Bannerman's Law (54 page)

The telephone rang in the kitchen. She hear
d
George
Benedict's footsteps on the tile. Moments later he came
to the door. He called for Carla without looking in.

“
It's that young man, Claude
,”
he said.
“
He seems
very upset
.”

₄₂

“
Nellie? Were you using the phone
?”

Weinberg, returnin
g
to the room with Barbara, saw the
directory open on the bed.

“
Yes. Why didn't you, by the way
?”

“
Because some phones are safer than others. Whom did you call
?”

“
Young Dr. Feld
m
an. I was worried about Ha
r
land.
He has a big mouth, you know. I asked Dr. Mike to look
in on the members
.’

Weinberg groaned inwardly. He tried to remember what
he'd read under that name. Ah, yes. Father, Marcus, a
psychiatrist. Genuine, though corrupt. Son, apparently
from the baby farm but a decent sort, according to Nellie.

“
Did you tell him where you are
?”

“
He didn't even believe
who
I am. He's never heard
me speak. It took a lot of convincing
.”

“
Please answer me, Nellie
,”
he pressed.
“
Does Dr.
Feldman know that you're here with us
?”

“
I'm crazy, Alan. Not stupid
.”

“
Forgive me
.”

“
But he already knew. That I left with you, I mean
.”

“
How
?”

“
Young Ca
r
leton told him. He seemed to think that
Ca
r
leton has flown the coop as well
.”

“
But why would he call Dr. Feld
m
an
?”

“
Same as me. To make sure the members are cared
for. Dr. Mike said he's going to get all of them. Take
them someplace nicer
.”

“
How will he do that
?”

“
Ambulances, I suppose. Perhaps a bus
.”

“
Yes, but, wouldn't the guards prevent it
?”

”
I asked. He said,
‘
Not this time, Nellie. It's over
.’
”

“
She
's
fine. Don
't
worry
.''

Lesko heard
K
atz in his head.

“
I
'd know if she was dead. I
think·''

Swell.

Katz, who won't even admit
he's
dead, is all of a sud
den wired into who is and who isn't. That's very comfort
ing. Shit head.

Ba
nn
e
r
man, for the third time now, is listening to Mol
ly's tape of her call from this D
i
Di Fene
r
ty. The third
time does not look like it's making him any smarter. Well,
maybe a little. Lesko had never seen Bannerman look
dumber than when he heard,
”I am Axel Streicher. S-t-r
-
e-i-c-h-e-r
.”

Lesko had asked Molly who he is. She said, after Bannerman nodded okay, that this Streicher
“is
like Paul, sort
of
.''
And the wife he mentioned is like Ca
rl
a, “
only
taller.”

Sheds a lot of light.

“
She took a walk, Lesko. ”
Katz again.
“
You never just
went for a walk
?''

Leave me alone.

“
T
he sneaky gu
y.
.
Waldo? He even sent Bannerma
n's
Dobe
r
m
a
n to baby-sit.
McHugh's
worse than you. Guy
eats people
's
noses
.''

Ears.

“
What
?”

He ate an ear once.

“
Whatever
.”

Ba
nn
e
r
ma
n
had switched off the recorder. Lesko switched
off Katz.

“
That phone
,”
Bannerman said to Molly. ”I have to
know if it
'
s wired
.”

She frowned. ”I didn't pack for that
.”

He gestured toward the yellow pages.
“
Pick a store.
Tell John what you need. When he gets it, go down there
by taxi
.”

Nice, thought Lesko as she scribbled her list. Midnight
shopping. Your local Radio Shack. There was a time when
he'd have been making an arrest right about now.

Bannerman seemed to read his
mind. ''Lesko?
I'll be
making some decisions. You may not want to know
.”

“
I'll stick for a while
.”

“
So will I
,”
said Susan.

Bannerman shook his head. ”I want you out of here.
No arguments
.”

“
No way
,”
she raised her chin.
“
Not this time
.”

“
You'll be safer at the Beverly Hills Hotel. Take Mol
ly's key
.”

Suddenly, Lesko noticed, she folds.

”
I need someone there to take calls. Help us
coordinate
.”

Not a word.

Another thing Lesko noticed was that every time Susan moved, her purse went with her. Usually women plopped
them someplace. Not a big thing. He just noticed.

Any other time, it would have been him, not Ban
nerman, keeping her out of this. But Susan was right here,
safe, and Elena wasn't. Maybe Elena was right. Maybe
she did fill his plate.

“
This Streicher
,”
Lesko tried to keep his mind busy.
“
You believe him
?”

“
Yes
.”

“
What about that first guy who called? That was
who
?”

“
He might be a man named Dunville. Anyway, the
information he gave was the same except for who mur
dered Lisa and why
.”

“
What's the same is that they both want you to hit this
guy, Marek
.”

