Bannerman's Law (5 page)

“
Because she had a camera
,”
he answered patiently,
his voice pained.
“
And because I was there. She photo
graphed everything she saw, Henry, from the main gate,
to old Mr. Bella
r
m
i
ne's red seascape, to your rude little
gesture
.”

Dunville
’s
jaw tightened but the chin came up, defi
antly.
“
Well
,”
he sniffed,
“
we'll know soon enough
.”

“
What have you given her
?”

“Heroin. Scopolam
i
ne
.''

“
How long until her head clears
?”

“
Two hours. Maybe less
.”

“
I'll question her then
.”
He raised a hand to stay any
objection.
“
Why is she naked, by the way
?”

The other man shrugged
,

“
Is it because you've been playing with her, Henry?
Or does that come later
?”

His tan deepened but he said nothing.

Weinberg reached an arm around the smaller man's shoulder. He stiffened but did not pull away. Weinberg
guided him toward the door.
“
Henry
,”
he said, shaking
his head,
“
I'm going to try to explain what you've done
here
.
.
.”

Lisa listened to the fading voice. The man who had
covered her. She did not want him to leave.

“
By the way
.
.
.”
The man called Weinberg paused
in the corridor outside the surgery,
'
‘
when your little assis
tant asked me who I think I am, she wasn't speaking for
you, was she
?”

No answer.

“
Because if she was, I'll tell you. Or would you rather
I showed you
?”

“
What you are
,”
he managed, the chin rising again,
“
is a guest in this house. Kindly keep that in mind
.”

”A
paying guest
,”
Weinberg corrected him.
“
And
wouldn't you say that all that money should entitle Mrs.
Weinberg and myself to a measure of peace and quiet
?”

“
It does not entitle you to interfere
.
.
.”

The bigger man squeezed his neck, silencing him.
”A
little college girl climbs up through the trees, making
it past that wonderfully sophisticated security system of
yours because she's doing a term paper about old
movie stars and, quite naturally, she thought she'd try to
talk to one or two. She gets in here but she has only
anecdotes to show for her trouble. She has spoken to a
blind old man about marble benches and to a nice old
lady who can't talk back and who, even if she could, is in
another world. Are you with me so far, Henry? Just nod
.”

He nodded.

“
Enter Henry Dunville. You learn that this little girl
has been here, havin
g
bested you, and you overreact. You
deprive poor Nellie of her bench so that you and your little friend can
.
.
.”
Weinberg stopped himself
.
“
How did you know she was coming, by the way
?”

Dunville
’
s expression became smug.
“
Her license plate
was recorded when she first approached the gate house.
Her face and voice were recorded as well. Mr. Bella
r
m
i
ne
confirmed that the voice was that of the girl who spoke
to him from Nellie's bench. She's been under surveillance
for a week. When she left her apartment this morning,
heading this way, obviously outfitted for a return visit, we
were alerted. We were ready for her
.”

“
And you got her, didn't you, Henry
.”
Weinberg pu
nched his arm, lightly.
“
You jumped her, drugged her,
strapped her naked to a table and you burglarized her
apartment. In the end, Henry, do you feel that this will
make her less curious, or more curious, about Su
r
La
Mer
?”

“
We can't let her go. Not now
.”

“
Tell me why
.”

“
Because she's seen you. And for all the reasons you
just mentioned
.”

“
What she has seen is gauze, Henry. And anything she has seen or heard since you drugged her will have been
through a fog. She
'
s not going to die for that
.”

“
We can't take the chance. What if she
.
.
.”

Weinberg squeezed him again, very hard, shutting off his air.
“
In a little while
,”
he said,
“
Mrs. Weinberg will
come down. She will rap that girl smartly across the back
of the head and then she will put her clothes back on.
Your surgeon will put a few stitches in her scalp. When she revives, you will tell her that she hit her head when
you grabbed her, which you regret, and she's been in the
infirmary ever since. Whatever she seems to remember,
you and the doctor will assure her that no such thing
happened. I will then come in and, standing behind a light,
I will proceed to frighten the wits out of her. I will tell
her that Nellie Da
m
eon suffered a stroke immediately after
her first visit and is now in a vegetative state. I will
threaten her with arrest on a charge of criminal trespass
and with a lawsuit for the damage that she has done. I
will then send her home to await our wrath. With all that
on her mind, Henry, she might not even report the burglary
of her apartment
.”

“
But if she does
.
.
.”

“
Let her. You know nothing about it
.”

”She…she
's
been injected
,”
Dunv
i
lle said, flustered.
“
What about the marks
?”

“
Give her a tetanus shot and a painkiller. Use the
same holes
.”

Dunville appeared to consider it. Then his jaw tight
ened. He began to shake his head. The man called Wein
berg reached for his right hand, forced it open, then
wrapped his own fist around the offending middle finger.
“
Must I put it another way, Henry
?”
he asked, gently.

”N
.
.
.
no
.”

“
My bandages come off in three days. One week after
that, Bonnie and
I...''He
corrected himself.
“
Barbara
and I
...
will be gone from here. Until then, promise me,
Henry, that you will do nothing to disturb the serenity of
our stay
.”

