Bannerman's Law (48 page)

“
So
,”
Weinberg shifted uncomfortably,
“
how did it go at the lake
?”

Nellie did not look at him. Her eyes were on Barbara.
“
None of your beeswax
,”
she told him.

Weinberg, now ignored, glanced from one face to the
other. He watched as the brow of one would rise slightly
and the lips of the other would purse in response. A subtle
eye movement here, an answering twitch there. He was
witnessing one of those maddening telepathic conversa
tions of which only women are capable and from which
all men are excluded. He felt his color rising. The flare of
a nostril, for all he knew, could be describing the length
of his penis. Weinberg crossed his legs. The women
locked eyes and laughed. Weinberg threw up his hands.
Barbara seize
d
his sleeve to keep him from leaving the
room.

“
I'm sorry
,”
she said, but she had to bite her lip. She
reached for one of the dossiers that her husband had been holding and told Nellie, telepathically again, that there was
a need to be serious for a moment.
“
Nellie
,”
she asked,
“
what do you know about a man named
Marek
?”

Nellie's mouth formed an expression of distaste. Sur
La Mer had begun to seem far away. She was reluctant
to go back there, even in her thoughts.

“
We have to ask
,”
said Barbara, gesturing with the
Marek file.
“
This sounds as if the Dunvilles use him for
their dirty work. Is that right
?”

She didn't know. Not at first. But she allowed her mind to drift. It wandered across the years, sorting through a
hundred snippets of gossip and dozens of eavesdropped
conversations. She remembered something that Ha
r
land
had told her.

“
Was there r
eally another war with the Germans
?”
she asked.

“
Ah
.
.
.
quite a while ago, yes
.”

“
Harland said that the father used to work for them.
But I don't think he was German
.”

Barbara shook her head.
“
He was Polish, but a war
criminal. What about the son
?”

“
Little Peter
,”
she nodded. More distaste. “Peter's not
really his son. They gave him Peter after he brought Luisa
back. We were glad to see him go. He would stick thumb
tacks in Harland
’
s legs while he was sleeping. Harland
had no feeling in them but all the same
.
.
.”

“
Theodore Marek
.
.
.”
Barbara's eyes narrowed.
“
Is
this the man Dunville was talking about last night in the
car
?”

“
The one who ruined Luisa. Yes
.”

Weinberg squeezed his wife's knee. His touch urged a measure of detachment on the issue of child abuse, espe
cially because Weinberg himself had probably blown her
to pieces.
“
It seemed to me
,”
he said to Nellie,
“
that
young Ca
r
leton despised him. If his father were
.
.
.
out of the picture, would he continue to use him
?”

Nellie considered the question. Something in Alan's
eyes hinted that it was not an academic inquiry. And some
thing else was odd. She had trouble remembering what
Carleton the elder looked like. Or caring
.
Whether she'd
borne him or not.
“
He might have to
,”
she answered at
last.
“
Ha
r
land says the guards all really work for Ma
r
ek
.”

“
Why would that be
?”

She shrugged.
“
When new guards come, he always
brings them. Harland thinks they
'
re all on the lam. That's
gangster talk for fugitives
.”

Weinberg thanked her for the clarification.
“
Did he supply Hickey, by chance
?”

She nodded.
“
But Hickey wasn't a criminal. They say
he was a policeman once. Several of them were
.”

“
Nellie
...
are you aware that Hickey is dead? And
that Peter Marek may be dead as well
?”

As for Peter, she was not a bit surprised. Nasty child.
And she had assumed as much about Hickey from what
was said in the car. And later, she told Weinberg, it was
discussed on the television receiver.

“
Ah, yes
.”
Weinberg had forgotten that she might see
the news. He would have watched for it himself had he not
been preoccupied with Barbara.
“
Did that report mention
anyone else
?”

“
Another man was shot but he's alive. One station said
he was rumored to be a diplomat of some sort
.”

Weinberg blinked.
”A
diplomat
?”

“
From the Soviet Union
.”

Perhaps Nellie had misunderstood.
“
It wasn't an Amer
ican? A man named McHugh
?”

“
The reporter was quite emphatic that he was Russian.
He seemed very pleased with himself
.”

“
Did he name a suspect
?”

“
He talked about th
e
killer of all those young girls
mostly. But he didn't seem to think he did this
.”

