That would be enough, he assured himself. Just to meet the girl. That ought to resolve his problem. Have I a problem, then? It was becoming harder and harder to deny it. How nice that he was logical enough to realize he was going crazy. Charlie would phrase it in more colorful terms.
He closed down the terminal and reactivated the lockcode, making sure he didn’t leave any prints on the keyboard. The contents of the other terminal didn’t interest him. No doubt it contained all kinds of juicy information, the kind of thing anyone might kill for: philandering husbands, minor embezzlements, criminal records. It was all so sordid. Somewhere within the terminal files lay something that had cost Polikartos his life.
Well, that had nothing to do with him. Cold it might be, but he felt nothing for the unfortunate investigator. He’d never particularly liked the man and always felt the dislike was reciprocated. Sure, he was sorry he was dead. He was sorry when anyone died. Polikartos would make a minor news item, nothing more. And Eric wouldn’t be a part of it.
A last look around assured him that he was leaving the office the same as he’d found it, even to turning Polikartos around so that he was once again facing the window. Then he exited carefully, making sure both inner and outer doors locked behind him.
He was just relaxing as he headed for the elevators when a man stepped out of a side corridor to confront him.
V
The man neither smiled nor frowned. He wore a blank expression that was somehow colder than anything threatening could have been. He was taller and heavier than Eric, and Eric was accustomed to standing an inch or two taller than his friends.
“Excuse me,” he said. Very polite, very controlled. “I couldn’t help but notice that you’ve just come from Mr. Polikartos’s office.”
“Mr. Polikartos,” Eric murmured. So Polikartos was a last name. That was interesting. “I didn’t know that.”
The stranger ignored the comment, said pointedly, “What were you doing in there?”
“I had business with him.” Eric frowned. “I don’t see that it’s any business of yours. If you know anything about him, you know he was a private investigator. Private.”
It occurred to Eric he’d just made an awful slip, but it seemed to go right past the man confronting him.
“What business did you have with him?”
“Look, I told you,” Eric reiterated as he took a step backward, “it’s none of your business.” He bumped up against something unyielding, glanced backward.
The man blocking his retreat was much larger and far more imposing than the one asking the questions. His expression was equally neutral. Both men were neatly, if plainly, attired, as if by affecting ordinary clothing they might mitigate their intimidating presences.
“What’s your name?” asked the questioner. The man standing behind Eric held his somehow ominous silence.
“Look,” Eric shot back, “I’m getting a little tired of this.”
The man in front of him sounded bored. “Don’t make things difficult, okay? My friend and I have had a long, trying day and we don’t need some sleek making it tougher for us.”
“I’m not trying to make it tough,” Eric told him honestly, trying to ignore the pejorative.
“Good. Then be a nice boy and tell us what you were doing in Polikartos’s office.” He looked down the hall. “I presume the lock still works. You might also tell us how you got into his office. Must have been something you wanted pretty bad. Breaking and entering’s not nice.”
Eric eyed the man uncertainly. “You two cops?”
“We might be.”
“Fine. Show me some identification and I’ll answer your questions.”
“I’m afraid we can’t spare the time. We’re working way past our deadline.” An imperceptible nod and suddenly a pair of massive arms locked Eric’s behind his back. The man doing the talking idly inspected the hall, was pleased to find it still deserted.
“Listen, sleek, I haven’t got time to stand here arguing with you. Now, you’re going to tell us what you were doing in that office, how you got in, and why. Probably it doesn’t matter. Probably it isn’t important. But I find your excessive interest intriguing, and I have my instructions.”
Eric stood very still. “Are you in the habit of interrogating everyone who goes into Polikartos’s office?”
“No. Only those who let themselves in. So far, you’re it. Just tell us your name,” he added coaxingly. “At least you can tell us your name.”
“I’m not telling you anything. Maybe I will if you tell me who you are and what you mean by this. If your friend doesn’t let go of me I’m going to shout for help.”
The other man’s voice lowered. “You might shout once, but it won’t last very long. I want answers and I don’t want to have to do that. Meanwhile take my advice; don’t shout.” He studied Eric’s face. “Johan.”
One arm left Eric’s and a hand started feeling through his pockets for a wallet. What would be the harm, Eric thought anxiously? Tell them what they want to know. Tell them your name. And another part of him said: no, let them find out for themselves. He didn’t want any trouble, though. And there were two of them, both bigger than he.
Johan produced Eric’s wallet, flipped through it, quite disinterested in the money and credit cards. He folded it up and slipped it neatly back into the gaping pocket, spoke for the first time.
“It’s him.”
The questioner looked slightly surprised. “Funny. You don’t have the look.”
“The look of what? What’s all this about? And what do you mean. I’m ‘him’?” That didn’t sound very pleasant, especially coming from Johan.
“We’ll tell you all about it … later. Right now I think you’d better come with us.”
“To where? The police station? You still haven’t shown me any identification.”
“Don’t be difficult. And don’t try shouting to anyone.”
“Or any police? You’re not police, are you?”
“Talkative.” The questioner shook his head. “Watch him, Johan.”
“Right. Let’s go, sleek.” The big man started walking Eric down the corridor, holding one arm up behind his back with just enough pressure to let him know what he could do if he wanted to.
