deserted, the stores still closed. Nancy remembered
noticing an alley running behind Jason's building and
drove her Mustang into it, parking directly under the
fire escape.
She got out of her car and closed the door softly.
She looked up. “Yesss!” she exclaimed to herself. The
window looking onto the third-floor fire escape was still
open. Nancy nimbly climbed on top of the hood of her
car and was just able to reach the first rung of the fire
escape ladder. She grasped the iron bar, swung herself
up, then began the climb to the third floor. She wasn't
exactly sure how she'd deal with Jason, but she was
pretty sure that at the very least he would still be
asleep—and his bedroom was on the other side of the
loft. If she was really lucky, Jason might still be out
partying or maybe he had crashed with friends.
Nancy slipped through the window and gingerly
eased herself over the sill. She stood very still, listening
to hear if Jason was up or if anyone was moving about
the loft. All she heard was silence. She let out her
breath, then glanced around the studio. It was
illuminated only by dim morning light coming through
the north-facing windows. The photo she needed to
look at was in the exhibit in the front part of the loft.
Not knowing if Jason was home or not, she was afraid
to risk venturing past his bedroom to get there. On the
other hand, his darkroom was right off his office area.
Like most photographers, Jason probably had more
than one print of that model in the condo.
Nancy went to the darkroom, opened the door, and
cringed as it squeaked on its hinges. She turned quickly
and realized the study door was open—too late to close
it now. She tiptoed into the darkroom. There were two
or three stacks of prints on the counter, and a slew of
negatives. Other prints were clipped to a line strung
from one wall of the darkroom to the other. To see
better, Nancy flicked on the safety light. Reaching up,
she unclipped the two nearest black-and-white photos:
they were of a curio cabinet filled with tribal art. Some
photos were close-ups of particular items. One Nancy
recognized instantly: the blow dart that had so in-
trigued George at Lisa's apartment.
“I don't believe this!” she muttered. Somehow Jason
had gotten into Lisa's living room and photographed
her aunt and uncle's collection.
After tucking the photos in her bag as evidence,
Nancy turned to the stack of proofs beside the row of
developing trays. The first two were simply over-
exposed copies of photos Jason had in his show. But
the next group of pictures made Nancy want to shout
for joy. Just as she suspected, the pictures were taken
inside an apartment baring a strikingly similar layout to
Lisa's, with the same beautiful view of skyline and lake
in the distance.
“Gotcha!” Nancy murmured to herself, and then a
familiar buzzing sound came from the depths of her
purse. Nancy jumped, then remembered she had
probably left her cell phone on. Nancy opened her bag
and yanked out the phone.
“Nancy?” George's voice sounded worried and
frightened. “Where are you?”
“You won't believe this,” Nancy started to say, when
suddenly she heard a sound behind her. As she turned,
she was blinded by a flash of light. Then she heard
something whoosh through the air above her, and
finally something crashed down on her head.
Searing, hot pain exploded through Nancy's brain.
Her knees buckled, and someone grabbed the phone
from her hand. She heard the sound of the phone
snapping closed, breaking the connection with George.
A moan escaped Nancy's lips as she dropped to the
floor. She fought to stay conscious in order to focus on
her assailant. But as the shadowy figure loomed above
her, the room dissolved into blackness and she passed
out.
14. A Clever Ruse
As if from a great distance, Nancy heard a screech of
brakes, then felt a sudden jolt. Her body jerked to one
side, and her arm crashed against something hard and
cold. As her eyes popped open, a wave of pain roared
through her head. Her stomach clenched, and she
fought back the urge to throw up. Closing her eyes
again, she felt the nausea pass.
She touched her head and winced. She felt as if
someone had taken her brain and used it as a bowling
ball. Where am I? she wondered. Wherever she was,
she was freezing. This time she opened her eyes slowly,
and her surroundings gradually came into focus.
She was in some kind of train that was moving. A
brief glance around and the daylight coming through
the windows told her that she was on one of Chicago's
elevated train lines. When the trains motion had jerked
her awake, she had bashed her arm against the cold
metal wall of the car.
“Hey, there's some kid in here!” someone shouted
from the far end of the car. Nancy turned her head
gingerly and saw a uniformed transit worker standing
in the open door of the car. He motioned to someone
in the next car, then strode up to Nancy. The man
definitely looked annoyed, but as he neared, his
expression changed.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice softening with
concern.
“Yes. Yes,” Nancy told him. “What line is this?”
“The Blue Line,” he told her.
Nancy gasped as the memory of what happened
flooded back to her. The Blue Line ran through Jason's
neighborhood. “Look, I've got to get off this train!”
