Bannerman's Law (63 page)

₅₁

Lesko, spread against the roof of the blue Chevrolet, sub
mitted to a body search.
Three cars full of suits had cut him off as he nea
r
ed
the Hollywood Freeway. They showed weapons, held ready, but they were not pointing them. That struck him
as odd. What did not surprise him at all was that one
agent, apparently in charge, had gone directly to the trunk
and was unscrewing the spare tire.

“
He's clean
,”
said the one who had patted him down
and was now handcuffing him. Lesko had left his pistol
with Banne
r
man.

Another car squealed to a stop. Two men, dressed more
casually than the others, climbed out. The one from the
passenger side was staring at him. Lesko saw recognition
on his face. LAPD, he decided. Probably Andy Huff.

“
Lesko
?”
he asked.

“
Nice to meet you
.”
Lesko stood upright.

Huff looked at the older agent.
“
Scholl? What the hell
is this
?”

“
You'll see
.”

Lesko heard the hiss of escaping air. Then grunts and
prying sounds. Then silence.

“
So
?”
Huff asked.

Lesko turned to look at the older
agent. He
saw the
disappointment on his face. And confusion. The other
agents had
”
you-win-some, you-
l
ose-some
”
expressions.
But not the one named Schol
l
. Wit
h
him it was personal.

He had to hand it to Ba
nn
e
r
man. The son of a bitch
was smart.
“
You'll know the one who set the wire
,”
he
had said.
“
You'll see it in his eyes.
I
f you don't, Katz
w
ill
”

Yeah, well, fuck you about Katz.

But suddenly Lesko wasn't so sure anymore because
the passenger door of
Scholl's
car opened and he saw that
the man climbing out was Roger Clew.

Little prick.

The one whose games got Elena shot. And Susan al
most killed. He waits until the cuffs are on.

Clew nodded a tentative greeting.

“
Fuck you, too
,”
said Lesko.

Clew's expression showed no surprise at all.
“
Nothing,
right
?”
he said to Scholl.
“
And he's unarmed
?”

Scholl spread his hands.

“
Where's Bannerman, Lesko? We need to talk
.”

“
Ah
.
.
,
” Huff stepped in.
“
Could we discuss jurisdic
tion here? Maybe even what the charge is
?”

“
Obstruction, for openers
,”
said Clew, showing his
identification.
“
And it's a federal matter
.”

Huff looked at Lesko, questioning.

Lesko saw the gridlock caused by his interception. Ob
structing traffic was more like it.
“
I'll tell you later
,”
he said to Huff.
“
Clew's a weasel but don't get on his
shit list
.”

Clew's color rose. Huff saw it.
“
I'll stick around any
way
,”
he said.

Lesko shook his head.
“
Weasels need closed doors.
That's where they make deals
.”
He raised an eyebrow
toward Clew as if inviting agreement.

Clew glared at him, then looked down, the equivalent
of a nod.

Huff hesitated.
“
Banne
r
man's deal
,”
he said.
“
Deliv
ering the Campus Killer. Is that still on
?”

Lesko grunted.
“
Bannerman's a different kind of prick
but he's straight. Yeah, Andy. I'd say it's on
.”

More hesitation.
“
You'll be okay
?”

“
I'll call you. We'll have a beer
.”

Lesko watched him go back to his car where he
snatched at a microphone, probably calling his captain.
Lesko stood, largely ignoring Clew, who was already telling him how much trouble he was in. A litany of threats. Something now about murder charges for a slicing in Ma
l
ibu and a crushed windpipe in a Brentwood parking lot.
This was Clew's idea of a softening up.

Ba
nn
e
r
ma
n
had known that he'd show, although maybe
not this soon; he even outlined the scrip
t—t
hreats, deal, more threats, better deal, maybe some flag-waving mixed
in.

“
The first offer
,”
said Bannerman,
“
will be immunity
for you in return for my whereabouts. This will expand
into a guaranteed safe conduct back to Westport if we all, including Belkin and Streicher, surrender immediately and
if there
'
s no hit on Sur La Mer.

