Eye of the Beholder (34 page)

Trask waited until the squeaks had receded into the distance. Then he counted to ten and cracked open the rest room door. He glanced down the shadowy length of the corridor.

There was a figure at the end of the hall, barely visible in the darkness. As Trask watched, the dark shape disappeared through the doorway into an office.

Trask reviewed the map in his head. Radstone's office was at the end of this hall. First big deduction of the evening: It was Foster Radstone himself who had walked down the hall in squeaky running shoes.

In the dark
.

So much for searching that office. The only option left was Bell's. That meant backtracking to the intersection and turning left.

“I got your message. What the hell do you want?”

The angry, muffled voice came from the far end of the corridor. It belonged to Foster Radstone. Trask stopped.

“Are you crazy? Get the hell out of my office.”

Trask gazed into the shadows at the end of the hall.

“You're outta your fucking mind.”
Radstone's voice echoed through the glass panel on the door, loud and getting louder.
“You can't
threaten me. Get the hell out of my office, you bastard.”

Second big deduction of the evening: There was someone else besides Foster in the office.

This was simply too interesting to pass up.

Trask went silently back down the hall toward Radstone's office. He glanced at the bottom of the door as he approached. No light showed beneath it. The glass panel was luminous, however. Inside, the office was flooded with moonlight and the glow of the lamps that lined the path outside.

Why wasn't Radstone turning on any lights tonight?

He reached the door and saw the shadowy outlines of two figures etched against the glass. There was something wrong with the head of one of them. Strange, pointed shapes stuck out from the skull.

The jester.

As Trask watched, the jester raised one arm in an ominous movement. The shadowy fist clutched a small, blunt object.

“No.
No,”
Radstone's voice rose. “Wait. How much do you want? Name your price.”

The jester mumbled something, low and incomprehensible.

Trask decided not to waste time trying the knob. If the door was locked he would lose the element of surprise.

He yanked the strap of the computer case off his shoulder and hurled the laptop through the glass panel.

Someone screamed. Radstone.

Outside, the first of the fireworks erupted, small bombs in the night. The sharp explosions mingled with the sound of breaking glass.

Simultaneously there was another explosion, closer to hand. The figure in the pointed cap bolted for the window. Radstone crumpled to the floor without a sound.

Trask reached through the jagged glass, wrenched open the door, and went in, fast and low.

The jester had one leg over the sill.

Trask launched himself forward. The toe of his low boot collided with Radstone's outflung arm.

Trask staggered, managed to catch his balance, and vaulted after the disappearing jester. He reached the window just as the fleeing figure tumbled awkwardly over the sill.

Trask grabbed for whatever he could catch hold of and succeeded in getting a handful of sleeve. The jester made a fist and lashed out wildly. Eyes glittered with rage and panic behind the holes in the mask.

Trask turned his head at the last instant. The blow glanced off the side of his jaw. He tightened his grip on the jester's sleeve and hauled backward.

The jester twisted frantically. Trask heard thin fabric rip. He made another bid to get a better grasp on his opponent. His fingers snagged on a bracelet.

The delicate band snapped. The jester slipped free and fled into the night.

Trask put one leg over the sill, straining to keep the jester in sight. A groan from the man on the floor stopped him. Reluctantly he eased back into the room.

Something hard crunched under the heel of his boot. He ignored it to cross the room. He found the light switch, flicked it on, and looked down.

Foster Radstone lay sprawled on the carpet. There was an unhealthy grayish cast to his face. He was gasping for breath. Blood soaked the front of his turquoise polo shirt.

Trask went to the desk and grabbed the phone. Given the size of the crowd on the Institute's grounds tonight, there was bound to be some emergency personnel in the vicinity.

He listened to Radstone's increasingly labored breathing as he rattled off the details.

“There's an aid car standing by outside the front gate,” the operator said. “I'm dispatching it now.”

“Tell 'em to hurry.” Trask hung up the phone and went to crouch beside Foster. He saw no sign of an exit wound.

“Help is on the way,” he said. He shrugged out of his denim shirt, wadded it up, and shoved it over the hole in Radstone's chest. “Who did this to you?”

Foster gurgled. His eyes fluttered again. There was barely any color left in his face.

He was not going to get any answers tonight, Trask realized.

“Take it easy,” he said quietly. “The medics will be here any minute.”

He glanced toward the window and saw the turquoise beads scattered on the floor. A Dimensions bracelet. He recalled feeling it snap in his fingers when he had tried to retain his grip on the jester.

Great. That meant Strood would be able to limit his pools of suspects to the entire staff of the Dimensions Institute, most of its seminar students, and half the people in Avalon.

“Guard…” Foster whispered hoarsely. “Guard.”

Trask heard footsteps in the hall. “It's a little too late to call security.”

Foster shook his head fretfully.
“Guardian.”

Trask stilled. Then he leaned closer. “Tell me about him, Radstone. Who is this guardian?”

Foster opened his mouth, but this time no words emerged. He had stopped twitching, but now he was not moving at all. He still breathed, however. Trask held the shirt firmly in place and listened to the approaching footsteps.

“In here,” he shouted.

