Bannerman's Law (64 page)

Carla thought again about the wound. You could never
tell with a gunshot. But she didn't think it was fatal. If
they stopped the bleeding in time.

”
I get crazy sometimes
.”

She shrugged one shoulder.
“
Who doesn't
.”

He grunted, then shook his head.
“
Not like me. I did
things
.
.
.
well
.
.
.
you know
.”

“
You did some good things, too, Su
mn
er. You helped
your friends
.”

She felt a smile.

There was a flurry outside. Men coming. No guns or
uniforms. Probably hotel security. They were talking to
Susan. No attempt to disarm her. Susan gesturing into the
bungalow. The men seemed afraid to enter. One rushed back toward the lobby.

She heard sirens in the distance. Sumner did not react
to either. He was very still.

Ca
rl
a remembered his knives. She rolled onto her back,
the better to use her good arm, and felt for them. She
found the skinning knife and worke
d
it free of its case.

“
What are you doing
?”
he asked drowsily.

“
Nothing. Thinking
.”

“
If we went before
...
I mean if Susan didn't
.
.
.
where would we have gone
?”

“
Canada, maybe
.”

He murmured approval.
“
The north woods. We'd find
a cabin
.”

“
Maybe. Sure
.”

Or maybe just down to the beach, thought Carla.
Stretch out in the sun. Talk. She'd rub his back, make
him feel good
.
.
.
sleepy
.
.
.
like now. Then she'd slide
her knife through th
e
base of his skull. One twist. He
would die with a smile.

Domme
ri
ch dozed again.

Outside, sounds of running feet. Voices. She saw Susan
bending her knees, lowering her weapons to th
e
ground.
A policeman, uniformed, gun in hand, stepped into view
and took them. Another dashed across the door.
Susan
talking to them now. Trying to calm them. Explaining.

They entered in spite of her, one high, one low, from
either side. They saw the skinning knife. Its blade was
pressed against
Domraerich's
throat, just under the jaw
line
.
One asked her, quietly, to put it down.
Carla's
eyes
flashed, warning him away.

Susan stepped through the door. A policeman reached
for her. She shook him off. She steppe
d
closer, and knelt,
saying nothing. She listened to the sound of
Dommerich's
breathing. It was becoming labored.

Ca
rl
a looked into Susan's eyes.

She saw that she understood.

Carla yanked the sodden towel free. They would wait
together.

₅₂

Barbara Weinberg blessed herself as she entered the dou
ble doors leading to the main hall. It seemed the thing
to do.

Outside, her husband and Dr. Feldma
n
were rounding
up the members one by one. Darby was following, ob
structing where he could, curiously taking the side of those
members who were protesting this interruption of their
fresh-air period. Jason Bella
rmi
ne refused to leave his canvas unfinished. Harland was close-hauled in a storm off
Catalina.

Darby, in any case, gave no sign that he recognized
Alan who, she assumed, would let Feldman do the talking.

Barbara walked with a limp. The cause of it was the
silenced MP-5 taped to her inner thigh but she felt that
the limp added to her disguise. The first real test of it was
just inside the hal
l—t
he desk guard she'd disabled just
last Sunday.

But he barely looked up as she asked which doors led
to the Members' Wing. She reached for a light switch. He told her, rudely, to leave it alone. She wondered why the hall was being kept so dar
k—t
here was only the guard's
desk ma
p—b
ut she was not about to make an issue of it.

She had no actual need to visit the Members' Wing
except for the sake of appearances. Nellie, of course, was nowhere outside. She was back at Dr.
Feldman's
house,
watching television. It would not do, however, to have
anyone wonder why they made no effort to find a member
whose name appeared on her clipboard.

A sudden clatter and a tinkling of glass startled the
guard. He spun in his chair toward its source. Down the
hall, thought Barbara. One of those rooms on the left. The
guard, snatching a cane, rose to his feet and hobbled in
that direction. Thrashing and banging sounds began. Bar
bara, only mildly curious, stood and watched.

The guard knocked on a door, waited, and knocked
again.

“
Mr. Ma
r
ek
?”
She heard him call.

Barbara chewed her lip
.
No, she told herself. Don't.
You as much as promised.

The guard opened the door. The room bathed him in
gray light. Barbara heard a moan from inside and then a female voice. The guard seemed to stiffen but he entered.
Barbara lifted her long skirt and winced as she peeled the
surgical tape from her skin. Holding the MP-5 against her
thigh, she eased herself along the paneled wall until she had almost reached the door.

A woman, almost hairless, skin glistening in the same
gray light, backed into the hall. Her right hand, which
doubtless held a gun, was still inside the room. She saw
Barbara. Barbara's instinct was to shoot. But she did not.
The MP-5 remained hidden within the folds of her skirt.

“
Don't interfere, Sister
,”
said the woman.

Barbara recognized the voice, and now, less readily,
the
f
ace. Luisa Ruiz. Alan's thermite must have oxidized
over time, lost much of its heat. Still Ruiz was a mess.

“
May I
?”
Barbara gestured toward the door. Ruiz hesi
tated. She did not say no.

Barbara saw the guard first. He was on the floor, prone,
his hands clasped behind his head. Next, she saw the man
whom she presumed to be Theodore Ma
r
ek. He, too, was
on the floor amid broken glass. He was not so much on
his back as on his head and heels. The back was impossi
bly arched and totally rigid. An obscene grin split his face.
His teeth protruded.

“
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph
,”
she murmured. She affected an Irish accent. It seemed a nun-ish thing to say.

