Total Control (44 page)

The guard looked at them. "He changed the lock. Management jumped all over him. So he gave them another key that he said fit the new lock. Well, I can tell you right now it doesn't!"

Sawyer looked up and down the corridor. "Any other way in?"

The guard shook his head. "Nope. I can try calling Mr. Page at his home. Tell him to come on down here and open it up. I'll ream his butt good too for pulling this crap. What if there was ever a problem and I needed to get in there?" The guard slapped his holster importantly. "You know what I mean?"

"I don't think calling Page will do any good," Sawyer said calmly.

"He's dead. Murdered."

The blood slowly drained from the young man's face. "Jesus Christ! Omigod!"

"Police haven't been here, I take it?" Sawyer asked. The guard shook his head.

"How're we going to get in?" the guard asked, his voice barely above a whisper as, wide-eyed, he looked up and down the hallway for possible killers lurking there.

In response, Lee Sawyer hurled his massive bulk against the door, which splintered under the battering. One more thrust and the lock gave way and the door burst open, slamming against the inner wall of the office. Sawyer looked back at the stunned young guard while he brushed off his overcoat. "We'll check in with you on the way out. Thanks a lot."

The guard stood openmouthed for several seconds as the two moved into the office. Then he slowly walked back toward the elevator, shaking his head.

Sidney looked at the broken door and then over at Sawyer. "I can't believe he didn't even ask you for a search warrant. By the way, do you have one?"

Sawyer looked over at her. "What's it to you?"

"As an attorney, I'm an officer of the court. I just thought I'd ask."

He shrugged his thick shoulders. "I'll make a deal with you, Of-ricer: We find something, you hold on to it and I'll go get a search warrant." Under different circumstances, Sidney Archer would have burst out laughing, and as it was, Sawyer's response drew a smile out of her. That perked up his own spirits.

The office was plain but neatly and efficiently furnished. For the next half hour they searched the small space, finding nothing out of place or extraordinary. They did find some stationery with Ed Page's home address on it. An apartment over in Georgetown. Sawyer perched on the side of the desk and surveyed the small area. "I wish my office was this tidy. But I don't see anything that's going to help us." Sawyer looked around the room, his expression glum. "I'd feel better if the place were ransacked. Then at least we'd know someone else was interested."

While he was talking, Sidney had made another pass around the room. She abruptly came back to one corner of the office where a row of gunmetal-gray filing cabinets stood in a row. She looked down at the floor, which was carpeted in a decidedly dull beige. "That's odd."

Sidney got down on her knees, her face almost resting on the carpet.

She looked at a small gap between the two filing cabinets nearest the spot she was examining. The other cabinets were butted together.

She put her shoulder against one of the cabinets and shoved. The heavy cabinet didn't budge. "Can I get some help over here?" She looked back 'at Sawyer. He lurched over, motioned her out of the way and shoved the cabinet clear. "Hit that light over there," Sidney said excitedly.

Sawyer did so and then joined her. "What is it?"

Sidney moved aside so the FBI agent could see. On the floor where the cabinet had been was a rust spot, not very large but now clearly visible. Perplexed, Sawyer looked at her. "So? I can show you about a dozen of these in my office. Metal rusts, leaches into the carpet.

Presto. Rust spots."

Sidney's eyes twinkled. "Really?" She pointed triumphantly.

There were faint but discernible indentations on the carpet, which showed that the cabinet had originally butted up against the one next to it. There should have been no gap.

She motioned to the cabinet Sawyer had moved. "Lean it over and check the bottom.

Sawyer did so. "No rust spots," he said, then looked back at her.

"So somebody moved this cabinet to cover the rust spot. Why?"

"Because that rust spot came from another filing cabinet. A filing cabinet that isn't here anymore. Whoever took it vacuumed out as best they could the indentations the missing cabinet 'made on the rug but couldn't get the rust spot out. So they did the next best thing. They covered it up with another filing cabinet and hoped no one paid any attention to the gap."

