The Night Crew

the surfer guy an asshole?’’ Harper asked.
    Catwell shrugged. ‘‘You know, he’s one of those fuckin’ blond short-hair oh-wow surf’s-up pussy-hounds with big fuckin’ white teeth and never had to work in his whole fuckin’ life . . .’’ He looked at the dead joint again. ‘‘How come guys like him don’t get killed?’’
    Anna shrugged: ‘‘Way of the world. But what about the other kid, the one who took care of the animals. What about him?’’
    ‘‘I don’t know. He’s in theater, or something.’’
    ‘‘Theater? I thought he was some kind of science geek.’’
    Catwell shook his head: ‘‘Theater, is what Jason said.’’
    They talked for a few more minutes, but Catwell had nothing more. He lit up again as they were leaving, and Harper said, ‘‘You oughta lock the door.’’
    ‘‘I will,’’ Catwell said, in the squeaky top-of-the-mouth speech of a man holding his breath. ‘‘Soon as I can afford a lock.’’ Outside, on the driveway, Anna said, ‘‘The whole thing was a setup. Christ, I’d hate to have that get around.’’
    ‘‘Screw you with the TV people?’’
    ‘‘I don’t know—I mean, it was good tape, so they’d probably use it anyway. But it sorta makes us look like chumps.’’
    ‘‘What do you think about this kid?’’
    ‘‘. . . Who set us up? I don’t know: I talked to him for a couple of minutes, came onto him a little bit, you know, just to cheer him up,’’ Anna said. They were walking up the hill toward the street. They could hear rock music from one of the frat houses, and a man laughing. ‘‘God, he seemed real. He didn’t seem like . . . he seemed like a nerd, is what I’m saying. Not like somebody who’d be out trying to physically intimidate people.’’
    ‘‘You said this guy was strong, but kind of soft.’’
    She nodded: ‘‘Yeah. I just don’t see him as being strong. But I don’t know: he could be . I mean, he completely sucked me in. And if he’s really in theater, he probably is in some kind of shape.’’ She thought about it, then said, ‘‘Let’s run him down. Find out.’’
    ‘‘What about Clark?’’ Harper asked.
    ‘‘What time is it?’’ She couldn’t see her watch in the dark.
    ‘‘Time to go, if we’re gonna catch him,’’ Harper said. ‘‘We oughta be there now.’’
    Anna took the cell phone out of her jacket. ‘‘It’s not Clark . . . And now that this kid has come up, I think we should concentrate on him. I’ll talk to Louis, see if he can track the kid down.’’
    ‘‘How long will it take?’’
    ‘‘I don’t know, but Louis can usually find people. He’s got all the phone directories and he can get into utility records. The utilities have just about everybody . . .’’
    ‘‘Except maybe some students and illegals.’’ They came to the end of the driveway. ‘‘So why don’t we go catch Clark, while Louis looks for the kid.’’
    She nodded, reluctantly. It only made sense. ‘‘All right,’’ she said. ‘‘Where’s the car?’’
    Harper pointed the key down the street and pushed a button, and the car flashed its parking lights at them. ‘‘What’s his name?’’ Harper asked, as they walked toward it. ‘‘The kid?’’
    Anna shrugged: ‘‘I don’t remember. The names never stick for more than a day or two.’’
    ‘‘Strange business, Batory.’’
    ‘‘Strange times, Harper.’’

twenty-five

    The two-faced man was dressed in a light Lycra full-length windsurfer’s suit, pitch-black from the neckline to the black Nike gym shoes. With a nylon stocking over his head, he was a shadow.
    He moved slowly, carefully, letting his body feel the way through the dark. He had a fanny pack wrapped around his ribs, a rope wrapped around his waist, and the pistol under his arm.
    Moving like a snake, sliding the last few inches toward the unsuspecting mouse . . . Anna’s house showed a light in a side window, but it was the kind of too-dim light that people left when they were gone—a light in a hallway, somewhere. Not a reading light or a TV light or a work light; a waiting light.
    He closed on the back porch. He’d been there before, but this time, she wasn’t home. There was no one inside to hear him . . . unless the cops had set something up. Unlikely, but possible, and the possibility added to the intensity of the approach.
    He sat in the shadow of the porch for five minutes, listening. And he heard voices, coming down from above,