“
Hear him out. But your answer is no because we
can't deliver Streicher and because Roger won't keep his
word in any case.

“
The trick
,”
said Bannerman,
“
is to find out what he
thinks we want. Without that, we have no leverage
.''

“
Has he gone there
?”
Clew was asking, his voice low,
urgent.
“
Is he there right now
?”

Lesko pretended to hesitate, then shook his head.
“
He
doesn't need to
.”

At first, Clew's expression showed relief but then he
stared hard.
“
What does that mean
?”

Lesko shrugged.
“
Whatever he wanted there, he's got
it
.”

“
This
,”
Bannerman had tol
d
him,
“
is your key line. Watch carefully
.''
Lesko did. Clew was trying to show no
reaction but he deflated visibly
.
His eyes said
Oh, shit.
This was clearly trouble. But Scholl, standing near, had a different kind of
Oh, shit.
This was more like disappoint
ment. In one shot, he had hit two very different nerves.
From here, thought Lesko, it ought to get interesting.

“
Do you know
?”
Clew chose his words.
“
What he's
got, I mean
?”

Another shrug.

“
I
'
ve got to see him
,”
Clew said through his teeth.
“
I'll meet him alone but it's got to be now
.”

Bannerman's
leverage, thought Lesko, seemed to be
building nicely. Clew even jerked his head toward the
agent who had cuffed him and who was coming with his key. As the cuffs came off, Lesko worked at framing his next few questions, designed to elicit a few more hints as
to what the hell they were talking about. But his train of
thought was interrupted by a yell from Andy Huff who
was waving his arms. Lesko lifted his chin.

“
Susan Lesko
,”
Huff called.
“
Is she your daughter
?”

His stomach tightened.
“
What? What happened
?”

“
There's been a shooting. Come on
.”

As if in a dream, Lesko was aware of Clew stumbling backward. An agent raised a hand to his chest and was
suddenly down. Guns co
m
ing up. Clew running toward
them, arms waving, men making room now. Katz, he thought, was shoving them aside. But Lesko barely saw
all this because his eyes were locked on Huf
f
s. Huff saw
the question.

“
That's all I know. Get in
.”

Ca
rl
a was on the floor with him, stroking him, her head
crooked at an odd angle.

He lay in a fetal position, his arms hugging the pillow
that she had pressed against
his
abdomen. A towel,
jammed under his belt, helped stanch the flow of blood
from the rear.

Carla had checked the exit wound. It seemed clean
enough. Copper jackets. The bullet had probably passed
through his kidney but it hit no bone. She could feel him
going into shock. That was good. It would ease the pain.

She reached for a couch cushion to place under his
head. She managed it, but with difficulty. Her right arm
was almost useless. Her neck throbbed terribly; his arm
had been around her when the bullet struck, and her neck
was wrenched when they fell together. It was just as well.
She did not know what she might have done to Susan
otherwise.

*'C...
Ca
rl
a
?”

“
Shhh. Don't talk. He
l
p is co
m
ing
.”

Susan had backed out the door. There were people
passing. They'd been startled by the shot. A woman
squealed at the sight of Susan's gun in one hand and a knife in the other. The knife was
Carla's
. She'd dropped it when her arm went numb. Susan shouted for them to
call an ambulance.

“
Claude's not my real name
.”

”
I know. Shush
.”

“
It
'
s Su
mn
er
,”
he gasped.
“
Su
mn
er Todd Dommerich
.”

“
That's a good name
.”

“
My
.
.
.
mother called me Todd. I like Sumner
.”

“
S
umner, then
.”

“
Toad
.”

”
.
.
.
What
?”

“
That's what my father called me. Toad
.”

She said nothing. But she felt his hurt.

“
Carla
?”

She reached to brush his cheek.

“
Don't be mad at Susan
.”

She took a breath.

“
Is she nice
?”

”
I guess
.”

“
As nice as you? And Lisa
?”

“
Claude
...
be still
.”

“
Am I dying
?”

“
No
.”

”
I think I am. I don't mind
.”