What would I do if someone happened to walk in? In between worrying about that, I worried I was being permanently sterilized.

Sixteen minutes later, I'd completed the run. I straightened the stack of copies and slid those, still warm, back in my underpants. I reassembled the pages of the chart, put the prongs back in place, slid the clasp onto the prongs, folded them over, and secured them. Now what? I couldn't take the chart with me and I couldn't be sure someone wouldn't come along later and destroy the information. I went back to the drawer where I'd uncovered her medical chart. The last two digits in her six-digit patient ID number were 44. I moved over one bank of drawers and slid her chart among the ID numbers ending in 54, instead. That way I'd know where she was, and any medical records clerk would simply discover that her chart was gone. It was always possible someone would stumble across the chart in its new location, but I'd have to take that chance.

I left Medical Records, closed the door behind me, and returned to the main office, where the pulsing dot on Merry's screen provided surprising illumination. By now I was accustomed to the dark and I could see the clock face. 11:34. Time to scram. I pushed through the hinged gate in the counter and I'd just reached the hall door when I heard approaching footsteps. I froze, trying not to panic. The tapping sound of hard-sole shoes was soft but distinct. News must have traveled about the overhead light in the records room because someone was definitely heading in my direction to investigate. I didn't want to believe anyone would actually walk into the office, but in the interest of caution, I made a beeline through the hinged gate. I scanned the area for the easiest hiding place. I crossed to Merry's workstation, pulled out her rolling chair, and crawled into the kneehole space under her desk. I found myself sitting on a tangle of fat power cords, my head angled unnaturally to keep it from banging into the underside of Merry's pencil drawer. The corners of Klotilde's chart cut into my stomach and chest and made a strange crackling sound as I drew my feet up and hugged my knees.

The office door opened.

I expected the light to be turned on, but the room remained dark. I had no idea if any portion of my person was still visible, but I had to trust in providence that whoever had come in would soon go out again. A moment later, the door opened a second time and a second someone entered. I could hear a whispered consultation, a minor argument, and then the sound of the gate as first one and then the other pushed through into the area where I was (I hoped) concealed. Who were these two? Maybe we were on the verge of a burglar's jamboree, all three of us stealing files for differing but nefarious purposes. They had to be up to no good or why not turn the lights on?

Much shuffling of feet and suddenly the two of them were standing in front of Merry's desk. The dull glow of her computer screen shone softly. I closed my eyes like a kid. Maybe if I couldn't see them, the two of them couldn't see me. I heard rustling as someone removed a coat, settled it across the back of Merry's chair, and pushed it out of the way. When I opened my eyes again, I could make out a pair of men's trouser legs and the back of his heels. I could have sworn it was the fellow with the silver hair I'd spied in the parking lot. He now stood toe-to-toe with a woman whose ghostly white hosiery and sensible thick-soled shoes I'd seen earlier. Pepper Gray.

I heard a flurry of indistinct susurrations, a guttural moan, protests on his part, and intimate urgings on hers. I picked up the quiet but unmistakable rip of a zipper being lowered on its track. I nearly shrieked in alarm. They were about to play doctor and I was going to be stuck in the examining room! He leaned back against the desk-I could see his fingers grip the edge for support. Meanwhile, she dropped to her knees and started to work on him. His protests began to die down as his breathing increased. He clearly had a letch for nursie types, and she was probably turned on by the possibility of getting caught.

I did my best to distract myself. I tried to think worthy thoughts, elevating myself to a Zen-like plane. After all, I had only myself to blame for the predicament I was in. I decided to stop breaking and entering. I made up my mind that I'd repent my sins. Not that I wasn't already paying a stiff price, in a manner of speaking. For someone who gets as little sex as I do, this surely constituted punishment of a most cruel and unusual kind. Pepper was only three feet away from me, happily occupied with the guy's throbbing manhood, as it's euphemistically referred to in novels that abound in such scenes. I have to tell you, other people's sex lives are not that fascinating. For one thing, a guy moaning, "Pepper, oh Pep," didn't seem that romantic from my perspective. Besides, he was taking forever and I worried her jaw would unhinge like a snake's. She began to make little encouraging noises in her throat. I was tempted to chime in. From under the desk, even the surge protector made a small enthusiastic peep, which seemed to spur him on. His vocalizing was muffled, but the sounds accelerated and began to rise in pitch. Finally, he grunted as though his finger had been slammed in a door and he was trying not to scream. All three of us fell back exhausted and I prayed we wouldn't have to pause for a postcoital smoke. Ten more minutes passed before they pulled themselves together. After a whispered discussion, it was decided that she would leave first and he would then follow at a suitable interval. By the time I crawled out of my hiding place, I was cranky and sore and had a crimp in my neck. This was the last time I'd ask Ruby to man the lookout post.

Chapter 19

It was 12:30 when I let myself into my apartment for the second time that night. I'd returned the keys to the front desk and walked straight out the front door, the stolen chart pages pressed against me like a paper truss. When I reached the parking lot, the vintage automobile was gone. I continued across the asphalt to the shadowy corner where I'd left my VW. Before I slid behind the wheel, I removed the stolen file copies and shoved them under the front seat. The pages looked battered, dog-eared by careless association with my thighs and ribs. I started the engine and put the car in reverse.

Once back in my apartment, I made a thorough tour of the place, assuring myself that all the doors and windows were locked as I'd left them. Tommy Hevener was never far from my thoughts. I was itching to work my way through Klotilde's medical chart, but for the moment I refrained. Instead, I sat at my desk and consigned a few new nuggets of information to my index cards. It was odd reviewing the assumptions about Purcell now that I knew the end of his sad tale. There wasn't any doubt in my mind that the body in the vehicle was his. In theory, I could imagine him substituting someone else's body. In reality, this was not so easily accomplished, especially in a drowning, where critical features remain. It wouldn't take long for the forensic pathologist to compare his dental records and his fingerprints and make a positive ID.

I laid the cards out in a line, arranging them first in chronological order, then in the sequence in which I'd actually done the interviews. I wasn't being paid for this, but then again, I hadn't been officially fired. Idly, I shuffled the cards together just to witness the effect. The story always came out the same. Whether by his own hand or another's, Dow Purcell was dead and the life he'd left behind was a mess. Three questions nagged. Where was his passport and where had the thirty thousand dollars gone? There was also the minor but troubling matter of the post-office box. If Dow had paid to keep it open for his personal use, why ask Crystal if she was still renting it?