Two uniformed medics came through the door. They were followed by a couple of anxious-looking men dressed in the blue and white colors of Institute personnel.

The first medic through the door looked at Radstone and then at Trask. “What happened here?”

“Gunshot,” Trask said.

The medic glanced at the blood on Radstone's polo shirt. “Yeah, I can see that. Okay, out of the way, we'll take over now.”

Trask rose and moved aside.

One of the Dimensions men eyed him warily. “What's going on?”

“I was outside Radstone's door when I heard an argument and a gunshot.” He gave them the rest of the story in short, simple sentences without a lot of details. These were not the people who would handle things, after all. Strood and his small force were the only real cops in Avalon.

When he was finished, the men exchanged baffled looks. They were obviously out of their depth.

“I'd better notify the town cops,” one man said. “Tom, go find Bell and tell him what's happening.”

“Right.”

They disappeared into the hall.

Trask saw that both medics were still very busy with their patient. He took another step back and picked up the computer case that lay on the floor. He wondered if the laptop had survived the impact.

For the first time he noticed the top of Radstone's desk. It was littered with files. He looked across the room and saw that one of the drawers in the gray file cabinet stood open.

He read the labels on the files that were faceup on the desk. All of those that he could see contained the words
Dimensions Trust
.

He moved unobtrusively to the open file drawer and looked inside. There were a handful of folders left. One of them was clearly labeled,
Chambers, Alexa. Priority One
.

Footsteps sounded again in the hall. Voices called out. He only had seconds.

Both of the medics had their backs to him now. He reached into the drawer, removed the slender file marked
Chambers, Alexa,
and stuffed it quietly into the computer case.

It wasn't what he had come here to find tonight, but sometimes, in business, you took what you could get.

31
 

“Did you get the feeling that Chief Strood was a little ticked?” Alexa sank deeper into the overstuffed chair. She watched Trask. He had his back to her as he stood in front of his desk on the other side of the hotel suite. “It's almost as if he's upset because you saved Foster's life.”

“May
have saved his life. The hospital says he's in critical condition. They don't know if he'll make it or not.”

“Well, he wouldn't have any chance at all if you hadn't arrived on the scene when you did.” Alexa shuddered. “When I think of how close you came to getting shot, yourself…”

“The guy freaked out when I threw the laptop through the glass window. All he wanted to do was get away,” Trask said absently.

“I still don't understand why Strood got so annoyed with you.”

“Strood's pissed because he knows he's finally going to have to open a genuine, honest-to-God investigation.” Trask glanced at her over his shoulder. “I'm
going to order some sandwiches from room service. Want anything else?”

“Tea,” Alexa said at once. “A nice big pot of it. Forget the food, though. I'm not very hungry. My stomach is still tied up in knots.”

“Personally, I'm starved.” He picked up the phone.

Alexa surveyed the suite as she listened to Trask's end of the short conversation with the hotel staff. The room was sleek, sophisticated, boldly defined, and unabashedly exotic. A perfect example of neo-Art Deco. Her chaise longue would fit right in here. She decided that if she were not so keyed up from the events at Dimensions, she would have been suitably impressed. Obviously it paid to own a hotel empire.

Trask looked at her as he hung up the phone. “What's the matter?”

“Nothing. I was just thinking that this is an incredible room.”

He looked around with a curiously enigmatic expression. “Pure fantasy.”

She smiled wearily. “Fine by me. But then, I don't share your bias against fantasy.”

“I know you don't.” He touched his jaw in a gingerly fashion.

She frowned. “Are you sure you're okay?”

“Uh-huh. The guy clipped me as he went through the window.”

“Do you think you should put a cold compress on it?

“Nah. It's not that bad.” Trask lowered his hand. “That reminds me, I brought you a little souvenir.”

He walked to the laptop case, unzipped it, and reached inside.
Alexa watched him withdraw a folder.

“What's this?” she asked.

“I didn't have a chance to take a good look, but at first glance it appeared to be a dossier.” Trask put the folder into her hand. “On you.”

“Me? What on earth…?” She opened the folder and glanced at the contents. A shock went through her when she saw her own name at the top of a neatly printed page.

Chambers, Alexa
Potential: Level One Candidate for Circle of Enlightenment

She read quickly through the pages of notes Foster had made on her. With every sentence her outrage increased.

Alexa looked up and saw Trask watching her intently. “This is amazing. He knows all about my financial status.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

She glared at him and went back to the dossier. “He notes that I'm an ideal target. The creep actually calls me a target.
Of all the unmitigated nerve.”

“Target for what?”

She scanned the next page quickly. “Apparently to become a major donor to the Dimensions Trust. He says that with proper handling—” She looked up again, furious now.
“Handling
. Can you believe it?”

“Go on.”

Alexa read the next section aloud.

She gritted her teeth. “So that's how I lucked out with the lease at Avalon Plaza. Wait until Lloyd hears about this.”

“Anything else?”

Her fingers tightened on the page. “Here's another entry. It's dated shortly after I stopped going out with him.”

She broke off once more, cheeks burning. “Just because he didn't turn me on, he calls me repressed.”

“Shows how much he knows,” Trask murmured.