The Night Crew

. . . we were right down there at the medical center.’’
    ‘‘Maybe the kid’s up there, McKinley,’’ Harper suggested. ‘‘You want to run in? We’ve still got a little time.’’
    She thought about it for a second. Anything seemed preferable to looking for Clark: ‘‘Sure.’’
    ‘‘I’ll wait—take the gun,’’ Harper said.
    Anna ran up to the front of the building while Harper idled at the curb: The building was locked, but she could see a security guard inside. She banged on the door, and the guard got up, reluctantly, and walked toward her, cracked the door.
    ‘‘Can I help you?’’
    ‘‘I’m trying to find Charles McKinley. He works up in the animal labs.’’
    ‘‘He’s not here tonight,’’ the guard said, talking through the crack. ‘‘He’s been off since last week.’’
    ‘‘ ’Cause of the animal rights thing?’’
    ‘‘Yup. He’s been all over the TV. He was on the ‘Today’ show, even.’’
    ‘‘Great,’’ Anna nodded. ‘‘Does anybody know where he lives?’’
    ‘‘I couldn’t tell you if I did know,’’ the guard said. ‘‘But I don’t, anyway.’’
    ‘‘Got a phone number?’’
    ‘‘I don’t think so . . . I could look, I guess.’’
    ‘‘Thanks, I’d appreciate it.’’
    The guard pulled the door closed and went back to his desk, rummaged around for a while, and came back, shaking his head. ‘‘Nothing there. Best thing to do is call tomorrow morning. Somebody might know. But—he’s a student.’’ ‘‘Nothing?’’ Harper asked.
    ‘‘He’s not there.’’
    They drove the next two blocks in silence, dumped the car in a parking garage and walked toward the music building.
    ‘‘I hate this,’’ Anna said. She felt like she was plodding through paste.
    ‘‘Where’s he most likely to come out?’’
    She thought about it, and again got caught in the memories: playing with Clark, exploring the building, playing every instrument they could find. They spent several nights in the place, even made love on a library table, when neither one of them would back off the dare.
    ‘‘Right out the front,’’ she said, reluctantly. ‘‘He used to always try to park in the Number Two parking structure, it’s just down the block.’’
    ‘‘So let’s find a place to sit,’’ Harper said. He was being stubborn about it. He could have offered to break it off, to concentrate on the kid. He could have accepted Anna’s argument that she knew Clark well enough to vouch for him. But instead, Harper moved her along, pulling her into it.
    Schoenberg Hall was a low white building on the south side of a grassy sunken square called Dickson Plaza. Anna found a spot on the steps on the north side of the plaza, where they could see the main entrance to the building. She said, ‘‘I wish I had that joint.’’
    ‘‘That’d keep you sharp,’’ Harper said, dropping down beside her.
    ‘‘I don’t need sharp.’’ She looked at her watch. ‘‘Should be ending.’’
    Ten minutes went by. Then the door opened, and a woman walked out. A minute later, a couple. Another minute, and a stream of people pushed out of the building, chatting and laughing as they headed down the walk.
    ‘‘Lot of people. Must’ve been pretty good,’’ Anna said.
    ‘‘No Clark?’’
    ‘‘If it’s really his student, they’re probably hanging around until everyone leaves, talking about it.’’
    ‘‘Is that fun? A good time?’’
    She let the question hang for a second, then said, ‘‘Mostly. It can be pretty terrible. But even when it’s terrible, it’s kind of fun. You know, people mess up. If they’re your friends, you pretend it was nothing. If they’re your enemies, you tell everybody that you feel sorry for them, and you still think it’s possible that they can recover. Stab them in the back.’’
    ‘‘Did you ever mess up?’’
    ‘‘Sure. Everyone does. But if you do it with confidence, keep on counting, you can get away with it. You can get away with a lot, when you’re playing alone or with a good group. That’s part of the fun, too. A secret that nobody knows except the players.’’
    ‘‘Never played music,’’ Harper said. ‘‘Can’t even whistle.’’
    ‘‘Everybody can whistle,’’ Anna said. She whistled the first few notes of ‘‘Yankee Doodle.’’
    ‘‘Nope. Can’t do that. I can make a noise, but . . .’’
    She touched his sleeve: ‘‘There he is. That’s Clark.’’