Nancy said, jumping up. For a moment her legs felt as
if they might give way, but Nancy grabbed the back of
a seat and steadied herself. She realized that Jason had
hit her on the head and then dumped her on this train.
He wanted her out of his way, and all at once Nancy
was sure she knew why. “I've got to get back
downtown,” she told the two men. Where can I
change trains?”
“Nowhere around here,” the second man told her.
“This train's going in for maintenance, and we're on a
Sunday schedule, so it'll be a while. We're almost in
the train yard. I guess Manny forgot to check this last
car at the terminus. But you look like you've been hurt.
I'm calling 911.”
“No! What I need is to call a cab.” Nancy reached
for her bag and her cell phone. Then she saw her bag
was missing. “My purse!” she cried.
“Look, I'm going to call the police,” Manny said.
“Obviously someone did something to you, ripped you
off, and stashed you on this train.”
Nancy put a hand over the Manny's walkie-talkie. “I
promise to call the police. I know who did this. First
I've got to get back to town. Couldn't you just call me a
cab and lend me the fare?”
&n
bsp; The men looked dubious, but at Nancy's insistence
they broke down. Using his own cell phone, Manny
called a local cab company, telling them to pick up
Nancy at the train-yard office. Nancy borrowed his
phone to call Lisa's house but only got the machine.
Everyone was probably at Old Can Be Gold. Or, she
realized with a pang of guilt, out looking for her. How
had George reacted when Nancy answered her cell
phone, and then not said a word—or had she? Nancy
couldn't remember the moments just before Jason
attacked her.
Fifteen minutes later, after taking Manny's address
to send him a check to repay him, Nancy was on her
way back to town. As she rode back in the cab, she was
furious with herself, and with Jason. What a two-faced
creep! A two-faced smart creep. The guy had a really
good scheme going for him, and unless Nancy could
get back to the condo and into the apartment next to
Lisa's before Jason did, he'd erase all evidence of his
crime. He only had to destroy his negatives, then move
his equipment out of the condo, and he could claim to
know nothing. The doorman and the super would play
dumb.
Nancy barely waited for the cab to come to a full
stop in front of Lisa's building before jumping out.
The doorman was the one from the day shift, not
Carl. He recognized Nancy, who smiled but continued
straight for the elevator. Fortunately, she didn't need a
key to Lisa's apartment. When the elevator opened on
the twentieth floor, Nancy punched in Lisa's door code
and entered the apartment.
No one was home. She headed right for the terrace.
Stepping outside, she shivered in the stiff cold breeze
blowing off the lake.
Nancy climbed over the cast-iron divider onto the
next terrace. Pressing herself against the narrow strip
of brick wall, she hazarded a glance through the glass
doors. Now, by daylight, she could see the room was
filled with photo equipment, but the lights were out
and it looked deserted. That surprised her. Jason
should have headed right to the condo to clear out his
stuff the minute he had gotten rid of Nancy and before
she had a chance to call the cops.
Why hadn't he? The doorman! Carl was off until
four, and the super didn't cover the door until around
twelve. If Jason had paid Carl and the super to let him
use the apartment for the shoot, he wouldn't risk the
other doorman not letting him in the building. Jason
would wait until the super covered for the daytime
doorman.
Nancy checked her watch. It was almost noon, the
time the doorman broke for lunch. That left her about
fifteen minutes. The terrace door was still locked, but
the lock, like Lisa's, was easy to jimmy. Then Nancy's
stomach sank. Without her purse and wallet she didn't
have a credit card or even the little picklock set she
always carried along with her penknife. The penknife!
Before climbing Jason's fire escape, Nancy had taken it
out of her bag and stuffed it in her pocket just to have
it handy.
She reached into the back pocket of her jeans. The
knife was still there. Nancy opened it and slipped the
blade between the doorframe and the door. On the
first try she pried it open and let herself in.
Nancy's gaze swept the apartment. Jason had cer-
tainly camouflaged his activities. The place was still
partially set up for a fashion shoot, with standing
tungsten lamps and an old-fashioned sofa set up in
front of a cloth backdrop. Yvonne Bly's black cocktail
outfit was hanging on a garment rack, together with a
couple of men's tuxedos and some fancy silk ties. The
whole thing looked totally legit, except perhaps for
Jason's unusual rental arrangement with the building
staff. Even that was not high crime, not a big deal—but
assault and burglary were.
Nancy quickly searched the apartment, but the
bedrooms were bare, the closets empty. She went back
into the living room, disappointed, and started toward
the terrace door. She noticed that the drapery behind
the sofa was bulging slightly.