“
Any mention of Ca
rl
a Benedict
?”

Nellie shook her head.
“
Just of poor Lisa. Along with
the others
.”

Weinberg pushed to his feet. For a long moment he
stared thoughtfully into space and then into the bathroom
mirror. The new face seemed better this morning although
he still looked as if he'd been in a fight.
”
I think I'll walk down and get a newspaper
,”
he said to his wife. His eyes
said
Come with me
. She answered with a nod.

The private exchange did not escape Nellie. She made
no move to let them pass. She watched as they stepped
into their shoes and as Alan slid a revolver into the small
of his back. Barbara slung her purse to her shoulder and
placed her hand inside it.

“
Just a newspaper
?”
she asked.

Barbara followed Nellie's eyes to her purse.
“
And per
haps to make a call from a public phone
,”
she said.
“
There won't be any trouble
.”

“
Does this phone call involve Mr. Marek
?”

Barbara glanced at her husband, and then Nellie.
“
We
might try to
...
distract him if we can
.”

“
Couldn't we
.
.
.”
Nellie looked away.
“
Couldn't we
all just go and find a boat? Is that so selfish
?”

“
We will
.”
Barbara gathered the files.
“
And no, it
isn't
.”

That assurance, Nellie decided, was probably no less
sincere for being curt. She backed away from the bathroom, watching Alan and Barbara as they unlatched the
door and stepped into the corridor, one at a time as always, cautiously as always. Telling her not to open it for anyone
but them.

They were a fascinating study, really. Quite nice people. They were certainly kind. But it was astonishing to
watch the way they could, in the wink of an eye, step out
of one character and into another. Rather like actors. Ex
cept that with an actor one usually knew which character
was real and which was pretend.

She could get used to it, she supposed. She could get
used to the guns as well but she disliked the thought of
having to. It was so much fun escaping. And her first night
of freedom was wonderful. There would be plenty of time
to see what the world has come to. All she wanted now
was to feel wind and salt spray on her face. And not have
a care.

Except about
H
arland and the others.

Which gave her an idea.

She couldn't imagine why the We
i
nbergs went out to
make their call when there was a perfectly good telephone right here with the instructions printed next to the buttons.
There was even a directory.

She opened it and found the number of young Dr.
Feldman.

₃₆

“
Ir
win
.
.
.
Shit head
.
.
.
”

Lesko was getting aggravated.

The more he tried to assure Kaplan t
h
at Ba
nn
e
r
man
wasn't there on a
hit, the
less Kaplan believed him.

“
You're telling
me,'' Kaplan
challenged,
“
that Leo
Bel
ki
n just happened to be in Los Angeles and Rykov just
happened to run into Ca
rl
a. Who the fuck would buy that,
Lesko? And you wonder why people are nervous
.”

Those nervous people, Kaplan had told him, began call
ing at half past four in the morning, his time. The calls
began, in other words, thirty minutes after Lesko had laid
out his proposition to Andy Huff. And the calls were from
heavy hitters. Two were sitting members of the National
Security Council. The last one was from Roger Clew, an
undersecretary of state who had built his career on being
Bannerman
’
s control until Clew tried a scam to lure
him back out of retirement. It got a bunch of people killed.

Why all this interest? Kaplan says they wouldn't say.
They would cite the usual need-to-know national secu
ri
ty bullshit but they still expected Kaplan to tell them
whether Banne
r
man and/or the KGB was planning a hit on Sur La Mer.

“
For the last time,
Ir
win
,”
Lesko showed his teeth,
“
Bannerman didn't know Leo was out here until I told
him. Then all he asked Leo was to keep Ca
rl
a out of
trouble until he got here himself
.”

“
Why is the KGB there in the first place
?”

“
Spy shit, probably. You want to ask Leo? He's
right here
.”

“
Forget I asked. I would hate knowing
.”

“
Also for the last time, Bannerman doesn't care squat
about Sur La Mer. He only
.
.
.
Hold on a second
.”

A kid with a quilted pizza box had wandered over and
was staring at him. Lesko covered the mouthpiece.
“
What
?”
he asked.

“
Mr. Jackson
?”

“
No
.”

“
Did you order two pizzas
?”

“
No
.”

“
There's a pepperoni and a sausage. If I can't find who
ordered them, you want one for half price
?”

