"This is going to sound strange," Pierce said. "But I think I rented a storage unit there but I can't remember. I know it was U-Store-It but now I can't remember which place it was I rented it at."

"Name?"

The kid acted like it was a routine call and request.

"Henry Pierce."

He heard the information tapped onto a keyboard.

"Nope, not here."

"Does that connect with your other locations? Can you tell where -"

"No, just here. We're not connected. It's a franchise."

Pierce did not see why that would disqualify a centrally connected computer network but didn't bother asking. He thanked the voice, hung up and called the next geographically closest franchise listed in the Yellow Pages.

He got a computer hit on his third call. The U-Store-It franchise in Van Nuys. The woman who answered his call told him he had rented a twelve-by-ten storage room at the Victory Boulevard facility six weeks earlier. She told him the room was climatecontrolled, had electric power and was alarm-protected. He had twenty-four-hour-a-day access to it.

"What address do you have for me on your records?"

"I can't give that out, sir. If you want to give me your address, I can check it against the computer."

Six weeks earlier Pierce had not even begun the apartment search that would eventually put him into the Sands. So he gave the Amalfi Drive address.

"That's it."

Pierce said nothing. He stared at the black plastic card on the desk.

"What is the unit number?" he finally asked.

"I can only give you that if I see a photo ID, sir. Come in before six and show me your driver's license and I can remind you what space you have."

"I don't understand. I thought you said I had twenty-four-hour service."

"You do. But the office is only open nine till six."

"Oh, okay."

He tried to think of what else he should ask but he drew a blank. He thanked the woman and hung up.

He sat still, then slowly he picked up the scramble card and slid it into his shirt pocket.

He put his hand on the phone again but didn't lift it.

Pierce knew he could call Langwiser but he didn't need her cool and calm professional manner, and he didn't want to hear her tell him to leave it alone. He knew he could call Nicole but that would only lead to raised voices and an argument. He knew he would get that anyway when he told her about the impending police search.

And he knew he could call Cody Zeller but didn't think he could take the sarcasm.

For a fleeting moment the thought of calling Lucy LaPorte entered his mind. He quickly dismissed the idea but not the thought of what it said about him. Here he was, in the most desperate situation of his life, and who could he call for help and advice?

The answer was no one. And the answer made him feel cold from the inside out.

With his sunglasses and hat on, Pierce entered the office at the U-Store-It in Van Nuys and went to the counter, his driver's license in his hand. A young woman in a green golf shirt and tan pants was sitting there reading a book called Hell to Pay. It seemed to be a struggle for her to take her eyes from it and bring them up to Pierce. When she did her chin dropped, as she was startled by the ugly stitch zipper that wandered down Pierce's nose from beneath his sunglasses.

She tried to quickly cover up like she hadn't noticed anything unusual.

"That's okay," Pierce said. "I'm getting that a lot."

He slid his license across the counter.

"I called a little while ago about the storage space I rented. I can't remember the number."

She picked up the license and looked at it and then back up at his face, studying it. Pierce took off his hat but not the sunglasses.

"It's me."

"Sorry, I just had to be sure."

She used her legs to kick backwards, rolling and spinning on her chair until she came to the computer that was on a table on the other side of the office.

The screen was too far away for Pierce to read. He watched her type in his name. In a few moments a data screen appeared and she started checking information from his driver's license against the screen. He knew his license still had the Amalfi Drive address, which she had earlier informed him was on the rental record for the storage unit.

Satisfied, she scrolled down and read something. Running her finger across the screen.

"Three three one," she said.

She kicked off the opposite wall and came rolling and spinning back to the counter. She slapped the driver's license down on the surface and Pierce took it back.

"Just take the elevator up, right?"

"You remember the code?"

"No. Sorry. I guess I'm pretty useless today."

"Four five four plus the last four digits of your license number."

He nodded his thanks and started to turn from the counter. He looked back at her.

"Do I owe you any money?"

"Excuse me?"

"I can't remember how I paid for the unit. I was wondering if I have a bill coming."

"Oh."

She kicked her chair back across the floor to the computer. Pierce liked the way she did it. One smooth, turning move.

His information was still on the screen. She scrolled down and then said without looking back at him, "No, you're fine. You paid six months up front in cash. You still have a while."

"Okay. Great. Thank you."

He stepped out of the office and over to the elevator area. After punching in the call code, he rode up to the third floor and stepped out into a deserted hallway as long as a football field with roll-down doors running along both sides. The walls were gray and the floor a matching linoleum that had been scuffed a million times by the black wheels of movers' dollies. He walked down the hall until he came to a roll-down door marked 331.

The door was a rusty brown color. There were no other markings on it but the numbers, painted in yellow with a stencil. To the right of the door was a scramble card reader with a glowing red light next to the reader. But at the bottom of the door was a hasp with a padlock holding the door secure. Pierce realized that the scramble card he had found in his backpack was only an alarm card. It would not open the door.

He pulled the U-Store-It card from his pocket and slid it through the reader. The light turned green -the unit's alarm was off. He then squatted down and took hold of the lock.

He pulled it but it was secure. He couldn't open the door.

After a long moment of weighing his next move, he stood up and headed back toward the elevator. He decided he would go to the car and check the backpack again. The key to the padlock must be there. Why plant the scramble card and not the key? If it was not there, then he would return to the U-Store-It office. The woman behind the counter would surely have a lock cutter he could borrow after explaining he had forgotten his key.

In the parking lot Pierce raised his electronic key and unlocked his car. The moment he heard the snap of the locks disengaging he stopped in his tracks and looked down at his raised hand. A memory vision played through his mind. Wentz walking in front of him, moving down the hallway to his apartment door. Pierce reheard the sound of his keys in the little man's hands, the comment on the craftsmanship of the BMW.

One by one Pierce turned the keys on the ring, identifying them and the locks they corresponded to: apartment, garage, gym, Amalfi Drive front and back, office backup, desk, lab backup, computer room. He also had a key to the house he had grown up in, though it had long ago been passed from his family. He'd always kept it. It was a last connection to that time and place, to his sister. He realized he had a habit of keeping keys to places where he no longer lived.

He identified all keys on the ring but two. The strangers were stainless steel and small, not door locks. One was slightly larger than the other. Stamped on both along the circumference of the tab was the word MASTER.