She went to the end of the corridor and looked out. Her car was at Andy’s Garage. Jimmy’s car was in the parking lot, and his driver was in one of the rooms on this very floor, but that wouldn’t work. Everybody in creation knew what Jimmy’s car was like. There was Mr. Demarkian’s car, but Mr. Demarkian had it. There was Maris’s unused little rental, but Maris had that, or it was parked behind English Drugs, which came to the same thing. Liz could remember one day when she was fourteen years old, walking alone down Grandview Avenue, on her way up the hill to go to the Booklet. Belinda and Maris and Emma had been coming at her from the other direction, and when they got less than a foot and a half away, they burst into giggles and jaywalked at a run to the other side of the street. 1965, she thought. That had been in 1965.
She went back down the corridor to the room where Jimmy had set up shop and stood in the empty doorway. He had his back to her, talking on the phone, the good black light summer wool of his city jacket making him seem just a little taller and a little thinner than he was.
Jimmy was pacing around, just as she had been. In the middle of one tour of the room, he saw her standing in the doorway and stopped.
“Just a minute,” he said into the phone. He put the receiver against his chest. “Are you okay? Do you need me?”
“I always need you. It’s not important. I’m feeling a little crazy.”
“Just a minute,” he said again, but this time to her. He put the receiver back up to his ear. “Listen, I’ll call you back in an hour, how’s that? I know. I know. Something’s come up. It can wait, Creighton. It can certainly wait an hour. Yes. Yes. I’ll talk to you later.”
Creighton Allmark was Jimmy’s agent. Liz waited while Jimmy hung up the phone and came across the room to her.
“You look awful,” he said. “You really look awful. Is there something I can do?”
Liz shrugged. “The problem is, there isn’t anything I can do. I’ve had a shower. I’ve played backgammon with Mark. I’ve played Go Fish with Geoff. I’ve drunk enough tea that my kidneys are floating. I’ve eaten half a pound of that pastry thing Ms. Hannaford brought up for me. I’ve talked to you. I’ve talked to the doctors. I’ve talked to the hospital. I’ve even talked to Mr. Demarkian. I’m going insane.”
“States of siege are sort of like that.”
“But we aren’t in a state of siege, are we?” Liz asked. “There isn’t anybody outside. Nobody knows we’re here.”
“They will.”
“I know they will. And then we will be in a state of siege. I want to get out of here before that happens.”
“Get out how?” Jimmy looked alarmed. “You mean get out of Hollman? Mr. Demarkian explained how that wouldn’t be the best idea, and—”
“No,” Liz said. “I want to get out of the hotel. I want to take a drive. I want to do something, even if it’s nothing in particular.”
“Somebody will see you. And recognize you.”
“Maybe.”
“They’ll follow the car when you try to come back here,” Jimmy said.
“Maybe,” Liz said again.
“Besides”—Jimmy took a deep breath—“what would you take a drive in? Your car isn’t here. Mine is too recognizable. Taking that would really be psychotic. And you couldn’t rent one, not from here, not now. If you tried it, we’d be inundated in no time flat.”
“She’s got a car,” Liz said.
“Who’s she?”
“Bennis Hannaford. She’s got a tangerine-orange Mercedes two-seater. Parked in this parking lot. I know. We talked about it.”
“Well,” Jimmy said. “That’s not exactly being inconspicuous either, is it?”
“Maybe not. But it would at least get me out of here. And I do have to get out of here. I know what you’re saying. I’ve seen it happen to other people, the Clintons during the impeachment, Caroline Kennedy Schlossberg right after John Kennedy disappeared in his plane. I know what you’re trying to say. But even Caroline Kennedy went out for a bike ride. She didn’t stay indoors for the whole week until the reporters went away.”
“When she did go out for a bike ride, she was followed by camera crews in vans,” Jimmy said. “I know you’re feeling shut in. I’m just trying to counsel something like prudence. You said yourself that Demarkian was asking you about where you were when this latest murder happened—”
“It wasn’t a murder. It was an attack. She’s still alive.”