Bannerman's Law (57 page)

“
It was more than blackmail. They swore they'd
.
.
.”
His eyes narrowed.
“
You've seen my file, Nellie
?”

“
No, but Alan has. He too
k
stacks of them when we
absconded
.”

“
What
.
.
.
u
m
, is he going to do with them
?”

“
Help me find my other children. I've had four, you
know
.''

“
Ah
...no,I
didn
'
t know
.”

She saw in his lowered eyes that he didn't believe her. But the eyes came up again and she saw that he had begun
to wonder.

“
Nellie? Do you know who my mother was? And
.
.
.
how ill she was
?”

“
I'm sorry, Michael. I don't
.”

“
But you were there. And my father always said that
my real mother was a movie star
.”

“
I'll
...
try to remember
,”
she promised.

But she already knew the truth. Or part of it.

It had occurred to her, riding here in the car, that Mi
chael might ask about his mother. So she went away, back
to that year. She promised Barbara that she wouldn't be
long.

Soon, Nellie was standing in the little nursery in the basement of Sur La Mer. She used to go there often, late at night. They never caught her. This time, she even brought
H
a
r
land. They were both looking down at the baby, trying
to make him smile. Harland testing the baby's grip with
his finger. Little Michae
l
was three
.
.
.
perhaps four
months old. He'd been there for less than a week. He was
one of the stolen ones.

For the longest time, she could not bring herself to
believe that the Dunvilles were stealing children. Even
though Harland said they were. But she knew that Michael
had not been born to a member.

She could have told him that, she supposed. But it
would not be a kindness. He might decide to spend years going through police records and newspaper files trying to
narrow the list of all those distraught young women who
had allowed themselves to be distracted in some public
park only to turn and find their infants gone. His mother
could be anyone, anywhere, in one of a dozen states.

Nellie was tempted to make up a lie. Nadia Taylor had
been at Sur La Mer then. She arrived in a coma. Motorcy
cle accident. She could well have been pregnant at the
time. Died a year or so later. Nadia had been a dancer.
Made several good films. Very bright, pretty, unmarried.
Michael might have been proud to have such a talented
mother. Nellie had even asked Barbara's opinion.

Barbara thought it wasn't such a good idea. For the
time being, she said, let's not let anyone else know you
can do that. Going back in time, that is, and remembering
things so vividly. Not everyone would be pleased.

“
Nellie
.
.
.
” Dr. Feldman asked,
.
.
.
you do know
that Henry Dunville is dead? And Ca
r
leton the elder
?”

She nodded slowly. She knew of the one. Suspected
the other.

“
Young Carleton called me during the night. He has
also
.
.
.
absconded. Said he was going far away. Would
never return. He promised he'd destroy the file on my family if I promised to see to the members
.”

Nellie nodded. Alan had thought as much.

”
I would have anyway
.”

”
I know that, Michael
.”

“
Nellie, did you know that I have children of my
own
?”

“
No. But I'm glad
.”

“
Two little girls. And a wife who is the best thing in
my life. They're staying with her mother until this is
done
.”

“
You'd
.
.
.
like me to get your file from Alan
.”

”
I guess. Yes. It's just that I
.
.
.
”

“
You don
'
t want them to know that your real mother
died a lunatic. If that's the case
.”

Feldman brought his hands to his mouth.
“
It sounds
crappy, doesn't it. Said straight out
.”

“
It's not so crappy. Your wife would worry about
the girls
.”

”
I do already. And my wife wants t
o
try for a son
.”

“
Ala
n
will give me your file. If I tell you that your
mother was not insane, will that be enough for you
?”

He did not answer immediately. He asked,
' ‘
How could
you have stayed there, Nellie? You're no crazier than I am
.”

“
Oh, I was crazy once. Later, it seemed safest to
pretend
.”

“
You're not safe with those two. Stay here. Go to the
Country House with your friends
.”

“
My friends are all old, Michael. I've decided to be
young for a while
.”

Feld
m
an smiled. He let it fade.
“
You really think
they'll give you that file
?”