"But you did," Sawyer said, more than a trace of admiration in his tone.

"I couldn't figure why a guy obviously as neat as our Mr. Page would have a gap in a wall of filing cabinets. Answer: Someone else did it for him."

"And that means someone is interested in Edward Page and what he had in that file cabinet. Which means we're heading in the right direction." Sawyer picked up the phone on Page's desk. In a succinct request he instructed Ray Jackson to find out everything he could about Edward Page. He hung up and looked over at Sidney. "Since his office didn't yield all that much, what do you say we pay a visit to the late Edward Page's humble abode."

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Page's residence was on the ground floor of a large turn-of-the-century home in Georgetown that had been transformed into a series of quaint apartments. The sleepy owner of the property had not questioned Sawyer's desire to view the premises. The man had read of Page's death and expressed dismay over it. Two detectives had been to the apartment and interviewed the landlord and several tenants.

The landlord had also received a phone call from Page's daughter in New York. The private investigator had been a model tenant. His hours were somewhat irregular, and he would sometimes be gone for days at a time, but the rent was always paid on the first of the month and he had been quiet and orderly. He had no close friends of whom the owner was aware.

Using a key provided by the owner, who lived on the premises, Sawyer unlocked the front door of the apartment and he and Sidney stepped inside; he hit the light switch and then shut the door behind them. He was hoping to at least get a base hit here, although a homer would be nice.

They had checked the security log before leaving Page's office.

The filing cabinet had been removed the day before by two guys in movers' uniforms bearing a legit-looking work order and the keys to the office door. Sawyer figured the moving company was certainly a phony and the contents of Page's filing cabinet, which probably held a treasure trove of interesting info, was probably no more than a pile of ash at the bottom of some incinerator by now.

The interior of Page's residence resembled the man's office in its simplicity and neatness. Sawyer and Sidney walked through the various rooms, surveying the basic layout of the apartment. A nice fireplace with a large Victorian-style mantel dominated the living room. Bookshelves filled one wall. Edward Page had been a voracious and eclectic reader, if his collection of books was any indication.

There were not, however, any journals or records or receipts that might have shown where Page had been lately or whom he might have been following other than Sidney and Jason Archer.

After methodically searching the living and dining rooms, Sawyer and Sidney moved on.

The kitchen and bathroom yielded nothing of interest. Sawyer tried the usual places like the tank behind the toilet and in the refrigerator, where he checked Coke cans and heads of lettuce to make certain they were real and not actually hiding places for clues as to why Ed Page had been murdered. Sidney entered the bedroom, where she undertook a thorough search, starting under the bed and mattress and ending with the closet. The few pieces of luggage there had no old airline tags. The wastebaskets were empty. She and Sawyer sat down on the bed and scanned the room. He looked over at the small stand of photographs on the side table. Edward Page and family, obviously in happier times.

Sidney picked up one of the photos. "A nice-looking family." Her thoughts were suddenly fixated on the photos residing in her house.

It seemed like a long time since that phrase had applied to her family.

She handed the photo over to Sawyer.

The wife was real good-looking, he thought, the son a miniature image of the old man. The daughter was very pretty. Red-headed with long coltish legs, she looked about fourteen in the photo. The date stamp showed it was taken five years ago. She must be a real heartbreaker now, Sawyer figured. And yet according to the landlord they were all in New York and Page was down here. Why?

As Sawyer started to put the photo of the Page family back, he felt a slight bulge on the photo's backing. He opened up the back.

Several photos about half the size of the framed one fell out. Sawyer picked them off the floor and studied them. They were all of the same person. A young man, mid-twenties. Good-looking, too handsome for Sawyer's taste--a pretty boy, was the FBI agent's first thought. The clothes were too fashionable, the hair too perfect. He thought he noted a trace of Ed Page along the jawline and around the deep brown eyes. Sawyer turned over all the photos. All except one were blank: "Stevie" was penned on the photo. Possibly Page's brother. If so, why were the photos hidden?

Sidney looked at him. "What do you think?"