“
Let go of me. Please
.”

“
Promise
?”

“
Yes
.”

Weinberg patted his cheek.
“
Thank you, Henry
.”

Lisa heard banging. First a door, slamming. Then mut
tered curses. Then things being thrown.
A face came into view. Her eyes were slow to focus
but she knew from the deep tan and the color of the shirt
that it was the jogger.

“
You little cunt
,”
she heard him say. His fist was
raised as if to strike her. But he did not. Instead, the hand
lowered, slowly. She felt it on her hip. It moved to her
stomach, her chest, feeling her through the cotton blanket.
And the face was changing. The anger was gone. Some
thing else in its place.

Henry Dunville had made a decision.

Now she felt him unstrapping her. First her ankles, then
her wrists, then, last, her head. It had been held in place
with a belt wrapped in thick terry cloth. More rolled up
towels had been packed against her temples. She was free
now. She raised one arm. It felt so heavy. She let it fall.
The fingers seemed to work but not the arm.

She felt his hands reaching under her, lifting her. The blanket fell away. She was out of the light now. She could
see better. The ceiling turned and she felt herself being
lowered onto something cold. She felt its texture. A leather
couch. He stood over her. He was only a shadow now
against the light but she could see that he was undoing
his clothing. His trousers fell. His belt buckle struck the

floor. He stepped out of them. The shadow lowered itself
on her. She screamed, cursing him.

A door opened. A woman's voice. The pock-marked
one.
No,
she shouted.
Don't do that.
He turned his head.
Get out,
he said.
Right now. Out.
The door slammed.
Angry words from outside it.

She felt him trying to enter her. Roughly. Clumsily.
She made herself relax so that it would not hurt so much. Yes. That was better. She felt herself becoming moist. He
felt it as well. He entered her.

She listened, her face turned away, as his breathing
became rapid. She felt him raise himself on his elbows.
His hands, which had gripped her shoulders, now moved to her throat. It frightened her. She looked into his face,
saw his eyes searching her own, and she knew what he
intended. She closed her eyes, tightly.

Car
l
a,
she thought, desperately.

What would Carla do?

She would use her teeth. Tear at his face. Bite into his
neck with a pit bull's death grip. Drive the heel of her hand against his nose. But she could do none of these.
She still had no strength. Except
.
.
.
except in her fingers.

“
Open your eyes
,”
he gasped, softly.
“
Look at me
.”

She squeezed them harder. She felt one hand come free
from her throat. It slapped her, viciously.

“
Open them
,”
he snarled.
“
Open them wide
.”

T
he eyes,
she thought.
Yes.

She obeyed. She let him peer into the light that he
wanted to watch as it flickered and died. The hand that
had slapped her returned to her throat, joining the other.
His grip tightened. He quickened his thrust. He was
coming.

She saw her own right hand. She willed it to stop float
ing, to make a fist, thumb extended, to strike at his eye.

He shrieked.

Drive deep, she said in her mind.

She watched, almost curiously, as her long thumbnail felt its way, sinking in to half its length. Blood spat from
his eye. She felt it on her face.
More shrieking. His hand clawed at her arm. His other
hand, now a fist, tried to hammer at her face but his body
slipped on the wetness between them and the blow glanced
off her forehead. He steadied himself. Again he seized her
by the neck. She felt his thumbs pressing, digging, much
deeper than before. Something ruptured inside her throat.
She heard it. And now more sounds. The door again, slam
ming open.

She heard
,
through a wall of pain and flashing lights,
a woman's voice. A different one. This new woman was
shouting, kicking at the jogger's ribs. She was trying to
help her.

Car
l
a?

No. Not Carla. Through a red veil she caught a glimpse of blond hair, bandages, white robe. And this woman was
calling a name. It sounded like
Alan.

She heard it again. Farther away. It faded into a distant
echo. Everything was fading but for the bursts of light
inside her brain. They were the last thing she saw.

Henry Dunville was on his feet. Backing away. Snif
fling. Moaning.

He was bent over sideways, his left elbow pressed
tightly against his ribs where Barbara Weinberg had kicked
him. The ribs were broken. Blood dripped from his face.

The blond woman stood before him, moving with him
as he tried to circle her, blocking his path to the door. His
left hand held the waistband of his trousers. He tried to
tug them up but he could not. They barely covered his thighs, hobbling him. His right hand held a small brass
lamp by its neck. He gestured with it, threatened with it,
but the woman, her expression cold, almost lifeless, did
not retreat.

The man known as Weinberg knelt at the le
a
ther sofa,
his face against Lisa's, his chest heaving as he tried to
breathe life into her. He straightened, watching. She
showed no response. Now he pumped at her chest
a
lthough
he knew it was useless. After a while, he stopped. He
reached to close her eyes. Slowly, he pushed to his feet.

He turned to face Henry Dunville. Dunville raised the
lamp.

“
See this
?”
Dunville cried. He turned the left side of
his face to the larger man. The eye was like a red prune,
oozing, clotted. More blood smeared his cheek and had
soaked through the collar of hi
s
shirt.
“
Do you see what
she did to me
?”