“
They've said that they will. But they might ask a
favor of you in return
.”

The smile returned, although rueful this time.
”
I bet.
Have you thought about what they want from you
?”

“
Well, it certainly isn't sex
.”

“
What, then
?”

“
My mind, dear. They want me for my mind
.”

₄₅

S
umn
er Dommerich was happy.

He eased himself into his bathtub, the hot shower run
ning. He sat back, idly sponging his wrists where blood
had seeped over the plastic gloves, thinking about Ca
rl
a.

The television had no news of that man in the car. Still
too early, he supposed. He had left it on and wheeled it
to the bathroom door just in case but its sound was already
beginning to seem far away. Water pouring through steam.
Such a peaceful sound.

Dommerich could not remember when he felt so good.
This, he thought dreamily, was better than anything. It was
even better than making those girls stop laughing.

A lot better. These feelings were staying with him.
Those others never did for very long. Just for
a
few sec
onds, usually. When the light went out of their eyes. In
those few seconds everything seemed so clear. He would
feel so light. So free
.

But it would never last. It would just sort of fade away.
Like a dream you want to remember but can't.

A book in the library talked about that. It said that people like him had this tremendous blinding insight at
the moment of the murder. Not that they were really mur
ders. It wasn't like killing someone for money or because
you hate them. It was more like
.
.
.

He wasn't sure what.

Anyway, the book said that right when he's watching
the lights go out, the serial killer sees, in this big flash,
what made him this way. And no
w
that he understands, he can handle it. What it doe
s—D
omme
ri
ch knew the
words by hear
t—i
s
“
cancel out his own suffering and
establish his own power and identity
.''
And it really does
.
Except it doesn't last.

Until now.

And except killing didn't do i
t
this time.

Ca
rl
a did it.

He could still hear her voic
e
on the phone. She was so
nice. All she cared about was that he shouldn't feel bad
for screwing up with Lesko. And she was really impressed
that he'd follow the Lexus all the way to Santa Barbara
without getting spotted. He almost told her how he did
that. How he could make himself invisible.

“
Serial killers are extremely ordinary and blend in
very well
.”

That was another thing he read. No question he could
blend in really well. But he didn't think he was so ordi
nary. Unless they mean average in looks. Which he was.
Pretty much.

“
Outwardly, they're often gregarious, warm, person
able, and charming
.''

That one was sort of true. He was certainly polite. And
he never said anything mean.

“
But underneath, there's no depth of feeling whatso
ever. No affectionate ties, no emotional pain, no sense of
blame or right or wrong, no development of conscience
.''

That's where they weren't so smart. What about Lisa?
That wasn't an affectionate tie? And, especially, what
about Carla?

As for having no sense of right or wrong
.
.
.
what he
did to Hickey
.
.
.
wasn't that because he knew that what
Hickey did to Lisa was wrong?

And dumbest of all was that thing about not having any emotional pain. The pain is what goes away when
they kill. Unless, maybe, they mean being sorry. He never
felt sorry. Only a little depressed. Sometimes.

”
.
.
.
copycat killing
.
.
.
Malibu home o
f.
.
.”

The words penetrated from the TV.

”
.
.
.
thought to be this man, Harold J. Bunce
,
a former
Los Angeles
.
.
.
”

They were showing an old photograph. It was that guy.

”
.
.
.
second man, unidentified
,
appeared to be
.
.
.
”

Do
m
me
ri
ch grabbed for a towel.

”
.
.
.
exclusive videotape, taken by a neighbor at the
scene. Police responding to the neighbor
'
s call foun
d
.
.
.
”

The picture, wobbly, amateurish, now showed a car, all
smashed, trunk open, half inside a broken wall. A man
moving up the hill toward the camera, waving it off. Other
men trying to bend back the gate because another car was
trying to get out.

Dommerich didn't understand. But it
was
that man. He
was sure of it.

This was wild.

There was a second man after all. Ca
rl
a must have got
him. Or Lesko. And then they took these two all the way
out to Malibu to dump them. But why?

