Bannerman's Law (51 page)

The Ford wasn
'
t there. Neither was Carla. Bungalow 6 was still dark except for the bathroom and he could see a
corner of the note he'd left under the door. Dommerich
decided that he would try to use his psychic powers.

He knew he had some. Lots of times, they would speak
to him. Like when he knew which girls were rotten even
if they didn't laugh at him. Like when they said, yesterday,
that he should go watch Lisa's apartment. Like when they told him to go to Queen of Angels in the first place. They wouldn't have bothered, he realized, if all they were going to do was show him Lesko and then let Lesko get away
without leading him to Carla.

He listened for a voice.

He heard lots of them.

That was the trouble with voices. One said go look for
her up in Benedict Canyon, probably just because her
name is Benedict. A stupid one said go to a movie.

But one said maybe she went home.

And maybe she did.

Her father sounded like he wanted her to. He probably
left the back door open.
Tell her
to come the back way,
is what he said.

It wouldn't hurt to go look. Except he was really tired.

He'd find some coffee on the way.

All Carla had intended was to take a walk.

She'd slept poorly, dreaming of her sister. In the dream
that woke her, Lisa was afraid. She was running from
someone. Carla ran after her, calling to her, but Lisa
wouldn't stop. Suddenly there was her father. He caught
Lisa. He held her until Ca
rl
a could reach them. And
Lisa cringed.

“
She won't hurt you
,”
her father said.
“
She wouldn't
hurt you for the world
.”

Then Carla saw her sister's face and she realized that Lisa was running from her. She wa
s
pointing at
Carla's
hand. Carla looked down. The hand held a kitchen knife.
Carla woke up crying.

She realized that the dream made no sense. That Lisa
was never, for a minute, afraid of her. Her father's part,
confirmin
g
that, made no sense either. Carla remembered
his face. He was actually taking her side. And she had never, except once, used a kitchen knife.

The dream wouldn't fade. The tears kept coming. She
thought of waking Molly but decided against it. Molly
would want to stay up with her, rub her back or something,
and remind her of all those things Lisa had told her com
puter about her wonderful sister. That would only make
it worse.

She had dressed quietly and slipped into the corridor.
She passed Lesko and Elena's room, then hesitated.
Through the door she could hear the sound of the televi
sion, turned low. She knocked softly, not really knowing
why, and instantly regretted it. But there was no answer.
She continued down the corridor, almost reaching the
stairs when Elena softly called her name.

Elena couldn't sleep either. Jet lag. Lesko was still out.
She saw
Carla's
swollen eyes and asked that she come
and sit. Carla entered the room and pretended not to notice
as Elena lowered the hammer of her Browning to half
-
cock and slipped the pistol back under her pillow. Elena
had clearly heard the knock.

Carla was in no mood for television
.
She needed to
talk. She needed some air. Elena insisted on joining her,
going first to her closet for a comfortable pair of shoes.

Even the parking lot seemed confining. Carla steered
Elena toward Wilshire Boulevard, then turned in the direc
tion of the UCLA campus. They had walked only a few
yards, mostly in silence, when a car exited the parking lot behind them, blinked its headlights, and pulled to the curb
in their path
.
Elena stiffened. Ca
rl
a touched her arm. It
's
all right, she said. She recognized John Waldo. She ex
plained his role, sort of a guardian angel with an Ingram.
Wants to make sure she's not planning a solo visit to this
Sur La Mer place.

“
Are you
?”

“
Not at the moment
.”

Waldo saw the swelling of
Carla's
eyes and he saw
Elena nod in agreement when she promised that they
would not go far. Just girl talk. She needed it. No reason
to wake Paul.

Waldo was not reassured. He'd known Carla too long.
“
Are you armed
?”
he asked.

She shook her head, then gestured toward his trunk.
“
Maybe I should be
,”
she said.

“
Better I wake up Billy
,”
he told her.
“
Better he
tags along
.”

Carla knew that it was useless to argue. And she didn't mind Billy. He would hang back, following in a car, although she couldn't help wondering what a passing police
cruiser would think if they saw B
annerman's
monster
keeping pace behind two small women at night. She
agreed to wait inside the lobby doors until she saw Billy
follo
w
hi
m
outside.

“
You are not to be given a weapon
?”
Elena asked her.

“
When I need one. Sure
.”

Elena smiled. ”I have one. Is it still under my pillow
?”

Carla hesitated, then sighed. She shook her head.

Elena opened the clasp of her purse. She left it that
way, saying nothing, watching the street, until she felt the
weight of the Browning. She closed the purse over it.

They strolled, Billy following, for twenty minutes.

“
Tell me about her
,”
Elena had urged.

And Ca
rl
a did. She told her about the dream and how
it lied. She told of her father and how he had turned
his back on her. They reached the UCLA campus. Carla
welcomed a change of subject. She began naming the
buildings.

”
I went to school here
,”
she said.
“
For two years,
anyway
.”

”A
lovely campus
,”
Elena acknowledged.

“
It's also free. My first choice was Berkeley. That's
where the action was. But old George wouldn't spring for
the tuition
.”