Weinberg didn't answer.
“
Please wait outside. Watch
the door
,”
he said to his wife.

She shook her head. She gestured toward his own face
under the bandages.
“
If he hits you
,”
she said,
“
he'll
ruin it
.”

“
He's not going to hit me. I'm going to hit him
.”

“
No
,”
she said firmly.
“
You can't see to the side. You
wouldn't see it co
m
ing
.”

He hesitated.

“
Touch me
,”
Henry Dunville gasped,
“
and you're fin
ished. Both of you
.”

“
You wait outside
,”
the blond woman said.
“
I
'
ll finish this
.”
She walked to a cabinet. She opened a drawer. He
heard the metallic rattle of instruments.

“
What do you have in mind
?”
Weinberg asked, turn
ing to her.

“
I'm going to take his other eye
,”
she said.

The door to the surgery had muted the screams. A second
door, leading upstairs, would block them entirely.

The man and woman named
W
einberg waited there, not opening it, until Henry
Dunville's
screams became sobs and until the sounds of crashing furniture became
less frequent.

That done, the Weinbergs fully realized that they had
a problem. Given their condition, there could be no ques
tion of running from it. In any case, they had an invest
ment to protect.

The surgery on their faces, the new documents, all the
weeks of coaching to prepare them for their new lives as
Alan and Barbara Weinberg
.
.
.
had already cost them
nearly $400,000. Add to that the cost of two new home
s,
the house in Santa Fe, the apartment in Franc
e, w
hic
h
were part of their new identity and, therefore, could hardly
be used if they ran. It would be a million-dollar write-off
at least. And even then, where could they go, how far
would they get, looking like this?

By any standard he knew, the punishment of Henry
Dunv
il
le had been just. The man had committed a useless,
stupid murder. The girl had posed no real threat. She had
discovered nothing that could not have been explained,
denied, or ignored. Worse, he'd had her followed to Su
r
La Mer by someone who would soon conclude that she
must have died there. That person might now have to be
silenced as well. All because Henry Dunville enjoyed play
ing with helpless women.

He could only hope that the other Dunvilles would see
the wisdom of cutting their losses. Keep Henry alive if they wished. As a new and permanent member. Let old
Mr. Bella
rmi
ne teach him to paint. Or kill him and be
done with it. He had nearly done that himself after
Bonnie
.
.
.
Barbara
.
.
.
finished with him. But Barbara
had said no. Let it sink in, she said, that he's done this
to himself.

Weinberg doubted that allowing Henry time to reflect
on his sins would lead to a spiritual awakening. Or to an
insight for which he would thank her. It was really, truth
be told, that Barbara tended to regard a quick death as a
mercy rather than as retributive justice. And yet this is a
woman, as he'd mused more than once, who will capture
household moths and spiders alive and then release them
out of doors. This is an unreconstructed romantic who
thinks a woman should smell good and be sent flowers
and have doors opened for her but should not be raped
unless the rape was her idea.

He had yielded to his wife, letting Henry live, because
she asked him to and because it might not be a bad idea
to let the other Dunvilles learn of his stupidity from his
own lips. But a bit of insurance would not be a bad idea
either.

That in mind, he and Barbara proceeded through the
second door and up to the main entrance hall, where they relieved two security guards of the pistols they wore under
their blazers. They had the one who could still walk drag
the other to a padded holding cell where they were invite
d
to quietly pass the remainder of their shift. They returned
to the administrative section and the office of Ca
r
leton
Dunville, the younger. Both Ca
r
letons were away, hence
Henry's temporary stewardship. The father, sem
i
ret
ir
ed,
was in Palm Springs, cultivating the rich and power
f
ul.
The son, the smart one, was in Los Angeles participating
in a fund-raiser for the Motion Picture Relief Association.
He had long served on its board and had rotated, this year,
into the chairmanship.

Their purpose in going to the younger Dunville
’
s office
was to get at his safe, which Barbara felt sure she could
open given thirty minutes or so, and to get at the cabinet in which the heavier weapons were kept. Weinberg had
seen them when, on arrival at Sur La Mer, he was required
to surrender his own. A third purpose was to use the
telephone.

But, on entering the richly paneled room, they found
the phone in use. Henry's little frien
d—h
e'd only heard her called Rui
z—w
as standing at the desk, her back to
them. Weinberg waited, listening. She was recounting cer
tain of the day's events to, he assumed, the younger Dun
ville. Twice she used the word
idiot
in connection with
Henry. She was clearly distressed. So, from her manner,
was Carleton, though neither, as yet, knew the half of it.

Weinberg cleared his throat. She turned
,
startled. He
made a ”t
i
me-out” signal with his hands, using the
guard's pistol to cross the tee. The woman with the bad
skin blinked. Weinber
g
asked for the phone, but, upon realizing that it would not fit around his bandages, handed
it to his wife.

Barbara Weinberg identified herself. Then, making her
self comfortable, she explained to Carleton Dunville, the
younger, why his half-brother had no eyes.