Bannerman's Law (44 page)

₃₂

Theodore Ma
r
ek waved his sheet of notepaper as if it were
a list of charges.

“
Do you feel
,”
his eyes became hooded, his upper lip
curled as he spoke,
“
that Peter was adequately briefed
before he undertook this housekeeping task for you
?”

Dunville knew that look. He imagined that Marek prob
ably practiced it in front of his bathroom mirror. He was
i
n
no mood for this.

“
Peter
,”
he twisted his own lip,
“
was not briefed at
all. He was not briefed because he had no business being there. He involved himself because he saw a
chance to inflict pain. He is dead because he made a
mess of it
.”

Marek's
nostrils flared but his eyes seemed to acknowl
edge the truth of it. He brushed that subject aside.

“
Ca
rl
a Benedict
,”
said Marek, now as if speaking to
a child,
“
is the sister of one Lisa Benedict. Lisa Benedict
was raped and murdered two days ago. Her death, according to my friends, was made to look like the work of
that serial killer. Do I gather that Hickey knew better? Is
that why you borrowed Harry B
u
nce
?”

Truly amazing, thought Dun
vi
lle. Take any situation,
no matter how complex, and Theodore Ma
r
ek will plunge
right to the sordid heart of it.

“
Who, therefore, murdered the girl
?”
The bony finger
pointed through the floor again.
”
I leap to the assumption
that it was Henry
.”

Dunville hesitated, then nodded.

“
And who poked out Henry's eyes? Certainly not this
same Ca
rl
a Benedict
.”

Dunville told him
,
in broad terms, what had happened. He
was not eager to get into a discussion of Alan and Barbara
We
in
berg but there seemed to be no help for it. His father's
body, after
all, lay in a
bag right next to Harry's. Marek would
have unzipped it. And outside,
Marek's
driver and body
guar
d—a
Mexican named Felix
—w
ould be passing time with
the guards about now, learning, at the very least, that the
two Dun
vi
l
l
es had been taken ou
t
at gunpoint by two of the special guests. One of whom was said to have blinded Henry,
allowed him to suffer for a while, and
t
hen executed him.

Marek listened with what appeared t
o
be growing amusement. Dunville knew that it was nothing of the sort.
It was, rather, as if he were hearing a reading from
Alice
in Wonderland
.

“
And these We
in
be
r
gs
,”
asked Marek
,
the finge
r
signal
ing a question,
“
they were willing to throw away their invest
ment just for the sake of avenging a girl they didn't know
?”

“
It was
...
an act of impulse. They feared retribution. They decided to r
u
n
.”
Dunville chose not to mention the files. There were others he would warn. But not this man.

“
What is their background
?”
Marek asked.
“
Who
are they
?”

“
They were agents. For the East Germans, primar
ily. Apparently they became an embarrassment
.”

Marek's
brow shot up.
“
They were assassins? Like
this Ba
nn
e
r
man
?”

Dunville
shrugged. “I wouldn't
know about Banner
man
.”

“
Ca
r
leton
.
.
.
” Marek brought both hands to his
cheeks, miming dismay.
“
Don't you suppose that the peo
ple in that line of work all know each other
?”

“
The Weinbergs recognized the two women
,”
Dunville ac
knowledged.
'
‘
They saw them on videotape. But there has been
no contact between them if that
'
s what you're thinking
.”

“
On whose word? Theirs
?”

“
Yes
.”

“
Then how did those women find Hickey
?”

Dunville
’s
lips parted but he said nothing. He had,
somehow, in the rush of events, not thought to wonder.

That girl who called, Fene
r
ty, was clearly convinced that
Lisa Benedict had been to Su
r
La Mer on the day she died.
She would have told the sister. But he could have handled
that. He could still have denied knowledge of any such visit.
But Fenerty could not have known anything that would
have led to Hickey. The only possibility he could imagine
was that, when Hickey was following the two women this morning, they must have somehow turned the tables and
followed him to his home. Hickey had, in the interim,
been to Sur La Mer. Therefore, they would have to have
followed him there as well.
Worse, Hickey had, by the sound of it, not died quickly.
They must have questioned him. Tortured him.