Ruiz, watching his agony, raised a hand to stop her
from entering.

“
You can't help him, Sister
,”
she said.

Barbara recognized the effects of strychnine. The dramatic arching of the spine, the facial spasms, respiratory
paralysis. As she watched, the body began to relax. An
other spasm would follow soon. He tried to scream but
could not. He had bitten through his lower lip. His finger
nails were torn and bloody where they had clawed at the
carpet.

“
How much did you give h
m?”
she asked, then wished
she hadn't. It was not a nun-ish question.

Ruiz appeared not to notice.
“
About two hundred milli
grams. In brandy. Don't waste your time
.”

Barbara pursed her lips. Killed hi
m
three times over,
she thought. A particularly nasty death. The cycle of spasms could go on for an hour. He would feel every
second of it. Barbara, unaware of it, raised a hand to
her mouth.

“
Don't do that
,”
Ruiz told her.

“
Don't do what?
...
My child
.”

“
Bless him
.”

Barbara understood. Ruiz assumed that she was beginning another sign of the cross, although with her left hand.
Barbara lowered it.

“
He
.
.
.
has hurt a lot of people
.”

“
Has he hurt you, my child
?”

“
Yes
.”
She became aware, suddenly, of the burns on
her face and hands.
“
Not this. I mean
...
a
l
ong time ago. I really was
...
a child
.”

“
This man
.
.
.
hurt a little girl
?”

She nodded. Her breath caught in her throat.
“
Then God will forgive you
.”

The approach to the Beverly H
i
lls Hotel was ablaze with flashing lights. Huf
f’s
car, like the ambulance before
it, had to mount the grass. A television news van tried
to follow but it was waved off by shouting policemen.
Camcorders were everywhere.

All Lesko knew, or cared about, was that the victim
did not seem to be Susan. He'd heard that much on Huff’
s
police radio.
“
Woman with a gun
.
.
.
of
fi
cers responded.
Woman disarmed
.
.
.
white male down
.
.
.
hostage
situation
.
.
.
second woman, possibly wounded, holding
police at bay
.
.
.
shooting victim alleged to be the Cam
pus Killer
.”

But the identification of Susan as the woman with the
gun was still tentative as was the identity of one Sum
n
er
T. Domme
ri
ch and one Ca
rl
a Benedict. Oral declarations,
no confirmation. The mention of the serial killer was
enough to create a circus.

Lesko had a leg out before Huf
f’s
driver stopped. He
bulled though the still-gathering crowd. Huff followed on
his heels, waving his badge.

He saw her and his knees went weak.

She was sitting, handcuffed, at the base of a tree. Her
face, streaked with tears, tried to turn from whirring cam
eras. He rushed to her. A policeman moved to stop him.
Only a shout from Huff saved the policeman from harm.
Lesko dropped to his knees, embracing her. She sobbed
against his chest, trying to speak. Several minutes passed
before he began to make sense of what she was saying.

Through the open door of Bungalow 6, he could see
the EMS crew working on a body. He caught a glimpse of Carla, inside, also handcuffed. She seemed to be wearing a
cervical collar. She was staring at the floor, oblivious to the flashes of police photographer cameras.

Andy Huff, a Motorola to his ear, was talking to the
arresting officers. A suit, probably FBI, appeared in the
doorway. He gave a thumbs-down sign to Huff. Huff ac
k
n
owledge
d
with a nod then held up
à
hand as he listene
d
to a call. Lesko saw him make a fist and shout,
“
Yes
!”
Huff beckoned to him, almost grinning. Lesko would not leave Susan.

More FBI arrived, Scholl leading them, Roger Clew
behind. Lesko met Clew's eyes. He saw bewilderment in
them, and concern for Susan that he knew was genuine.
It had been a while, but he knew that the man from State liked her.

Huff led one of the uniformed officers to the tree where
he knelt to remove Susan's handcuffs. Lesko took her
wrist and kissed it. Her arms snaked around his neck and
squeezed it with more force than he thought possible.

“
We
...
ah
...
have a
confirmation,''said
Huff
quietly.
“
Detectives went to his apartment. They found
artifacts. Bracelets made out of blond hair. Other evidence.
The knives. There's not much question. And it was more
than six
.”

Lesko nodded. From inside, he heard the zipper of a
body bag.

“
For what it's worth
,”
Huff touched Susan's hair,
“
your daughter'
s
a hero
.”

“
Yeah, well
.
.
.
give us a little time, okay
.”

“
Wait
.”
Susan's voice.
“
What about Ca
rl
a
?”

“
Well
,”
Huff rocked a hand,
“
we have a problem
there. Whatever else this Dommerich did, they could hit
her with murder one
.”

“
Daddy
?”

“
Yeah, sweetheart
.”

“
Me, too. I helped her
.”

Huff studied the sky to show that he didn't hear that.

“
Daddy
?”

“
Sweetheart, shut your mouth
.”

“
Daddy, then help her. Or get Paul
.”

“
Okay. Shut up. Give me a second
.”

They were wheeling the body out. Then Carla. She was in a fog. Lesko wondered about the bloodied knees. Susan
tried to look but he blocked her vision.

“
Hey, Andy
?”

“
Yeah?
”

“
See that guy over there
?”

“
The State Department guy? What's he want here
?”

“
His name
's
Roger Clew. He
'
s a fixer. Go tell him
.
.
.
he fixes this, I give him what he wants
.”

The man Ma
r
ek had seen walking a dog, on the Tower
Road monitor, was John Waldo.