Bannerman's Law (52 page)

“
Just get the fuck out of
.
.
.”

Bunce's
words ended in a squawk. His hands, too late,
rose to protect his throat. He felt the wetness, and the
pain, and he tried to shout for Felix. Bubbles of air blew
through his fingers.

He saw the knife. Again, too late. He saw it flash between his elbows and he felt a paralyzing coldness in his
chest. He saw a hand, in a clear plastic glove, his chest
spitting blood onto it as it pried at his ribs. He tried to grab the hand. It was too slippery. The knife withdrew
and struck again, piercing his own hand, pinning it to his
chest. Bunce flailed with the other, first at the knife and
then at the horn on his steering wheel but the hand seemed
to have no will.

The knife pulled free. It made a sucking sound. He felt
a hand at his shoulder, pushing him sideways. The door
to the backseat opened. The kid was coming in that way.
A part of
Bunce's
brain wondered why but now he felt
the plastic ta
r
p being thrown over his chest and head and
the kid was climbing on top of it.

A light blinded him. That flashlight. It moved from one
eye to the other and then to his throat. Like a doctor would
do. The kid seemed satisfied.

“
You know who I am
?”
Bunce heard him ask.

₄₀

“
Hold on a minute
,”
Scholl said to Theodore Ma
r
ek.
“
She's getting another call
.”

As Marek waited, seething, on the other end of the line,
Scholl brought the headphone to his ear. He was alone
with the equipment. He had sent his technician for coffee.

“
Miss Fene
rt
y
?”
Male voice. Deep. Trace of accent.

“
This is she
.”
Voice sleepy.

Scholl's readout showed a Pasadena exchange.

”
I called last evening. You've had no difficulty, I
take it
.”

“
E
xcept for no sleep. Who are you, anyway
?”

“
I'm a friend. Truly. Do you know where the ladies
can be reached? Say yes or no. No more
.''

'
‘
Maybe
.''

“
Can you get a message to them
?”

'
‘
Maybe
.''

'
‘
Please write down these names
.''

Scholl listened, in considerable surprise, as the caller gave
essentially the same
-
information contained in the call he'd just played for Theodore Marek. Even the details of
Marek's p
ast
life, which were news to Scholl and which Ma
r
ek, not
c
onvincingly, ridiculed. All that was missing was the charge t
hat it was Marek who ordered the death of Lisa Benedict.

“
They
.
.
.
already know this
.''

A pause.
“
May I ask how
?”

“
Hey
.
.
.
look. You're a voice on the telephone. Why
s
houl
d
I.
.
.”

“
I
am Axel Streicher
.''
He spelled it.

A silence.

“
Y
our two friends will know the name. Tell them that I said
not to waste time on Sur La Mer. Shall I spell that
?”

“
I've heard of it. What if they ask why
?”

“
The man who strangled Lisa Benedict is dead. Before s
he
died, Lisa took his left eye. Before this man died, my w
ife took his right eye. No one who so much as touched h
er
is still alive. Tell Car
l
a that she has my word on it
.”

Sounds of weeping. Sobbing. Then a choked,
“
I'm sorry
.”

“
'I
know that she was your friend
.''

“
Why
?”
Regaining control.
”I mean, why Lisa
?”

“
A
stupid man did a stupid thing. That is the long and
he short of it. Tell Carla that she will find no motive
`beyond
what I have said
.''

“
The other man said she died because she found out that M
arek
was Ordyns
k
y
.''

A hesitation.
“
What other man
?”

“
Listen
.
.
.
I don
't
think
I.
.
.
”

“
Never mind. I can guess
.''

A
pause. Then, her voice stronger,
“
Sur La Mer. That's w
here she died, isn't it
?”

“
Yes
.”

'
‘
And you were there
.''

'
‘
Not as she died. I would have stopped it
.''

A
longer silence. Then,
“
Nellie Da
m
eon
.”
Just that. The
name.

“
Hm
m
pf
.”
A
sound of
...
surprise? More like app
roval.
“
What about her, Miss Fenerty
?”

“
She can speak, can't she
?”

“
Can and does, Miss Fenerty. Nellie Dameon speaks v
ery
well indeed
.”

₄₁

“
Do you
?”

B
u
nce tried to suck air. His head heaved with the effor
t.
Dommerich took it to mean
no
.

”
I know you, though
,”
he said.

What struck Harry Bunce, even through his pain, was
the flatness, the lifelessness of the voice.

But the pain was unbearable. The kid was not very big
but his full weight, knees and all, was on
Bunce's
chest
now filling up with blood. Bunce couldn't speak.

”
I saw you leave
Hickey's
. You thought Ca
rl
a cut him
didn't you
.”

A rush of bubbles.

“
So now you're here to hurt her
.”

Bunce tried to shake his head. The knife punctured his
chin, stopping it. He went rigid. In his head he
saw
Hickey, grinning up at him. And those eyes. The look of
a man who died insane. And Bunce understood. This
kid
was saying he did it.

Dommerich saw that he knew.
“
Uh-huh. It was me
.”

