W is for Wasted (Kinsey Millhone 23)

“Such as what?”

“Suppose he had personal problems. Might have had a setback of some kind in his career. Fellow’s a journalist, so it might be worthwhile to check that out.”

“What’s involved in a phone bug? I mean, assuming I agree.”

“Simple matter of installing a device in the handset before she gets home. I can put a voice-activated tape recorder on remote; close by, but not actually in the apartment. You don’t want her to come across a piece of hardware while she’s cleaning house. I can also plant a pen mike. Looks like a ballpoint pen, but it’s capable of transmitting sound for short distances.”

“What will that accomplish?”

“Remains to be seen. My suggestion is we run audio a few days and see what we pick up. This whole business might not have anything to do with you.”

Willard turned and stared out of the car window. “Okay.”

“Good man,” Pete said. He continued to sit in silence.

Willard looked over at him. “So is that it?”

“There’s the matter of another advance. Soon as I have that in hand, I’ll go to work. Any more contact between the two and I’ll head back to Reno and do deep background on him.”

•   •   •

Which is how Pete ended up two days later in Colgate, wearing a coverall while pretending to weed the flower border under Willard’s bedroom window. He avoided yard work as a rule. Here, it wasn’t unpleasant, but it seemed undignified to be crawling around the building on his hands and knees. This was the second late afternoon he’d weeded. Day One had produced nothing. He’d started his labors in the central courtyard, uncertain where he’d pick up the best reception. Several residents had noticed him and nodded in acknowledgment though none had stopped to chat. They seemed pleased that someone was actually being paid to tidy up.

In addition to the phone bug, he’d supplied Willard with a pen mike and suggested he place it in the bedroom, preferably on the floor near the bedside table where the phone sat. There was an off chance Mary Lee might notice it, but if she was intent on shenanigans, she probably wouldn’t be that observant.

Day Two, Pete picked up a most enlightening fragment of conversation. Mary Lee was home by 4:00. Pete had advised Willard to run an errand, giving her the opportunity to make a call, which is exactly what she did. Pete heard a lilting melody of numbers being punched, long-distance judging by the length. Sure enough, when a fellow on the other end picked up, all she said was, “It’s me. I don’t have much time, so let’s make this quick. What’s happening on your end?”

“Nothing. I told you my hands are tied. What about the charts? Did you find them?”

“Not yet. I know where they are. I just can’t get to them. I’m trying to track the one guy down but it’s tough. Can’t you use the information I already gave you?”

She said something else Pete missed. He pressed a hand against his earphone.

Pensky’s response was muffled. “. . . here says one could be a fluke. You need a pattern.”

“Owen, I know that! How do you think I spotted it in the first place? The pattern’s there. What I don’t have is proof. Meantime, I’m walking on eggshells . . .”

Something, something Pete missed.

“You think Linton suspects?” Pensky asked.

“I hope not. You don’t understand how ruthless he is. It’s fine as long as I’m in the lab, but I can’t get anywhere near the clinic.”

“Why not?”

“The lab’s in Southwick Hall. The clinic’s in the Health Sciences Building.”

“Why are the charts kept there?”

“Because that’s where the subjects are seen for follow-up.”

“You can’t just go over and ask?”

“Oh, right. Talk about a red flag,” she said.

“You gotta give me something or I can’t help. I told you that to begin with.”

Exasperated, she said, “Shit. I’ll think about it. Maybe I can come up with some excuse.”

“Listen, I went back over my notes last night and came across that business about the paper you wrote. Plagiarism’s serious damn business. Look what happened to me.”

“I figured you’d appreciate the finer points,” she said drily.

“So can’t you use that?”

“To do what? The journal was published in Germany. I wouldn’t have known about it myself if someone hadn’t sent it to me.”