Then Dommerich understood.

Carla, he bet, made the second man tell who sent them.
And then she beat them back. Maybe she went into the
house first, looking for him, and he wasn't there. So she left him a message.

He missed the name of the man whose house that was. Something about art. Maybe it would be on another chan
nel. Dommerich climbed out of the tu
b.

Carla would be looking for that man. The first place
she'd look is probably that Sur La Mer place. But he
knows what Carla looks like. He would see her coming.

Wouldn't it be great, thought Dommerich, if he could
find
‘
him before Ca
rl
a did. Except they'd never let him
through the gates. And there were all those guards.

Maybe they could work together. Make a plan.

But first he had to find her again.

Banne
r
man would not have noticed the Porsche.

He looked up at the sound of John Waldo's tires and
the grinding of his gears. Waldo tossed his head toward his rear and Bannerman saw it.

He was more curious than alarmed. A Porsche, bright
red, seemed an unlikely vehicle for surveillance. Nor could
he imagine why its occupants would be following Susan.
Or even know that she existed. Waldo, in any case, would
look after her.

In the meantime, he ha
d
one more call to make. He walked the two blocks to the public phone he'd used be
fore and tapped out the number of Queen of Angels Hospi
tal. He asked that Mr. Leo Belk
i
n be paged. He was
drumming his fingers to a Musak interlude when he saw
the red Porsche, its bumper and on
e
headlight newly
crushed, coming back in his direction
.
He knew at once
that Susan was clear.

As the Porsche went by, the man in the passenger seat glanced in his direction. Bannerman saw recognitio
n—t
he
man who'd put Susan into a tax
i—b
ut no great interest in
him. He watched as the driver signaled a turn into the
Holiday Inn. Bannerman looked back in the direction
Susan had taken and saw John Waldo's car approaching.
He raised a hand and waved it to the curb.

“
Any idea who they are
?”
he asked as Waldo nea
r
ed
the public phone.

“
They wouldn't show me
.”
He cocked his head toward
the hotel.
“
I'll go ask again where it's quiet
.”

“
Could they be detectives
?”

“
All that gold? No way. They're pimps or dealers
.”

“
Why would they have followed Susan
?”

“
My guess
.
.
.
one guy thought maybe she was Moll
y.
Other guy knew Molly was older
.”

Bannerman blinked.
“
You heard him say that
?”

“
More or less
.”

Leo Bel
ki
n answered his page. Banne
r
man asked him to
wait. He covered the mouthpiece.
“
Get Lesko
,”
he said.
“
Tell him what you told me. Then the two of you go
ask
.”

“
You checking out soon
?”

“
Very soon. Why
?”

“
Okay we leave them in the parking lot
?”

“
The parking lot will be fine
.”

“
What if Lesko won't
?”

“
Won't what
?”

“
Leave them dead
.”

Bannerman chewed his lip. He considered letting
Waldo go alone, unburdened by
Lesko's
fine distinction
between people who are killers and people who have
killed. But going alone meant twice the risk.

“
It's enough to leave them useless
,”
he said.

Leo Belkin listened as Bannerman told him of the
phone calls and the events in Sherman Oaks. He was distracted. Yuri had just been returned to surgery. Internal
bleeding was suspected.

The news of this Claude, his part in it, hovering about
like some demented fairy godmother, did not help his con
centration. He could not begin to understand such a thing.
He chose not to deal with it. The appearance of Axel
St
r
eicher out of nowhere was confounding enough.

“
He claims that everyone involved in Lisa's death is
dead
,”
Bannerman was saying.
“
I'm inclined to tak
e
him
at his word
.”

“
Which means
,”
Belkin replied,
“
that you are disin
clined to visit Sur La Mer. Is this not what Streicher
hopes
?”

“
It seems to be what a lot of people hope
.”

“
Among them Roger Clew
?”

A pause.
“
How would you know that, Leo
?”

“
He called here not ten minutes ago. From an airplane,
by the sound of it. He hoped to reach you through me
.”

“
What else did he say
?”