Marek thought he saw the truth in Dunville
’
s eyes.
“
If
the Weinbergs have made contact with them
,”
he said,
“
they'll be co
m
ing here next
,
won't they? After you
.”

Dunville nodded slowly but his mind was racing. He
almost wished that Marek was right. That the Weinbergs
would contact this Ca
rl
a Benedict, explain to her what
happened, tell her that there was no one left to punish. Except for that business wit
h
the Russian.

“
Or after you
,”
he said.

He scarcely knew, at first, why he had said that. It might
hav
e
been wishful thinking. A desire to deflect any assault
on Sur La Mer, perhaps even prevent it. But the li
n
gering
thought of Hickey being followed there had blended into the
image of Peter Marek and his white Lexus.

“
Peter's car
,”
he said.
“
Is it registered to your address
?”

Th
e
older man blinked. Dunville could see it dawning on him that his son had used his own car. Dunville could see him cursing Peter for that stupidity, and Harry Bunce for permitting it. At last, slowly, he shook his head.
“
I'd
know by now
,”
he said.
“
My contacts would have
warned me if the police had the license number
.”

“
Not the police. Those two women. If they were on
the scene when the police arrived, they must have been
close by when Peter was shot. They would have seen
Harry dragging him to the Lexus
.”

It was more wishful thinking. But if true, if they did
turn their attention to the owner of that car, it would, at
the very least, buy him time.

Ma
r
ek stood for a long moment, averting his eyes, ab
sently tapping his nose. Then he began pacing. Dunville had no trouble reading his thoughts. He knew the man. And he
knew that Marek, right about now, was wishing that he had a bomb big enough to turn all of Su
r
La Mer into cinders.
And everyone in it. End once and for all any possible con
nection with his past.
Marek'
s eyes fell on
Dunviüe's
safe.

“
My file
,”
he said. ”I don't suppose it's
.
.
.
” The
bony finger pointed.

Dunville forced a smile.
“
Hardly
,”
he said.

Marek took the smile for smugness. He resumed pacing.

As he walked, he drew a piece of notepaper from his
pocket and stared thoughtfully at it.
“
We have two ad
dresses for the Benedict woman
,”
he said
.
“
One is her
hotel. The other is where her father lives. If she's gone to
either, the police should have her by now
.”

Dunville said nothing. He watched as Marek stepped
to his phone and dialed a number. The conversation was
brief. Marek broke the connection. He glanced at Dunville
and shook his head. He dialed again. Another brief ex
change, instructions given. He replaced the phone.

“
The police haven
't
found them
,”
he said distractedly.
“
No activity at my house, either
.”

The night is young
,
thought Dunville. He resisted the
urge to say it.

Marek stared at the phone. His finger ran down a list
of Sur La Mer extensions. It stopped a
t
one marked with
the letter G
H
.
“
Is this the gate house
?”
he asked.

Dunville peered and nodded.

“
If another car had followed Harry Bunce up here
,” M
a
r
ek asked,
“
might your guards have been alert enough
to notice
?”

Dunville doubted it. They'd been busy with that stupid truck. But he was pleased to see that
Marek's
imagination
was taking hold.

The video scanners, at least, had been in operation. Dunville called the gate house, confirmed his doubt, then
led Marek to a small office at the rear of the main hall
where the monitors were kept. He asked the guard on duty
to replay the tapes from the Tower Road cameras.

There, on one monitor, was the Lexus, Harry Bunce
driving, mouthing shouts at Darby to open the gates,
Darby shouting soundlessly at someone else. Now, Harry
Bunce, climbing out, pulling a pistol, thrusting it between
the bars. In seconds, the gate swung open. The gate camera stayed with the Lexus until it disappeared from view, then
returned to its sweep of Tower Road.

A second camera had recorded the approach of the
Lexus. Dunville rewound that tape. No car had followed the Lexus but, just before it appeared, another pair of
headlights came up Tower Road. That car seemed to hesi
tate, then swing suddenly to the left. The camera did not
follow it. It continued its scan to the other end, then re
turned, pausing on the activity at the large Tudor-style
house just across from the gates. A party was in full prog
ress. Many cars were parked on Tower Road and on the
side street. One, in the driveway, still had its headlights
on. That must be the car that turned left, thought Dunville.
He touched the pause button and peered at the screen.