She lifted the creamy fabric and hit pay dirt. Sure
enough, George's battered reel-to-reel tape recorder
was there, but was the tape still inside?
Hopeful, Nancy opened the lid. Two reels of tape
were set up to play, with the leader already threaded in
the empty spool. Nancy unplugged one of the lights
from an extension cord and plugged in the tape
recorder. The On button lit up. She pressed Play and
sat back on her heels. There was static, some voices,
and then Lou Knight and Carey Black jamming what
became Mama's Bad Boys' last hit song.
At the end of the song Nancy turned the tape off.
When she reached for Rewind, she accidentally pushed
Fast Forward. Just as she punched the Off button, a
voice exclaimed from behind her, “Girl, you sure have
one hard head!”
15. Over the Edge
“Jason?” Nancy recognized the voice.
He didn't answer. “Now get up—slowly!” he com-
manded, prodding Nancy in the back with some kind
of hard object.
A gun? Nancy's heart leaped to her throat. She
started to turn.
“Don't turn around!” he snarled. He prodded her
again, pushing her slightly forward. Nancy's hand was
on the tape recorder. Thinking quickly, she pressed the
“Okay, okay!” Nancy got up slowly, keeping her eyes
focused on the glass of the terrace door. It was clean
and shiny, and Nancy could see Jason's reflection
perfectly. “Jason, you're only making things worse for
yourself.”
Jason's lips curled into a self-satisfied smile. “Don't
you get it? I'm not Jason.”
Nancy's jaw dropped, and she started to turn to see
for herself.
“No looking. That'd be cheating,” he said.
As he talked, Nancy felt the pressure against her
back let up. Maybe if she could distract him, she could
make a break for it. The terrace door was still half
open.
“You know what happened this morning or you
wouldn't be here,” she said. “Jason must have told you.
I searched his darkroom and came up with clear
evidence that he had a shoot here.”
“Really, that's pretty lame evidence,” Ethan sneered.
A sliver of doubt entered Nancy's mind. Was this
really Ethan? Bess had blabbed to Jason, but who else
knew Nancy was on the case? Then she remembered
overhearing Inez tell Ethan.
Nancy ignored his jibe and continued her story. “He
bribed building staff to let him use this condo for a
shoot—but only because it was next door to Lisa's aunt
and uncle's art collection.”
“Creative thinking, but no way to prove that.”
“Wrong!” Nanc
y went on. “I saw photos of the
collection in Jason's darkroom.”
Nancy saw a sudden movement reflected in the
terrace door. Someone else had come through the
front door. It was another man. Nancy's heart sank. If
this was Ethan's accomplice, she was in big trouble.
She had a chance at subduing one man, but two at
once . . .
“Jason!” the other man exclaimed. “Are you crazy?”
Whichever twin was behind Nancy spun around.
Nancy sprang to the side, darting out of reach. She
made it as far as the terrace door before she noticed it
was Jason who had just arrived. Or was it Ethan? They
weren't dressed alike, but their faces were identical.
The twin who'd held her captive was wearing nylon
warm-up pants and a matching anorak. Some kind of
black cloth was draped over his right hand, concealing
the hard object he'd shoved in Nancy's back. The guy
at the door was dressed for work in a sports jacket, a
turtleneck, and dark brown pants.
One of these guys was Ethan. Nancy had heard
Ethan earlier at the Old Can Be Gold site, but she
hadn't gotten even a glimpse of his shoes.
“Is that a gun?” the newcomer asked, stunned.
“Of course not!” The first twin tossed aside the cloth
to reveal a small collapsible tripod. As he did, Nancy
noticed his watch—a Rolex. It had been Jason all along
holding her captive. “So how'd you find me here,
Jason?” he asked, positioning himself between Nancy
and the terrace door.
Ethan frowned. “Jason, stop playing this twin game.
What's going on here? Have you lost it?”
“You can cut the act. Nancy is probably wise to us
now.”
“To us?” Ethan gasped. He closed the front door
behind him and walked down the steps from the foyer
into the living room. He was staring in horror at his
brother.
“Tell her why you're here, then,” Jason said, folding
his arms across his chest and jerking his head toward
Nancy.
“You weren't at the loft this morning. You wanted
more information about that tape, and I didn't have a
chance to tell you last night—it's been stolen,” Ethan
said. Then to Nancy's horror his eyes lit on the open
tape recorder.
Nancy saw Ethan's expression register total shock as
he realized it was recording. She cringed, waiting for