“
Kid
...
I'm on the phone here
.”

“
Sorry
.”
Su
mn
er Domme
ri
ch turned to Leo Belk
i
n.
“
They're still hot. Want to see
?”

Belkin eased him away from the phone.

“
Wait
.”
Lesko snapped his fingers toward the KGB
colonel.
“
You got any money? Get us the pepperoni, okay
?”
He hadn't eaten since his flight.

“
Lesko! Will you stop with the fucking pizza
?”
Kaplan shouted into his ear.

Oh yeah.
“
Here's what you tell them, Irwin. There's
no hit, no nothing, as long as they leave us alone. In two
days we bury Lisa and we all go home
.”

“
And Bannerman delivers this serial killer
?”

“
He gives it a shot but the FBI has to give Carla so
m
e
room. Otherwise we keep her stashed
.”

“
How about if he calls Roger Clew on this himself.
So I'm not in the middle
.”

“
He won't. He's finished with Clew
.”

“
Better yet
,”
Kaplan dropped his voice,
“
he should
call Bart Fuller
.”

Clew's boss. The secretary of state. Same thing, proba
bly. Same reasons. ”I doubt it. But I'll ask
.”

“
Lesko
,”
Kaplan sounded weary.
“
Does Ba
nn
e
r
man
want to keep that bug up his ass or does he want
answers
?’'

“
Those two almost got Susan killed,
Ir
win. And they got Elena shot. They
'
re lucky I didn't
.
.
.”
He stopped
himself.
“
Answers to what
?”
he asked.

“
Think about it. Go eat your pizza
.”

Su
mn
er Dommerich waited in his car. He thought, not
for the first time, that he should have been a spy.

He'd read about them.

The good ones, he knew, were nothing at all like James Bond. They were just average looking people like himself.
No one ever gav
e
them a second look. And they liked it that way. It never hurt their feelings.

Dommerich knew that he could sit for hours, at a bar,
for example, and the people around him could be having really private conversations and it would be like his stool was empty.

He didn't mind that. He liked being invisible. But now
and then, if they were just joking around or talking about baseball or something, he would make a comment on what
they were saying. Not butting in or anything. Just telling
them something he knew, or what he thought. That's
when, most times, his feelings got hurt. They'd look at
him, they'd say
“
Oh, right
,”
and then they'd move
their heads closer together so he couldn't hear anymore.
Sometimes they'd tell him to buzz off. Sometimes
they'd laugh.

It was the girls, mostly, who laughed. They'd either
roll their eyes or they'd give him that somebody-must-
have-farted look and then they'd put their heads together
and cover thei
r
mouths. Girls must practice that.

Lisa wouldn't have laughed. Not Ca
rl
a either.

And soon he would know where Ca
rl
a was. That man
with the mean face would lead him to her. Domme
ri
ch even knew which car he was driving. Or he was pretty sure. There was a Ford parked in the circle that looked
just like the one that pulled up next to him at that hot tub
store except that the one who got shot was driving it then.

Now Lesko had it.

Lesko.

Dommerich heard his name when the man on the other
end, named
Ir
win, yelled it. Lesko, stop with the
fucking pizza. The third man, the one who bought the
pizza, full price, was named Leo.

Lesko was a little brusque but Dommerich was not
offended. He just needed to finish with Irwin. Dommerich
would not have interrupted him except that he needed to
get closer when he thought he heard
Carla's
name.

He'd head it, all right. That and a lot more.

Lesko is here for Lisa's funeral. That means he's a
friend. Someone named Banne
rm
an, another friend, is here
to watch over Carla. Everybody seems to know about Sur
La Mer, maybe even that Hickey and those other two came
from there, and nobody wants to do anything about it.

But maybe Carla still doesn't know.

Maybe Lesko and Bannerman aren't telling her.

Or maybe they
would
tell her, and go
do
something, if
only the FBI would leave them alone.

That's it, thought Dommerich.

Lesko said they'd
“
give it a shot but the FBI has to
give Carla some room
”
and maybe the FBI already did
because they're not watching her hotel anymore.

That's one more thing he had to tell her.

Dommerich held his order pad up to the light. More names and notes.

Somebody named
“
Crew
”
or
“
Clue
.”

“
Susa
n—a
lmost killed
.”

“
Elen
a—s
hot
.”

By
“
those two
.”