Taren called at seven-forty.
She was at the kitchen table with coffee and the Monday Vault correspondence when the phone rang. She looked at the number. Picked up.
"He went straight home after the reception," Taren said. No preamble. He had learned, in three weeks of these calls, that she did not require or want the social architecture. "Alone. No stops. I had someone at the building." A pause. "He went up to the office. He was there for two hours."
"Doing what?"
"Sitting. As far as I can tell. The lights were on. Nothing was filed with the administrative system. No calls logged after eleven. He just — sat." Another pause. "He came down at one-thirty. Went to his apartment. I don't know if he slept."
She looked at her coffee.
"You're watching his building," she said.
"I'm watching m
