The front door opened into the living room of the house. Enough street light came through the partially shuttered windows to one wall was lined with a huge flat panel TV and expensive audio and video equipment. The rest of the furniture was arranged for best viewing of the TV and a lovely Craftman's style fireplace and mantle stood forlornly neglected along the opposite wall.
Houses, particularly older houses are living things. They breathe and creak and sigh, but the creak Patrick heard was not from the house. Someone was home. To the left was an open door. A faint blue glowed within. Deniability was gone, he was already inside the house, so Patrick decided rely on bravado instead. "Hello?" he said again and walked toward the open door. It was a masculinely appointed study with oversized desk and leather furniture. The glow was coming from a computer screen on the desk. Patrick stepped inside, sensed rather than felt an oncoming breeze and ducked just as something crashed into the wall above his head.
His night-vision adjustment heightened by adrenalin, Jane looked up to see an angry auburn-haired woman trying to pull a golf club out of a hole in the plaster wall. "Nice swing, but you have a little trouble with your follow-through," he told her.
The woman was wearing slacks, a buttoned down silk blouse, medium height heels and conservative makeup. She was in her mid-thirties and had no apparent affinity for golf or home demolition. Finally, she wrenched the head of the club out of the wall, throwing plaster across the room. She drew back and said, "Not with my next shot I won't."
Jane backed away from her and put his hands up, trying to look benign and composed. "That won't be necessary – or wise. I'm with the police. Can I show you my ID?"
The woman nodded, but kept the golf club pulled behind her shoulder, ready to let it fly.
Jane reached into a jacket pocket and pulled out his ID. Extending it toward her, he said, "My name is Patrick Jane. I'm with the C.B.I."
"What are you doing coming in here unannounced?" the woman demanded.
Jane said, "What are you doing in here with the lights off?"
"I have a key," the woman said. "How did you get in?"
"The door wasn't locked," Jane told her.
"Don't you have to have a warrant or something?" she asked.
Jane declined to answer that. "I'm just here to talk to Benson Bowman."
"He's not home," she said.
Trying on one of his signature, disarming smiles, Jane said, "You must be Mr. Bowman's personal assistant."
Not ready to disarm, the woman said, "What makes you think that?"
"You're too well dressed to be a maid," Jane smiled and put his hands in his pockets, ignoring the weapon still held at the ready. "Benson Bowman is far too self important to do his own paperwork. You're in his office," Jane began to move about the room, staying just out of range. He looked at the computer screen, "making adjustments to Benson's calendar – and you've brought his shirts back from the cleaners." Jane picked up a plastic bag of dry cleaning that had been draped over the desk chair. He put the cleaning back down, leaned against the desk and smiled again. "You're Benson Bowman's personal assistant. And lover."
The woman lowered the club, but maintained her grip. "Where do you get that idea?" she scoffed.
"You know your way around in the dark," Jane said simply.
Annoyed, the woman said, "What are you doing here?"
"I told you. I want to talk to Benson Bowman. I'm investigating the murder of Mr. Bowman's employer, Edward Hurst."
"A lot of people work for 'The Truthfinder,'" she said.
"Gotta start somewhere," Jane shrugged. "Do you know where Mr. Bowman is?"
"No. And he didn't have anything to do with killing Mr. Hurst."
Jane looked her in the eye. "Did you?" he asked.
"I'm not the violent type," she said.
Jane smiled and crossed his arms. "You tried to brain me just a minute ago," he pointed out.
"You snuck up on me," she countered.
"Do you try to kill everyone who sneaks up on you, Miss…"
"Donovan. Stephanie Donovan," she said. "And yes."
"Nice to meet you, Miss Donovan," Jane said. "You're going to have to work on your technique…"
The two of them were startled by the sound of breaking glass coming from the back of the house.
"That can't be good," Patrick observed.
Stephanie's eyes grew larger and she once again raised the golf club. "Now what?" she said.
"First of all," Jane whispered, "Put that down." He peeked around the door jamb with Stephanie right behind him. The kitchen door was visible down the hallway. A hand reached in through a broken window pane and opened the lock on the door. A man entered and closed the door behind him. Jane and Stephanie ducked back into the study. "Do you know him?" he asked her.
"Anyone I know would use the front door," she said.
The stranger moved through the house, looking first in the rooms in the back. The front door was in clear view of the hallway and would be a risky move. Patrick turned to the window of the study. "Does this open?" he asked.
"Why?"
"So we can go out it," he said, trying to open the window.
Stephanie looked incredulous. "You're a cop! He's breaking in…Why would we run? Arrest him!"
"Well…" said Jane, still fighting the window.
"Where's your gun?" Stephanie asked.
"I don't carry a gun," he told her. "Damn, it's painted over!" Patrick looked around the room for something to pry the window open with.
"What kind of cop doesn't carry a gun?"
"I'm not a cop. I'm a consultant."
"What does that mean?"
"Doesn't matter," Patrick said dismissively. "I have a plan to get us out of here." He briefly considered using one of the other golf clubs as a weapon. Only effective with the element of surprise which they did have, but if the man had a gun…
"A plan?" said Stephanie.
Jane turned on his most sincere look and stared into her eyes. "Do you trust me?" He asked her.
"No," she said.
"Doesn't matter," he replied. "Just follow my lead." Any second a brilliant plan will arise, he thought.
The sound of footsteps in the hallway panicked Stephanie into action. She began to unbutton her blouse.
Jane looked at her, astounded, "What are you doing?"
Stephanie finished unbuttoning her blouse, revealing a nicely filled out lace bra. "Giving us an excuse to in my boss's office in the middle of the night," she said. "Follow my lead…" With that, Stephanie launched herself onto Patrick in a tight embrace and kissed him full on the lips. Using the elements of surprise and gravity, and a little tai-kwon do she had picked in self-defense class, she fell backwards onto the couch, pulling Patrick down on top of her.