Body Guard (13 page)

“In Japan. He was at an electronics conference that my father also attended. I saw him there.”

“Your father’s name’s Watanabe?”

“Hiroge Watanabe. A very wealthy and important man.”

“So you came with Humphries to America?”

“Oh no! My father gave me a trip to America when I graduated from the university. I applied to graduate school at Columbia, was accepted, and spent a year in New York. Roland and I saw each other there occasionally.”

“How did you get here?”

She shrugged. “Roland asked me to come. I said, ‘Why not?’ I’d never been to Colorado.” She tossed her long hair and looked around at the vista across the shallow valley to the Front Range. It rose in a series of blue-green ridges against the clear sky. From somewhere in the house came a rattle of dishes and the muted ranchera music that Mrs. Lucero liked. “It’s very pretty. But frankly, it’s boring. I expected to see Indians and cowboys.”

“They all got trampled by roaming buffalo. Humphries calls you his wife.”

Mitsuko shrugged again and looked away. “It’s what he thinks he wants. And it doesn’t bother me.”

“Thinks?”

“He doesn’t really know. Sometimes I believe that if I said I would marry him, he wouldn’t want me anymore.” Her black eyes glanced at him. “This way, I’m like a toy he’s borrowed and knows he has to give up someday.” She sighed, smiling again. “I don’t know why things have to get so complicated. Do you?”

Bunch didn’t. “How long do you plan to stay with him?”

She leaned back against the stretch of blouse and slacks, and that little tingle was in the air. “Why?”

“Just a professional question, Watanabe-san.” He led the way back to the front door, satisfied that no one had tried to force entry into the home. “Maybe somebody’s jealous of Humphries’ good luck. Maybe somebody wants to get rid of him so they can have you.”

“How romantic! But who could it be? I don’t know anyone in Colorado except Roland and Mr. and Mrs. Lucero. And Mr. Kirk and you.”

“Somebody from New York? Any possibility of someone following you out here?”

She shook her head, seeing that Bunch was serious. “I don’t think so. I had an affair or two back there, but it was nothing. Uncomplicated, you know?”

Bunch knew. “Maybe I’d better check it out anyway. Want to give me the names?”

She hesitated. It was the first time he’d seen caution in the woman’s dark eyes. “Is it really necessary? Roland doesn’t know about them.”

“If they haven’t followed you out here, he doesn’t have to learn about them.”

“And if someone has?”

“I thought you weren’t planning on a long-term relationship?”

The shrug was quicker this time, irritable. “What I don’t want to do is cause any unnecessary complications. Roland would be very upset if he learned about those others.” The irritation disappeared in a bright smile. “He is not as mature as I think you are, Mr. Bunch. Besides, I’m certain neither of them followed me out here. Neither had any reason to.”

“But it should be checked out.” Bunch could be equally stubborn.

Her expression doubted the necessity of it, but with a slow nod of acquiescence she gave him the names. He verified the spelling and jotted them in a small notebook.

“You’re leaving already?”

“Humphries wants his sensor field installed as soon as possible. I’ve got to get the equipment.”

In the Bronco’s rearview mirror, he saw her lean against the doorframe as he bounced down the drive. Until the road turned and pinched the house out of sight between stands of pine trees, the isolated flicker of white stood motionless and staring after him.

“They’re not married?” Devlin looked up from the letter that had just come in over the fax machine. Allen Schute from Security Underwriters had not been overwhelmed by the videotape of Zell mowing his lawn. It would make a stronger case for the jury, he wrote, if Kirk got pictures of the man using his back more strenuously. Devlin had an idea, but it involved breaking and entering, which meant illegally obtained evidence. He had been reluctant to try it, but they’d wasted enough time on Zell.

Bunch rummaged through the large closet that had been fitted up with shelving and a worktable and served as the storage room for his electronic equipment. “Mitsuko Watanabe, not Mrs. Roland Humphries. And probably never Mrs. Roland Humphries.”

“Why not?”

“I think she wants him to marry her, but she knows he’s not going to.” He shrugged. “I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s a lot going on they haven’t told us, Dev.”

That was Kirk’s reading too. “Could their relationship have anything to do with the prowler?”

Bunch told him about Mitsuko’s New York flings. “Think Percy can find out if one of them’s been out here recently?”

Percy was an ex-Secret Service agent who had his own P.I.. business in New York City. He and Devlin did favors for each other. But lately the balance had been against Kirk and Associates, and Devlin was reluctant to tip it any further.

