halfway down. He sat, waiting for sudden dizziness to pass. His head ached horribly. It had been unwise to come to this building. He now felt the fear that should have kept him away. He had been emboldened by thoughts of Trish. Possibly he had made some small progress on her behalf. Where to go from here he had no idea. As bad as he felt, he was relieved by the thought of his van being protected by its security system.
    He left the lobby and found himself in a crowd. It surrounded fire trucks and police cruisers. The smell of burning rubber and paint was overwashed with moisture. Fire hoses arced water onto a dying fire. He groaned and staggered.
    His van had been torched.
     

16
     
    TRISH SPENT AN HOUR OF MONDAY MORNING ON the phone with Louise O’Day, her attorney. Kandinsky Klein and Corman had indeed filed suit. Louise tried to cheer her up. She told Trish that the criminal actions of someone outside her firm were quite a different thing from negligence. Of course, such actions would have to be proven. Not to worry anyway. By the time the big firm got all its heavy artillery in order Trish would likely have sold out to Rocco or another buyer. A pending suit might lower the PC-Pros’ price somewhat, but by then she would be safe within Foster’s golden net. A few thousand less wouldn’t matter that much.
    That theme was repeated when she called the bank. Mr. Beetlebrow, whose real name was Arthur Breed, had reviewed the figures she had recently sent him. Unhappily, it wasn’t possible at this time for Commercial Savings to grant another loan. When she became Mrs. Palmer the bank would be willing to reexamine the application, assuming her husband was willing to co-sign.
    So it wasn’t a great day for a woman who wanted to stand on her own two feet. Nor for one who wished to squirm away from Carson Thomas’s attention. She got a call from odd Nicholas Smith-Patton describing his bizarre adventures in a dingy tenement. That he had been injured while working on her behalf struck a tender spot in her heart. He was certain Carson lurked behind the door he had never had time to open. She sensed Nicholas lacked the nerve to return. She thought for a moment. She told him she had a call to make. She’d get back to him. She phoned Dino at the bakery.
    “This is Melody’s mother,” she joked.
    “How many apple tarts you want?”
    “What I want is some of the help you promised.” She outlined what had happened to Nicholas. She continued hesitantly. How much was it fair to ask the man? “Could you... go back with him sometime soon? He says he can get the door open. If he can... well, this whole awful business might wind down. All you have to do is make sure he doesn’t get hurt. The police can do the rest.”
    “Screw the police! If he finds Carson, I’ll handle him.”
    “Dino! You will not. You’ll get police help. Carson Thomas is—”
    “Who is this Nicholas guy?”
    She described him, saying much less about his appearance than his helpfulness and technical competence.
    “Sounds like a nerd,” Dino said.
    “He’s just terribly shy and awkward.”
    “Yeah, a nerd.”
    “Dino!”
    “Have him give me a call,” Dino said.
    “Oh, thank you!”
    “Done nothin’ yet.”
    “Remember, don’t try to handle Carson alone. Get help from the police.”
    “Sure.”
    “Call Detective Jerry Morris. He’s ready to help.” Jerry, the one man too many in her disarrayed life.
    She felt better after talking to the baker. She could rely on him. Memories of a chastened Rocco DeVita waiting in the wings with a fair offer for PC-Pros spoke to Dino’s efficiency. He and Nicholas might well make an effective team.
    Michelle brought in Trish’s takeout lunch. Foster called. “I’d like to speak with you,” he said.
    Trish had to talk through a mouthful of takeout tuna on pita. “I’d like you to speak with me. I always do.”
    She expected his dry laugh at her tuna tones. Instead he said, “In person” in a level voice.
    She swallowed heavily to clear her mouth. “I’m really busy here, Foster. I hope you can wait until—”
    “I’m not interested in waiting. I don’t think you should be either. When the possibility of our future life together is right now in the balance.”
    “What are you saying?”
    “I’ll be waiting for you here at home. I’ll be in the library. Get here as