B
u
nce tried again to shake his head, denying not the
truth of it but the knowledge that it was happening to him
as well. His brain screamed. This kid. The real Campus
Killer? How the fuck could that be?

He knew that he was finished. He almost welcomed death,
if only it came quickly so that the pain would stop. But it wasn't
right. He had gone to kill H
i
ckey himself. And he wasn't after
this Car
l
a. He didn't even want to be here. He wanted to say
these things so this kid would not cut him again.

Sweet Jesus.

Please. He didn't want to be done like Hickey.

His arms were pinned against his chest but his fingers, still
clutching his throat, were free. Bunce made the sign of the
cross. Then he stretched his fingers to the sides of his mouth.
They traced the cuts which he knew were coming. His lips formed the words
Please
.
.
.
and
don't.
He begged with his
eyes.

They dulled, mercifully, before the knife moved again.

Felix heard muffled voices inside. And he heard the clink of dishes from what must have been the kitchen.

He moved to the window. The last two slats of the
blinds were slightly askew. He could see into the room.
Two heads, both women, their backs to him. A man stood near the stove pouring hot water into mugs. Felix saw that
the window was not locked. He tested it with the blade
of his tanto knife. It rose, silently, unseen, half an inch.

The younger of the two women, reddish hair, was un
zipping the front of a windbreaker. The scene suggested
that the women had just arrived. Felix wondered where
they'd come from.

“
My manners
.
.
.
” said the man with the tea, uncom
fortably.
“
I'm George Benedict.
Carla's
father
.”

”
I am Elena B
r
ugg
.”
She extended her hand.

“
You're one of Ca
r
la's
.
.
.?
I mean, you don't seem
like…”

”
I am not. But I'm Carla's friend. I've come from
Z
u
rich to be what comfort I can
.”

Felix smiled under his mask. Carla was the redhead.

She was the one who had Mr. Ma
r
ek so spooked. Elena
must be the other one.
He could take them both. Finish it here. Mr. Marek would
be happy, Bunce would be happy, they could go home.

“
That man in Burba
n
k.
”
Benedict was talking to
the daughter but looking at the floor.
“
There's no doubt
he's the one
?”

“
He had her things
.”

Benedict set a mug in front of her. His hand was
trembling.
“
But it was not you who
.
.
.
avenged her
?”

”
A
friend did. Has anyone else called, by the way
?”

“
No
.”

“
Nothing from Claude? That friend of Lisa's
?”

He shook his head absently. ”I would have killed that
man myself
,”
said the father, softly. ”I really think I
could have
.”

“
It must run in the family
,”
the daughter said. The
other woman glared at her. The daughter changed the sub
ject.
“
It's been quiet outside? No cars cruising by
?”

“
No. Only yours
.”

The daughter
'
s mug passed short of her lips.
“
When was this
?”

“
Ten minutes. Just before you came in through
the
.
.
.”
He straightened. He seemed confused.
“
Two
people in it
,”
he said, blinking.
“
Not three. It drove by twice
.”

The woman, Elena, shifted her purse.

Felix thought he understood. That school. They must
have hid their car behind it and used that path he saw.
Must have just missed each other.

He tried to puzzle out what the father meant by
three.
Maybe the two women had a driver, still with the car.

“
The lights
,”
said the daughter. Elena reached for the
switch. The kitchen went dark.

Su
mn
er Dommerich had found the school. And he saw
the path.

“
Tell her to come the back way
,''
her father had said. This had to be it. There was a car hidden back by the
du
m
pster. Its hood was still warm to the touch.

He knew this was crazy. He could be five miles away
by now, looking for a public phone, calling Ca
rl
a to tell her about the man down the street.

But he wasn
'
t even sure Carla was there. And what if
that man wasn't alone? He wasn't alone at
Hickey's
. Also, how come he's not driving the Lexus this time? Not that
Dommerich cared except that the Lexus had a car phone.
He could have called from there
.

No, that's stupid.

He didn't even know if you dialed them like regular
phones. Besides, lights were going on in too many houses.
And that man was still making bubbles.

He'd driven away slowly, no headlights, coasting by
Carla's
father's house, noting that the lights were on there
as well. It looked peaceful enough. But a voice told him
to make sure. Go look for the back way.

Having found it, he parked his Volkswagen on a street just down from the school and took the sign from his roof. He checked himself for bloodstains. Not much. Just on his
cuffs. He made his way to the path.

Felix had stayed at the window of the darkened kitchen,
listening.
“
Get down on the floor
,”
he heard the daughter
say.
“
I'll be right back
.”

“
You'll stay where you are
,”
the father demanded.
“
I'll go look myself
.”

Footsteps. The light snapped back on. Angry whispers.
Felix put his eye to the window.

The father had left the kitchen. He moved toward the
front door. The other woman, Elena, was following, a gun
in her hand, pointed down, as if ready to cover him. Carla
doused the light again. She hurried through the house, dousing others. Felix crept toward the front.

The father was outside, on the front walk, peering in
both directions. Felix understood. The father was thinking
police. He had nothing to fear from them.

The father spotted the car, some five houses down.