Lawton looked at me curiously. "Maybe."
"Who do you suppose he was after?"
Lawton said off-handedly. "He was right near Bay 100, wasn't he?"
"Bay 100?" Something struck a chord; I remembered following Rena down the corridor, passing a door that was odd in some way. Was the number 100 on that door? "Is that the one that's locked off, with the sign on it that says anybody who goes in is asking for trouble?"
"That's the one. Though," he added, "nobody is going to get in. That door is triple-plate armor; the lock opens only to the personal fingerprint pattern of Defoe and two or three others."
"What's inside it that's so important?"
He said coldly, "How would I know? I can't open the door." And that was the end of the conversation. I knew he was lying.
I had changed my bet with myself on the way. I won it. Rena was in the room waiting for me. She was sound asleep, stretched out on the bed. She looked as sober-faced and intent in her sleep as a little girl—a look I had noticed in Marianna's sleeping face once.
It was astonishing how little I thought about Marianna any more.