“
The first man certainly does. Streicher knows I have
t
o.”

“
What's
have
to
?”

”
I can't just react. You know that
.”

“
Except meanwhile you got half of Washington saying
you shouldn't do shit, especially about Sur La
M
er, when
you weren't going near there in the first place. Not to
mention the FBI on our asses, Huff or no Huff
.”

Bannerman nodded distantly.

”
I had this little cousin when I was a kid
,”
said Lesko.
“
I'd go to her house and she'd say don't take any cookies.
They're up on that shelf. I didn't even know the damned
cookies were there but she knew I'd take some. It was all
so she could rat me out
.”

A thoughtful stare. Then a smile. From Molly, too.

They were, Lesko realized, trying to imagine him as a
kid, getting his ass smacked. So much for parables. Lesko
was about to try a more direct approac
h—s
uch as
Ban
nerman, you schm
u
ck, don
't
you smell just a tiny bit of a
set-up here
?
—b
ut the telephone rang.

Bannerman said,
“
Yes
,”
and listened.

He mouthed the name
Elena.

Theodore Marek needed to calm himself.

Under other circumstances, a visit to his vault would
have done it
.
In the vault there was no night or day. There
was only life and beauty. The treasures of centuries. Paint
ings, rare clocks, and tapestries that once graced the finest
homes of prewar Europe. Jeweled daggers once worn by
princes. Exquisite chalices and reliquaries from the cathe
drals of Minsk and Riga. His wine collection. His coins.

This morning, his vault was a trap.

He could feel it. Somethin
g
in
Scholl's
voice when
Scholl suggested he bar the door and stay there. Scholl,
normally sullen, had seemed entirely too smug.

He had as much as
sniffed, recalled
Ma
r
ek
,
at the denial
that he was Tadeusz Ordynsky. Given time, he'll probably start sniffing in earnest. Finding old photographs. Doing
computer matchups and the like. Seeking an advantage.

Well
...
he has less time than he thinks.

Oh, and Ca
r
leton Dunville.

That was his voice on the telephone. No doubt in the
world.

Young Carleton might live longer than Scholl. But he'll spend that time begging for death. He'll be given to Felix.
Peeled an inch at a time.

The treachery of it.

Worse, the injustice. Laying that girl's murder on the
doorstep of an innocent man. Naming Harry and Peter in
that other business. Naming
Peter,
for God's sake. His
own flesh and blood. More than likely.

Marek had called Sur La Mer at once. Had spoken to Darby. Told him to wake young Carleton, club him to his
knees, then strap him to the table alongside Henry's and
wait for Felix to arrive.

But young Carleton was gone. Borrowed Darby's car.
The moron gave it to him. Off, he said, for a damage
control meeting in Malibu. With Mr. Marek. Another lie.
And another arrow pointing to this house.

The call, according to Scholl, came from the airport.
The international terminal. A false trail, probably. Scholl's
people will track him. Police in si
x
states will be looking
for Darby's car, now reported stolen.

And that woman, probably the one named Fa
rr
ell, had
called from the lobby of a Holiday Inn in Brentwood.
Scholl seemed doubtful that she was actually staying there.
Marek had sent two men to check all the same. Perhaps
th
e
two women were staying nearby. Perhaps they'll use
that phone again.

He wished Harry would call.

So that he could leave here. Knowing that they had
the father.

He'd been tempted to take the Fene
r
ty girl as well. Get her to tell what she knows. At least shut her up. But she
seemed to be guarded. And it was better to leave her in
place to see who else, for Christ's sake, decides to use her
as a conduit to those damned women. Fenerty would keep.

The Streicher call, in some ways, was even more trou
bling than
Carleton's
. Streicher is clearly this We
i
nberg
who so reduced the Dunville family. But why would he
make that call? It was obvious that he's not in league with
this Ba
n
ne
rm
an crowd after all. And, yet, they do know
each other. What did Streicher have to gain? An act of
professional courtesy? Absurd.

And most troubling of all, how did he know that Theo
dore Marek was once Tadeusz Ordynsky? Ca
r
leton, the bastard, must have told him. But if so, why had Streicher
gone out of his way to exonerate him in the killing of that
woman's sister?

Streicher, it seemed, was still in the area. Not much of a
run for it. Called from Pasadena. Another lobby of another
Holiday Inn.

What was he to make of that?

Does the chain give group rates to assassins? Or, as Scholl suggested, might they have found a way to route
their calls through the Holiday Inn reservations network?

It was all too much.

The one bright aspect of the Steicher call
...
he swore
that those women would find nothing at Sur La Mer. No
one left there to punish. No point to a raid.

Marek was grateful. It meant that he would be safer
there. With the father as insurance
.
Lock up the vault and
go. As soon as Harry Bunce calls.

What could be taking him so long?