actually appeal to him. Day went back to the table and sat down. As he rested his bare, perspiring forearm on the tabletop the faint odor rose to his nostrils. Sweat and varnish, the same as the smell of a police station; sweat and varnish, and sometimes fear.
"Is there a patrol car cruising that area around five a.m.?" Grindle asked.
"I don't know," Day answered slowly. "I can find out."
"Do that," Grindle said, "then phone me and let me know where we can create a diversion to get the car out of the area before we go in.
Day nodded. It was as if the years hadn't passed and he and Grindle were plotting their earlier burglaries. Grindle scribbled a phone number on a torn-off corner of the envelope and handed it to Day.
"It'll be Friday morning unless you hear different," Grindle said.
Day didn't look at him as Grindle pushed back his chair with a scraping sound and left through a side door.
Thursday evening Day went to bed at ten o'clock, telling Audrey that he didn't feel well. He was telling her the truth. All that night after supper he couldn't stop thinking about what he was hiding from her, and for the first time he began wondering if she would think the price of her contentment were worth it. It occurred to Day that up until that time he'd only considered the deals he'd made with Grindle from a basically selfish point of view.
He didn't sleep much that night, tossing on the soft mattress and glancing from time to time at the glowing hands of the clock radio. The only thing that comforted him somewhat was that Grindle was right about the murder charge. It would free Day forever from him.
At four-fifteen, as he knew it would, the telephone rang. Day snatched up the receiver instantly, cutting off the first ring, but he sensed that Audrey was awake beside him anyway.
"This is you-know-who, "the voice said loosely, "and I'll meet you you-know-where."
"All right," Day said too casually.
"Remember, " the voice said, "last time."
"I'll remember," Day said, and hung up the phone.
He was worried. Grindle had sounded as if he were high on something. There had been an electric undercurrent of excitement in the burglar's voice that Day hadn't heard before. As he climbed out of bed and flicked on the soft reading lamp he told himself not to worry. If nothing else, Grindle was a pro.
"What is it?" Audrey asked behind him. "Where are you going?"
"Some work to do," Day said, turning and smiling down at her. She was still sleepy and her face looked peaceful in the soft yellow light. "Duty to perform," he added.
"Again?" she said with drowsy irritation. Summoning phone calls in the middle of the night for Day were nothing new, but they never failed to annoy Audrey.
"You go to sleep and I'll be back in the morning," Day said gently, bending and kissing her forehead.
Â
H e went into the bathroom and got dressed quickly, mercilessly splashing ice-cold tap water over his face.
The low, rambling Bain Corporation warehouse was like an island of light in the dark night. The beige brick looked almost white and very clean in the harsh glare from the overhead dusk to dawn lights and the beams of the ground-level spots. Day parked his car off Palmer Road and walked back toward the light, keeping to the shadows as much as possible. To his right the skeletal beams of a half-finished building rose against the starless sky. He was approaching the Bain warehouse from behind and to one side, and when he saw the lighted loading and receiving dock, with its few trailers backed into some of the overhead doors, he grew more cautious.
Day saw that one of the trailers had been backed into a door next to the one Grindle and Costa would use. That would shield them almost completely from the street, and only darkness stretched in the other direction, dotted in the distance by some tiny pinpoints of light.
It was quarter to five. They wouldn't be here for fifteen minutes, and probably just about now were calling in and reporting a prowler
"Is there a patrol car cruising that area around five a.m.?" Grindle asked.
"I don't know," Day answered slowly. "I can find out."
"Do that," Grindle said, "then phone me and let me know where we can create a diversion to get the car out of the area before we go in.
Day nodded. It was as if the years hadn't passed and he and Grindle were plotting their earlier burglaries. Grindle scribbled a phone number on a torn-off corner of the envelope and handed it to Day.
"It'll be Friday morning unless you hear different," Grindle said.
Day didn't look at him as Grindle pushed back his chair with a scraping sound and left through a side door.
Thursday evening Day went to bed at ten o'clock, telling Audrey that he didn't feel well. He was telling her the truth. All that night after supper he couldn't stop thinking about what he was hiding from her, and for the first time he began wondering if she would think the price of her contentment were worth it. It occurred to Day that up until that time he'd only considered the deals he'd made with Grindle from a basically selfish point of view.
He didn't sleep much that night, tossing on the soft mattress and glancing from time to time at the glowing hands of the clock radio. The only thing that comforted him somewhat was that Grindle was right about the murder charge. It would free Day forever from him.
At four-fifteen, as he knew it would, the telephone rang. Day snatched up the receiver instantly, cutting off the first ring, but he sensed that Audrey was awake beside him anyway.
"This is you-know-who, "the voice said loosely, "and I'll meet you you-know-where."
"All right," Day said too casually.
"Remember, " the voice said, "last time."
"I'll remember," Day said, and hung up the phone.
He was worried. Grindle had sounded as if he were high on something. There had been an electric undercurrent of excitement in the burglar's voice that Day hadn't heard before. As he climbed out of bed and flicked on the soft reading lamp he told himself not to worry. If nothing else, Grindle was a pro.
"What is it?" Audrey asked behind him. "Where are you going?"
"Some work to do," Day said, turning and smiling down at her. She was still sleepy and her face looked peaceful in the soft yellow light. "Duty to perform," he added.
"Again?" she said with drowsy irritation. Summoning phone calls in the middle of the night for Day were nothing new, but they never failed to annoy Audrey.
"You go to sleep and I'll be back in the morning," Day said gently, bending and kissing her forehead.
Â
H e went into the bathroom and got dressed quickly, mercilessly splashing ice-cold tap water over his face.
The low, rambling Bain Corporation warehouse was like an island of light in the dark night. The beige brick looked almost white and very clean in the harsh glare from the overhead dusk to dawn lights and the beams of the ground-level spots. Day parked his car off Palmer Road and walked back toward the light, keeping to the shadows as much as possible. To his right the skeletal beams of a half-finished building rose against the starless sky. He was approaching the Bain warehouse from behind and to one side, and when he saw the lighted loading and receiving dock, with its few trailers backed into some of the overhead doors, he grew more cautious.
Day saw that one of the trailers had been backed into a door next to the one Grindle and Costa would use. That would shield them almost completely from the street, and only darkness stretched in the other direction, dotted in the distance by some tiny pinpoints of light.
It was quarter to five. They wouldn't be here for fifteen minutes, and probably just about now were calling in and reporting a prowler
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