“Hey.” Bunch poked his head out the closet door. “It’ll take him, what, a couple phone calls to find out if these guys took any time off from work? Christ, it can’t cost that much. Put it on Humphries’ bill—I can cover it in the cost of setting up the electronics.”

“Why not just list it?”

“She doesn’t want Humphries to find out about these guys. Says it’ll just cause problems.” He stacked sensors and electronic eyes on the floor and started coiling wire. “So I promised her I’d keep it quiet.”

Devlin picked up the telephone. As usual, Percy wasn’t at either his office or his home. A recording at his pager number said to leave a message and if it was vital, a representative from the Percy Ahern Agency would call back within the hour; if the message wasn’t vital, the representative would return the call as soon as possible. Thank you.

Devlin waited for the beep. “Percy, Devlin Kirk and it’s about seven p.m. our time. Please check two names for us to see if they’ve come to Denver in the last three weeks: Daniel Chaney and Lawrence Kosman. I’ll fax the information to you now.” He hung up and fed the papers with names and last known addresses, compliments of Miss Watanabe, into the machine, which peeped its gratitude.

“Somebody else I’d like to call while we’re at it, Dev.”

“What’s this ‘we’ shit?”

“Okay—’you.’ Call Yoshi. See what he can find out about Watanabe and her old man. He’s supposed to be a big bowl of rice in Tokyo—Hiroge Watanabe.”

Devlin considered that. Every now and then Bunch came up with a good idea. “How much can you cover in that electronics bill?”

“Hey, Humphries wants the best. If it doesn’t cost enough, he’ll be disappointed.”

Kirk hoped Yoshi Kamakura wouldn’t charge Tokyo prices for his time. With the exchange rate, even Humphries couldn’t afford much of that. Devlin wouldn’t call, though. He’d use the fax machine. On the other side of the world, Yoshi would be sleeping—or at least out of his office.

By the time Devlin drafted the inquiry and sent it beeping on its way, Bunch had lugged a pair of oversize gym bags out of the closet. “I got another good idea, Dev. You know how we’re falling behind on electronics? How the state of the art is moving away from us?”

Devlin didn’t know that. “What are you trying to say?”

“There’s a new nonlinear junction detector out. Top-of-the-line stuff. It’s something we should have if we’re going to bid seriously for security sweeps.”

“How much?”

“About twenty-five.”

“Hundred? Maybe after Reznick’s next check—”

“Thousand. But that’s with all the extras.”

“Twenty-five thousand? Jesus Christ, Bunch!”

“Hey, we can cover it on the bid or hold off on some of the extras.”

“We try to keep bids down so we win them, Bunch. And we can hold off on the whole damned thing! What’s wrong with the junction detector you have now?”

“Nothing yet. That I know of. But listen, I warned you we’d have to update every few years. Listening devices get more sophisticated, detectors have to get more sophisticated too.”

Kirk tapped the pile of mail that had fluttered through the door slot earlier in the afternoon. “You know what’s in these envelopes, Bunch? Any idea what’s in these envelopes?”

“I know—I know. But think of it as an investment, Dev. You want to be the best in industrial security, you got to have the best detection equipment. You know that.”

“And I know a lot of these new electronics features are cosmetic! Just tell me honestly, Bunch—honestly, now: will the equipment you now have do the job? Because if it won’t, I’m not going to bother writing up that Broomfield bid.” He added, “We do not have twenty-five thousand dollars for some new nonlinear whosis, especially if we don’t really need the damn thing.”

“Well, yeah, I guess I can do a good sweep with the one we got. It’ll take a little longer, that’s all.”

“Then take longer. I’ll figure the bid with you taking longer. I’ll be goddamned if I’m borrowing twenty-five thousand when we don’t really need it.”

“We don’t need it yet. But you better figure it in the budget, because it won’t be long before the opposition finds a way around the stuff we do have.” Bunch shook his head as he closed the door. “Some of the things the Japs are coming up with now …”

It was close to four in the morning when Devlin coasted the Subaru to a halt near Zell’s house and sat listening to the night sounds of the quiet housing development. Beyond the high wooden fence of a neighbor, a dog barked persistently, an unending and dull-minded yap that rapped like a small hammer into the darkness. Past the ridge of lightless houses, the thin traffic on a freeway rushed with a hiss of running water, and, floating on the cold night air, came a thread of sound—fragmented, pointless—the grunt of a chugging engine somewhere distant.