Elena glanced at her surroundings.
“
It does not seem that you were deprived
.”

“
Yeah
,”
Ca
rl
a said distantly. ”I found the action, all
right
”

It was not what Elena meant. “
Y
ou should try to make
peace with your father
,”
she said, aware that she was
intruding.
“
For your own sake, if not for his
.”

Carla snorted.
“
And say what? No hard feelings
?”

“
If that will make a beginning
.”

“
He doesn't even like me, Elena
.”

“
Perhaps. But now he will need you
.”

Carla closed her eyes.
“
Your line was supposed to be,
Like
you? He
loves
you. How could any father not love
his daughter
?”

”
I am not so naive, Carla
.”

“
It wouldn't kill you to fake it
.”

Elena took her arm.
“
You are
...
difficult to like.
But so was I once
.”

“
What? You mean by Lesko
?”

“
He despised me
.”

Carla laughed.
“
Shows how fucking much you know
.”

”I was mistaken
?”

“
Lesko hated Lesko. Most of all because you popped
his partner and he still couldn't stop thinking about you
.”

“
Then perhaps you are also
.
.
.”

“
I'm not
.”

“
Would you like me to call on him? Speak to him
?”

“
No. Anyway, what's this to you
?”

“
The truth? You believe that without your sister you
have nothing. This is a dangerous state of mind. It is why
you have no weapon
.”

“
And because I don't hate Claude, right? If you talked
to the poor son of a bitch, you wouldn't
.
.
.”

“
Where is your home? Is it far
?”

“
It's four in the morning, Elena
.”

“
Ah. Yes. He is probably sedated
.”

“
George Benedict? He likes suffering too much
.”

“
Call him, then. Tell him he is in your thoughts
.”

“
He'll hang up on me. He wouldn't have let me in the
house if I hadn't brought Molly
.”

“
Call him. This time you will bring me
.”

₃₉

Harry Bunce, Felix driving, had made his second pass of
the Benedict house. He thought he saw some curtains move. He slid lower in his seat.

“
Take the next right
,”
he to
l
d the Mexican.
“
Check
out the back streets
.”
With luck, thought Bunce, he might
see something that would force them to back off.

Felix grumbled but he obeyed.

The Mexican was excited. He liked night work. He
even had a special black outfit, a long Jap knife, and this
dumb Nin
ja
hat that covered everything but his eyes.
Bunce had made him take it off. They were supposed to
look like cops, for Christ's sake.
He had also tried to talk Ma
r
ek out of this.

With Marek, arguing was the wrong approach. The way
to change
Marek's
mind was to agree with him. Then he'd
listen to your reasons and tell you how dumb they
are.
But sometimes they'd make him think.
Instead, Bunce had tried to tell him why snatching the
girl's father was a bad idea. For openers, what's the point?

Even if it messes up the head of the one who sliced
Hic
k
ey, there's still the KGB, God knows where and how
many, and why would they give a shit? Second, you'd have to kill the guy because once you let him go, his
psycho daughter and her friends would be more pissed off
than ever. Third, kidnapping is a federal crime. You don't
have to cross a state line. Even thinking about it is a
conspiracy and that's enough to bring in the FBI.

This last argument is what convinced Marek that he
couldn't lose. Marek owned an FBI agent like he owned
a couple of judges. Bunce never knew which one except
that he must have had some time in grade. He would put himself in charge of the investigation, says Marek, and his
office would end up leaking that the KGB did it.

Bunce saw nothing on the back streets. No sign of
a surveillance.

Nor could he see the Benedict house from the rear.
There was a grade school in back of it, and then some
trees in between. He could make out a path through the
trees but there was no telling where it led.

Might as well get this over with, he decided. The best
way was the simplest. Pull into the driveway, ring the bell,
say he's police, and smack the guy before his eyes can
focus. The car belonged to Felix but the plates were off another car back in the airport parking lot. The backseat,
this time, had been covered with a ta
r
p from Felix's ga
rage. Bunce fished a blackjack from his pocket and readied
a roll of packing tape.
“
Let's do it
,”
he told the Mexican.

But now there were lights in the Benedict house. And blinds were being drawn, all across the front. He told Felix
to keep going.

“
We don't have all night
,”
the Mexican groused.

“
Just hold your water
.”

It was almost five. The black sky had begun fading
i
n
to gray. And Felix was right. Soon other lights would
be turning on. Newspaper and milk deliveries would start. People walking dogs and jogging. He should
get
this done
now. But the pulling of those blinds had bothered him. It
was done, he thought, a bit too quickly. And who pulls
the blinds on every room?

“
Shut off your lights
,”
he said.
“
Turn around
.”
Bunce
pointed to a spot deep in the shadow of several large trees.
“
Park over there
.”

He handed Felix his cigarette lighter and told him he
could go play Ninja now. Check out the house on foot.
Try to look in, listen at windows, make sure the father is
alone, then flash the lighter if it's clear.

Felix was happy again
.
He pulled the hat from under
his sweater and, first switching off the roof light, slid qui
etly from the car.

