"OK," she said. "And you're thinking they searched the car and your stuff made her look bad, right?"
"I guess so."
"But maybe they searched her first and found the shoe."
I looked away. "I sincerely hope so."
"Don't beat up on yourself. It's not your fault. As soon as they got into the computer it was only a matter of time for the first one they looked at. They both fit the bill. I mean, how many women were there to choose from? Presumably just her and Teresa. They couldn't miss."
I nodded. There was Elizabeth, too. And there was the cook. But neither one of them would figure very high on a list of suspicious persons. Elizabeth was the guy's wife. And the cook had probably been there twenty years.
"But who was she?" I said.
She played with her cup until it was back in its starting position. The unglazed rim on the bottom made a tiny grinding sound.
"It's obvious, I'm afraid," she said. "Think of the time line here. Count backward from today. Eleven weeks ago I screwed up with the surveillance photographs. Ten weeks ago they pulled me off the case. But because Beck is a big fish I couldn't give it up and so nine weeks ago I put Teresa in without their knowledge. But also because Beck is a big fish, and without my knowledge, they must have reassigned the case to someone else and eight weeks ago that someone else put this maid person in, right on top of Teresa. Teresa didn't know the maid was coming and the maid didn't know Teresa was already there."
"Why would she have nosed into my stuff?"
"I guess she wanted to control the situation. Standard procedure. As far as she was concerned, you weren't anybody kosher. You were just a loose cannon. Some kind of troublemaker. You were a cop-killer, and you were hiding weapons. Maybe she thought you were from a rival operation. She was probably thinking of selling you out to Beck. It would have enhanced her credibility with him. And she needed you out of the way, because she didn't need extra complications. If she didn't sell you out to Beck, she would have turned you in to us, as a cop-killer. I'm surprised she didn't already."
"Her battery was dead."
She nodded. "Eight weeks. I guess kitchen maids don't have good access to cell phone chargers."
"Beck said she was out of Boston."
"Makes sense," she said. "They probably farmed it out to the Boston field office. That would work, geographically. And it would explain why we didn't pick up any kind of water-cooler whispers in D.C."
"He said she was recommended by some friends of his."
"Plea-bargainers, for sure. We use them all the time. They set each other up quite happily. No code of silence with these people."
Then I remembered something else Beck had said.
"How was Teresa communicating?" I asked.
"She had an e-mail thing, like yours."
"In her shoe?"
Duffy nodded. Said nothing. I heard Beck's voice, loud in my head: I'm going to start searching people's shoes, that's for damn sure. You can bet your life on that.
"When did you last hear from her?"
"She fell off the air the second day."
She went quiet.
"Where was she living?" I asked.
"In Portland. We put her in an apartment. She was an office clerk, not a kitchen maid."
"You been to the apartment?"
She nodded. "Nobody's seen her there since the second day."
"You check her closet?"
"Why?"
"We need to know what shoes she was wearing when she was captured."
Duffy went pale again.
"Shit," she said.
"Right," I said. "What shoes were left in her closet?"
"The wrong ones."
"Would she think to ditch the e-mail thing?"
"Wouldn't help her. She'd have to ditch the shoes, too. The hole in the heel would tell the story, wouldn't it?"
"We need to find her," I said.
"We sure do," she said. Then she paused a beat. "She was very lucky today. They went looking for a woman, and they happened to look at the maid first. We can't count on her staying that lucky much longer."
I said nothing. Very lucky for Teresa, very unlucky for the maid. Every silver lining has a cloud. Duffy sipped her coffee. Grimaced slightly like the taste was off and put the cup back down again.
"But what gave her away?" she said. "In the first place? That's what I want to know. I mean, she only lasted two days. And that was nine whole weeks before they broke into the computer."
"What background story did you give her?"
"The usual, for this kind of work. Unmarried, unattached, no family, no roots. Like you, except you didn't have to fake it."
I nodded slowly. A good-looking thirty-year-old woman who would never be missed. A huge temptation for guys like Paulie or Angel Doll. Maybe irresistible. A fun thing to have around. And the rest of their crew might be even worse. Like Harley, for instance. He didn't strike me as much of an advertisement for the benefits of civilization.
"Maybe nothing gave her away," I said. "Maybe she just went missing, you know, like women do. Lots of women go missing. Young women especially. Single, unattached women. Happens all the time. Thousands a year."
"But you found the room they were keeping her in."
"All those missing women have to be somewhere. They're only missing as far as the rest of us are concerned. They know where they are, and the men who took them know where they are."
She looked at me. "You think it's like that?"
"Could be."
"Will she be OK?"
"I don't know," I said. "I hope so."
"Will they keep her alive?"
"I think they want to keep her alive. Because they don't know she's a federal agent. They think she's just a woman."
A fun thing to have around.
"Can you find her before they check her shoes?"
"They might never check them," I said. "You know, if they're seeing her in one particular light, as it were, it would be a leap to start seeing her as something else."
She looked away. Went quiet.
"One particular light," she repeated. "Why don't we just say what we mean?"
"Because we don't want to," I said.
She stayed quiet. One minute. Two. Then she looked straight back at me. A brand-new thought.
"What about your shoes?" she said.
I shook my head.
"Same thing," I said. "They're getting used to me. It would be a leap to start seeing me as something else."
"It's still a big risk."
I shrugged.
"Beck gave me a Beretta M9," I said. "So I'll wait and see. If he bends down to take a look I'll shoot him through the middle of the forehead."
"But he's just a businessman, right? Basically? Would he really do bad stuff to Teresa without knowing she was a threat to his business?"
"I don't know," I said.
"Did he kill the maid?"
I shook my head. "Quinn did."
"Were you a witness?"
"No."
"So how do you know?"
I looked away.
"I recognized the handiwork," I said.
The fourth time I ever saw Sergeant First Class Dominique Kohl was a week after the night we spent in the bar. The weather was still hot. There was talk of a tropical storm blowing in from the direction of Bermuda. I had a million files on my desk. We had rapes, homicides, suicides, weapons thefts, assaults, and there had been a riot the night before because the refrigeration had broken down in the enlisted mess kitchens and the ice cream had turned to water. I had just gotten off the phone with a buddy at Fort Irwin in California who told me it was the same over there whenever the desert winds were blowing.