The woman paused again. Swallowed. Then she came back, calm.
"What should I tell Professor Kelstein to do?" she said.
"Two things," I said. "First, he must not, repeat, must not meet with the two Hispanic men from Atlanta. At any time. Got that?"
"Yes," she said.
"Good," I said. "Second, he must go right now to the campus security office. Right now, OK? He must wait there for me. I'll be there in about three hours. Kelstein must sit in the security office and wait for me with a guard right next to him until I get there. Can you make absolutely sure he does that?"
"Yes," she said again.
"Tell him to call Princeton from the security office," I said. "Tell him to ask after Bartholomew. That should convince him."
"Yes," the woman said again. "I'll make sure he does what you say."
"And give my name to your security desk," I said. "I don't want any problem getting in when I arrive. Professor Kelstein can ID me. Tell him I look like my brother."
I hung up. Shouted across the room to Finlay.
"They've got Joe's list," I said. "They've got two guys up in New York. One of them is the same guy who got Joe's briefcase. Neat, polite guy. They've got the list."
"But how?" he said. "The list wasn't in the briefcase."
A clang of fear hit me. I knew how. It was staring me in the face.
"Baker," I said. "Baker's inside the scam. He made an extra Xerox copy. You sent him to copy Joe's list. He made two copies and gave one to Teale."
"Christ," Finlay said. "Are you sure?"
I nodded.
"There were other indications," I said. "Teale's pulled a bluff. We figured everybody in the department was clean. But he was just keeping them hidden. So now we don't know who the hell is involved and who the hell isn't. We've got to get out of here, right now. Let's go."
We ran out of the office. Through the squad room. Out through the big plate-glass doors and into Finlay's car.
"Where to?" he said.
"Atlanta," I told him. "The airport. I've got to get to New York."
He started up and headed out north along the county road.
"Baker was in it from the start," I said. "It was staring me in the face."
I WENT THROUGH IT WITH HIM AS HE DROVE. STEP BY STEP. Last Friday I had been alone in the small white interview room at the station house with Baker. I had held out my wrists to him. He'd removed my handcuffs. He'd taken the cuffs off a guy he was supposed to believe was a murderer. A murderer who had pulped his victim's body. He was willing to put himself alone in a room with such a guy. Then later I had called him over and made him escort me to the bathroom. He had been sloppy and careless. I'd had opportunities to disarm him and escape. I'd taken it as a sign he'd listened to me answering Finlay's questions and slowly become convinced I was innocent.
But he'd always known I was innocent. He knew exactly who was innocent and exactly who wasn't. That's why he had been so casual. He knew I was just a convenient fall guy. He knew I was just an innocent passerby. Who worries about taking the cuffs off an innocent passerby? Who takes a whole lot of precautions escorting an innocent passerby to the bathroom?
And he had brought Hubble in for questioning. I'd noticed his body language. He was all twisted up with conflict. I had figured he was feeling awkward because Hubble was Stevenson's buddy and his relative by marriage. But it wasn't that. He was all twisted up because he was caught in a trap. He knew bringing Hubble in was a disaster. But he couldn't disobey Finlay without alerting him. He was trapped. Damned if he did, damned if he didn't.
And there had been a deliberate attempt to conceal Joe's identity. Baker had deliberately screwed up the prints thing with the computer so that Joe would remain unidentified. He knew Joe was a government investigator. He knew Joe's prints would be in the Washington database. So he tried to make damn sure they didn't get matched. But he had blown his cover by announcing the null result far too early. It was inexperience. He'd always left the technical work to Roscoe. So he didn't know the system. But I hadn't put two and two together. I had been too overwhelmed when the second attempt with the prints had brought back my brother's name.
Since then, he had been poking and prying, hovering around on the edge of our hidden investigation. He had wanted in and he had been a willing helper. Finlay had used him on lookout duty. And all the time he was running to Teale with the snippets he was getting from us.
Finlay was blasting north at a hell of a speed. He flung the Chevy around the cloverleaf and mashed the pedal. The big car hurtled forward up the highway.
"Could we try the Coast Guard?" he said. "Get them to stand by Sunday for when they start shipping out? Some kind of an extra patrol?"
"You're joking," I said. "The political flak the president's taken over that, he's not going to reverse himself the very first day, just because you ask him to."
"So what do we do?" he said.
"Call Princeton back," I told him. "Get hold of that research assistant again. He may be able to piece together what Bartholomew figured out last night. Hole up somewhere safe and get busy."
He laughed.
"Where the hell's safe now?" he said.
I told him to use the Alabama motel we'd used Monday. It was in the middle of nowhere and it was as safe as he needed to get. I told him I'd find him there when I got back. Asked him to bring the Bentley to the airport and to leave the key and the parking claim at the arrivals information desk. He repeated all the arrangements back to me to confirm he was solid. He was doing more than ninety miles an hour, but he was turning his head to look at me every time he spoke.