Bunch had spent the rest of the evening placing a network of sensors, trying—as he explained in detail to Devlin later— to set the beams just high enough to miss animals such as raccoons and skunks which came out to prowl at night. “I couldn’t do a thing about the deer, though. I warned Humphries that he’s going to be up half the night if the deer start setting off alarms.”

“He was still acting worried?”

“Yeah. Eyes look like two piss holes in the snow. He’s not getting much sleep.”

Whatever it was that worried the man was still worth the salary he was paying Kirk and Associates for protection. And as long as his checks didn’t bounce, Devlin and Bunch stood guard. But professional curiosity made Kirk itch to know the truth of what the man was protecting himself from. That, and the knowledge that he and Bunch could do a better job if Humphries was willing to be honest with them.

Easing the car door open, Kirk slid out into the cold and across the lawns toward Zell’s home. The shadow of the eaves darkened the driveway close to the garage door and he crouched, testing the locked handle and poised for any sound from inside the house. Silence. Devlin slipped the blade of his lock pick into the keyhole and a few minutes later turned the handle open. The twanging groan of heavy springs sounded loud in the night and he hesitated, listening again. Warm, oily-smelling air pushed into the cold. He ducked under the partially lifted door and stood in the dark. No creak of cautious footsteps from the room beyond the far door; no skitter of animal paws—dog or cat—alarming the sleepers. Quickly, Devlin gouged at the tread of the car’s tire with an ice pick. A moment later, a loud spurt of hissing air jetted across his knuckles. He eased the garage door shut and walked quickly back to the Subaru. Engine off and coasting in neutral, his car glided back down the curving lane to a halt and Kirk settled to catch a short nap before dawn.

The tiny chime of his watch alarm woke him at five-thirty. He rubbed grainy eyes to see the faint red of sunrise streak low along the eastern sky. The coffee in the thermos was still warm and served as breakfast, and he tried not to think of the pressure that had begun to push on his bladder. Lengthy stakeouts called for the long-necked portable urinal with its tight lid. But Kirk didn’t plan to be stuck in the car for that amount of time.

At seven-fifteen, as Kirk expected, Zell’s garage door lifted and a wisp of exhaust laid a pale haze over the driveway. Then the car started backing out. It paused and backed again, easing toward the street. Zell’s wife was off to her job as a bookkeeper and secretary in a wholesale plumbing supply house over on South Broadway. The car swung into the street heading away from Devlin, and as it started forward the brake lights flashed and it stopped. The woman opened her door and leaned out to look down at the rear tire. Then she turned off the engine and got out of the car and walked back to stare at the flat. Kirk saw her shoulders rise and fall, and she glanced at her wrist and walked quickly into the house. A few minutes later, Zell, tucking a shirt into his pants and stepping gingerly in bare feet, came out to stare at the tire too.

Devlin balanced his video camera on the dash and waited, watching the man’s face through the circle of magnified light.

The wife said something and Zell’s mouth moved in answer. She held up her forearm and pointed to her watch; his lips said a single word— “Shit”—and he grabbed the keys from the steering column. Opening the trunk, he started lifting out the spare tire and tools as Devlin’s camera whirred. When the car settled back on its spare, Zell folded up the jack and slammed the trunk shut. The woman gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and he picked his way barefooted across the dewy lawn, wiping his hands on a grimy rag. Devlin started his own car and swung around, headed for downtown and the photo lab.

Percy Ahern had a report for Devlin late that afternoon. The flat, nasal voice bounced with the energy and rush that typified everything the man did. “Devlin, lad, you’ve brought to my attention two angels—two saints on earth—two citizens who stand pillar-like in upholding the virtues of hard work, patriotism, and love of one’s gray-haired mother. These lads, Devlin, have caused not the slightest harm to the smallest fly in Christendom, and I hope it’s not in your heart to bring unto them woe and misery.”

“You’re telling me they’re clean.”

“As the newly driven snow. As a babe’s sweet breath. As a virgin’s thoughts of love. Speaking of which, one is shacked up with the daughter of a state representative of the borough of Queens, and has been for the last six months. What higher recommendation could there be? The lad is finishing his law studies at Columbia and apparently has a brilliant career in politics ahead of him. At least one might say he’s laying the foundation for it. Vice- presidential material, certainly.”