Authors: John R. Maxim
“
Why not
?”
she asked.
“
Nellie's children would be at least in their late fifties
by now
,”
he reminded her.
“
They might have children of their own, even grandchildren
.
All the lives of their own.
All are innocent of this
.”
”I want to help her find them
,”
she said stubbornly.
“
Ask Dunville
.”
He shook his head.
“
Then he'd know where you're
going. He would be waiting
.”
She frowned.
“
Not if he's dead
.”
Alan Weinberg closed his one eye.
She felt it. ”I know
,”
she said.
“
Priorities
.”
He touched her again. He gestured toward the remaining files on Ca
r
leton the younger
’s
desk.
“
I'll see
what I can find
,”
he said, turning toward them.
“
Alan
.”
He stopped.
“
We should warn that girl
,”
she whispered.
“
If
they've sent people after Hickey, they might send them
after her as well
.”
“
Warn her? What will I say
?”
“
You'll think of something. Call her
.”
Weinberg sighed inwardly. He obeyed.
A better solution, he thought afterward, would have
been to make a clean sweep of the Dunvilles. It would
certainly cover their own tracks. And it would keep them from bleating his name should Ca
rl
a Benedict begin tick
ling their genitals with the point of a knife. But too many others knew. The guards, who were afraid of him, certainly
knew that he was Axel St
r
eicher. The instructors knew.
And, probably, some of the medical staff. He couldn't get
them all. Nor would he have the stomach for a slaughter
on that scale unless they had done him a serious injury.
Harmed his wife, for example.
Better to hope that they manage to convince Carla that
they know nothing. Better to hope that they never
/
earn
who she is. That she buries her sister as quickly as possible
and goes back to Connecticut, and to Mama's Boy
...
to
that town he is said to own.
Regarding Nellie
'
s children, he regretted lying to his
wife. But it was not such a big lie. He would confess it
later when she is less distracted.
He had found two of her children.
Before they left, he was sure, he would find two more.
But one o
f
them was certainly Ca
r
leton Dunv
i
lle the
elder.
That knowledge would not bring a glow to Nellie Da-
m
eon's cheeks.
Molly shook her head in wonder as she steered
the
Chevrolet, Ca
rl
a navigating, through waning rush hour
traffic.
Leave Carla alone for just one afternoon and she be
comes chummy with a lunatic who denies killing Lisa; she decides that
catching him just now would be unsporting and ungrateful:
she somehow gets the
name and address of the man who apparently did kill
Lisa - or at least was the one who robbed her
apartment, and, from the look of her bed
,
also finds
time to get laid by a Swiss-based KGB operative who just
happens to be in Los Angeles.
*
“
Go north
,”
Carla pointed.
“
Hollywood Freeway
.”
Molly saw the entrance ramp. She signaled and turned
onto it. Behind her, the sun had touched the horizon.
“
This Claude
.
.
.
”
Molly began.
“
It
's
not his real name
.”
Molly made a face. She had been reasonably sure that
a serial killer would not have provided references.
“
What
ever. You're saying he gave you this other man's address?
This Hickey
?”
“
Just his license number. He's been following us all morning
.”
“
Hickey
?”
“
And Claude
.”
“
How did you get the address
?”
“
From the cops
.”
Molly blinked.
“
You didn't
.
.
.
”
“
It's okay. They don
'
t have my name
.”
Ca
rl
a explained that she had gone to the front desk, told the manager her car had been side-swiped by a hit
and ru
n
silver Honda, gave him the license number, asked
him to get her a name and address so that she could file
a complaint. Anything for a bungalow guest, he said. He
had the address in three minutes, courtesy of a sergeant
with th
e
ever-helpfu
l
Beverly Hills police.
Molly didn't like this at all. If Hickey was dead, as
this loon had told Carla,
Hickey's
name would be all over
tomorrow's newspapers. The man at the desk, to say nothing of the police sergeant, would remember telling Carla
where he lived.
“
Get off here
,”
Carla pointed.
“
Olive Avenue. It hits
Victory Boulevard in about three miles
.”
Molly signaled, then switched on her headlights. The
sun was almost down. She turne
d
right on Olive and then,
abruptly, pulled into a Texaco station. ”I need to make
two calls
,”
she said.
“
Do it later. Yuri's alone and unarmed
.”
“
This isn't just us, Carla. I need to call Anton
.”
“
I
talked to him. I told him about Claude. He just said
b
e careful
.”
“
Bullshit
.”
“
Okay, he said stay put. But that was before Claude
called back. We're almost there, damn it
.”
Molly ignored her. Anton, she supposed, could wait
althoug
h
he must be going crazy. But what bothered her
even more was the knowledge that both Hickey and
Claude had been on their tail all morning. That she'd been
so deep in thought that she'd failed to spot them
.
That,
not least, she'd led them both to DiDi Fene
r
ty.
“
Two seconds
,”
said Molly. She shut off the engine,
taking the keys. She snatched the torn page of the tele
phone book, bearing
DiDi*s
number, and hurried to the
public phone. DiDi answered on the second ring.
“
It's Molly
,”
she said.
“
Is Kevin still there w
i
th
you
?”
“
There's a whole crowd here. Half the street and a
couple of guys who work for my father. They're hoods,
basically. Listen, I called
.
.
.
”
Molly cut her off.
“
That's good
,”
she said.
“
Don't get
nervous, but I want you to keep plenty of people around
you. Tell them you'd had a death threat. Say the Campus
Killer called to gloat about Lisa and that he said you're
next. Don't go anyplace alone, and that includes with the
police. Keep the lights on all night. If you sleep, make
sure that at least two people stay awake, preferably your
father's men
.”
”
I know. That's what your friend said. Molly? I called
Sur La Mer
.”
Her friend?
“
They said Lisa was never there. But they were lying.
I could tell from the way they
.
.
.
”
“
DiDi
.
.
.
what friend are you talking about
?”
“
This guy. He said not to trust anyone I don't know
except you and Car
l
a. Keep the lights on, keep a cr
o
wd
around, stay away from windows
.”
“
Did he give a name
?”
“
No
.”
“
What did he sound like
?”
“
Gee, I don't know. U
m
.
.
.
Maximilian Schell,
m
aybe
?’'
“
The German actor
?”
“Judgment at Nuremberg, Top
k
api, The Odessa File
,''
she answered typically.
“
Except he's Austrian. It was
Banne
r
man, right? Paul Ba
n
ne
r
man
?”
“
When did he call
?”
“
Ten minutes ago
.”
“
When did you call Sur La Mer
?”
“
Just after you left
.”
“A
nd this man specifically mentioned Carla and
m
e
?’'
“
By name, yes. Molly, what's going on
?”
“
It's okay. You're right
,”
she lied.
“
That had to have
been Paul
.”
“
Oh, wow
.”
“
Nice two seconds
.”
Ca
rl
a glared.
“
Start the god
damned car
.”
Molly did so, distractedly, and pulled onto Olive
Avenue.
In her mind, she saw DiDi Fene
r
ty dialing the number
of Sur La Mer. Identifying herself. Asking questions about
Lisa. Doing exactly what she'd told her not to do. Then
she saw DiDi getting a call of her own, a man's voice,
accented, telling her, warning her, to do exactly what
Molly would have told her to do. Are the two calls related?
They must be. Right?
“
Who do we know
,”
she asked,
”
a male
.
.
.
who has
a German or Austrian accent
?”
“
Probably hundreds. Why
?”
“
No, I mean
.
.
.
this is someone who knows both of
us by name, probably by sight, and that we're here in Los
Angeles. He must be here too. And he might be a friend
.”