Bunce moved to the driver's seat, stifling a yawn. In
that moment he lost sight of Felix. Then a hedge near the Benedict house appeared to bulge slightly and a shadow
separated from it. No sound. He had to admit that the
Mexican wasn't bad. He'd cut at least one throat for Ma
r
ek
already. Probably yelling
Banzai!
as he ripped. Silly shit
like that.

Headlights appeared in
Bunce's
rea
rv
iew mirror. They approached slowly, haltingly. Bunce lowered himself. The car was a small one, too small to be official, and it had
something tied to its roof. It paused at the intersection
directly behind him and the driver flicked on his high-
beams as if trying to read the street signs. It came forward,
passing him, he saw the triangular pizza sign and then
.
.
.

Shit!

It was backing up.

Billy Mc
H
ugh had agreed to drive them.

Ca
rl
a told him, after she called, that her father was
overcome with grief. That he was talking suicide. Elena thought the lie unnecessary, and facile, but she did not
contradict it. The point, she assumed, was to get th
e
re
before she changed her mind. Or to keep Billy from paus
ing to check with Banne
rm
an.

Billy had taken them to a phone where Elena dialed
the number of the Benedict house. George Benedict an
swered. He needed no softening. He was more than will

ing, even anxious, to hear his daughter's voice and to
know that she was safe.

Yes, Ca
rl
a told him, the man in Burba
n
k had apparently
killed Lisa. But now, she assured him, she did not kill
Hi
ckey.

“
Oh
,”
was his response.
”
I see
.”

Carla blinked. He did not seem relieved to hear it.

An awkward silence.

“
Well
,”
she had asked,
“
how are you holding up
?”

“
I've been
.
.
.
your friends have been
.
.
.
worried
about you
.”

“
What friends
?”

“
Molly. The one you brought. She called a while ago
.”

Damn.
“
Who else
?”

“
Someone named Claude, a friend of Lisa's, actually.
But he asked for you
.”

“
Did
he..
say anything else
?”

“
Only that he'd help you. I gave him a message
for you. I told him if you should choose to come
here, you should come the back way
.”

“
How does it look now. Outside, I mean
?”

“
The FBI was out there earlier. They've gone now
.”

“
I'll come by around noon. Are we still on for lunch
?”

”
Er
.
.
.
sure
.”

They reached Sherman Oaks in thirty minutes.

George Benedict realized that the business about lunch
was a ruse but he was still not sure that she was coming directly. He unlocked the sliding glass door that led to his
backyard and sat in darkness waiting.

A car passed the house. He only glimpsed its shape.
Minutes later, it cam
e
again, or one much Like it. This
time he parted the curtains. Two figures inside. They
seemed small enough
.
He felt sure that it was Carla and
the woman named Elena.

He returned to the sliding doors and stood watching
the break in the stand of trees that separated his yard from
the school property. It seemed that only seconds had
passed when he saw movement. One slender form, and
then another in a skirt. He knew Ca
rl
a at once. She moved
like a cat. Always had.

He switched on a lamp so that she could see her way.
In a wink, Carla was gone. The other woman, not as quick,
faded back into the trees. Benedict thought he understood. He moved to the front and began drawing blinds. He had
closed the last of them when the light flicked off behind
him.

“
Carla
?”
he called softly. Then his heart quickened.

A shadow, twice his size, was passing through the slid
ing doors. Going out. He'd been inside.

“
It's okay
.”
He heard Ca
r
la's voice.
“
He's with me
.”

He could see her now. She was at the door, waving
the other woman forward.
“
Where are the curtains
?”
she asked.

”
Uh
.
.
.
being cleaned
.”

“
Let's talk in the kitchen
.”

“
Sir
?”

The driver had reached to roll his window down.

Bunce groaned inwardly. Some kid. Another dumb hat. Headlights shining toward the Benedict house. But at least
Felix was out of sight.

“
Is this Hayworth Avenue
?”

“
Haywood. Not Haywo
r
th
.”

“
Do you know where Hayworth is
?”

“
Next left. Two miles. You can't miss it
.”
Bunce had no idea. But he wanted those headlights gone.

”
O
h. Thank you
.”
Domme
ri
ch shifted into drive.

“
U
rn
.
.
.
hey, kid
.”
Bunce had begun to wonder.

“
Yes sir
?”

“
Who orders pizza this time of night
?”

Dommerich glanced at his order pad and shrugged. ”I
don't know. Pizza's good any time
.”

“
Yeah. Never mind
.”

“
You want a coupon
?”

”
A
what
?”

“
Three dollars off
.”

“
Just beat it, okay? I'm trying to sleep here
.”

“
Sorry
.”

The Volkswagen rolled forward, hesitated, then cut
toward the curb and stopped. Bunce snarled through his
teeth. But at least the kid shut off his headlights. Now
he had a little flashlight. He was reaching into the back,
rummaging for something.

Christ. He was getting out of the car.

“
Look
.
.
.
kid
.
.
.
”

“
Could you just show me
?”
Domme
ri
ch held a large Hagstrom map, one hand underneath it, the other pointing
to the streets of Sherman Oaks.