He shrugged. "Sometimes I think this whole case is going to require more thinking than I can give it." Sawyer put all the photos back except the one with the name on the back. That one he put in his coat pocket. They looked around the room once more, then rose and left, locking the door securely behind them.

Sawyer walked Sidney to her house and then, out of an abundance of caution, conducted a search of the premises, making sure the house was empty and that every window and door was secure. "Day or night, you hear anything, you have a problem, you just want to talk, you call me. Understand?" Sidney nodded. "I've got two men outside. They can be in here in seconds." He walked to the front door. "I'm going to run some things down and I'll be back in the morning." He turned to look at her. "You going to be okay?"

"Yes." Sidney wrapped her arms around herself.

Sawyer sighed and leaned back against the door. "I hope one day I can deliver this case to you in one neat little ball, Sidney. I truly do."

"You... you still believe Jason is guilty, don't you? I guess I can't blame you. Everything... looks that way, I know." Her eyes searched Sawyer's troubled features. The big man sighed and looked away for a moment. When his eyes returned to her face, she saw a glimmer of something there.

"Let's just put it this way, Sidney," he said. "I'm starting to have some doubts."

She looked confused. "About Jason?"

"No, about everything else. I can promise you this: My top priority is finding your husband safe and sound. Then we can sort out everything else. Okay?"

She trembled slightly and then nodded at him. "Okay." When he turned to go, she touched his arm. "Thank you, Lee."

She watched Sawyer from the window. He walked over to the black sedan carrying the two FBI agents, looked back at the house, spotted her and waved. She made a feeble attempt at a wave back.

She was feeling rather guilty right now, for what she was about to do. She left the window, turned out all the lights, grabbed her gray blazer and purse and raced out the back door seconds before one of Sawyer's men appeared to guard that area. Slipping through the woods at the edge of the backyard, she came out onto the road on the next block. After five minutes of brisk walking she had reached a pay phone. The cab picked her up within ten minutes.

Thirty minutes later she slipped her key in the security slot of her office building and the heavy glass door clicked open. She raced to the elevator bank. A minute later Sidney stepped out onto her floor.

Inside the semidarkened space of Tyler, Stone, Sidney made her way quietly down the hallway. The library was at the end of the main hall on her floor. The double doors of frosted glass were open. Beyond this portal Sidney could plainly see shelf after shelf of books making up the firm's impressive law library. The area comprised a huge open space with a series of cubicles and adjacent enclosed work areas. Behind one partition stood a row of computer terminals, which attorneys and paraleagles used for computerized legal research.

Sidney looked around the darkened interior of the library before venturing in. She heard no sound, saw no movement. Thankfully no junior associate was pulling an allnighter. Walls of windows on two adjacent sides of the library overlooked the city streets; however, the blinds were pulled all the way down. No one could see in.

Sidney sat down in front of one of the darkened terminals and risked turning on a small lamp that sat on the computer table next to the terminal. She took the disk out of her purse and laid it on the table. In a minute the computer was warmed up. She clicked on the necessary commands to start America Online and jerked slightly as the screechy modern kicked in. After the connection was made, she typed in her husband's user name and password, silently thanking him for making her memorize them when they had signed on a couple of years ago. She stared anxiously at the screen, her breathing shallow, her features taut and her stomach queasy as though she were a defendant awaiting a verdict from a jury. The computerized voice made her jump slightly, but it was what she was hoping for. "You have mail," it said.

Down the hallway two pairs of legs quietly made their way toward the library.

Sawyer looked up at Jackson. They were in the FBI conference room. "So what'd you find out on Mr. Page, Ray?"

Jackson sat down and opened his notebook. "Had a nice chat with NYPD. Page used to be a Cop up there. I also spoke with Page's ex-wife.

Got her out of bed, but you said it was important. She still lives in New York. She hasn't had much to do with him since their divorce. However, he was very close to his kids. I talked with his daughter. She's eighteen, in her freshman year at college, by the way, and now she has to bury her father."