THE NEXT TO DIE (28 page)

“All right, then we’ll call the FBI,” Dayle said.

“Call them on Tuesday. Just give me until then.”

“You sound exactly like Nick,” Dayle replied. “He wanted more time before I called the police. And look what happened. I’m sorry. I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

“Then don’t tell anyone that I’m here, Dayle. Ask yourself, who else in your camp knew of Nick’s whereabouts. Didn’t Estelle warn you that they might have gotten to someone close to you? If Avery and you can keep quiet about where I am—and your phone isn’t being bugged right now—I shouldn’t be in any danger. Just give me until Tuesday, Dayle.”

The elevator doors opened, and Avery stepped out to the lobby of Dayle’s building. Unfolding his cellular phone, he dialed the Opal Lakeside Lodge and asked for Sean’s room number again. “Hello?” she answered.

“Hi, it’s me,” he said.

“I figured I’d hear back from you.”

“Listen, I can’t just sit by and allow you to put your life on the line because of me. You might have been able to convince Dayle to give you a couple of more days in that place. But not me. Either you’re coming home or I’m flying out there.”

“Avery, you’re a murder suspect,” she said. “If you try to leave the state, a troop of police will be all over you before you even reach the airport check-in. Besides, one reason I’m here is to put some distance between us.”

“I understand. But you don’t have to endanger yourself to avoid—what happened the other night with me. My God, aren’t you scared?”

“Of course I am, but it’s okay. I won’t take any chances—”

“Bullshit. You’re already pushing your luck too far. I’m coming out there—”

“Just—just hold on,” she said. “Let’s discuss this tomorrow. Whatever you do, please don’t come today. It’s Sunday. The post office is closed. It’s dead time right now. If you arrive here tonight, we won’t be able to accomplish anything—except maybe sleeping together. And I wouldn’t like either one of us very much if that happened.”

“Sean, give me credit for a little self-control, okay?”

“All I’m saying is, if you have to come out here, wait until tomorrow, and we’ll talk. It’s what I want.”

He let out a long sigh. “I’m flying to Spokane tonight. At least I’ll be closer—two or three hours away. I’ll call you later. Meanwhile, lay low, all right?”

“Avery, it’s against my better judgment that you do that. As your lawyer, I advise against it.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Be careful, okay?” Then she hung up.

As Avery was about to click off, he heard the message tone on his phone beep twice. Heading toward the lobby doors, he dialed his access code. The first message came on: “Yes, Avery Cooper, this is Vic Tolmund of the
Weekly World Inquirer….
”

Avery rolled his eyes. Leave it to a tabloid reporter to dig up the number of his personal cellular.

“I’m calling from the Beverly Hills police station. Do you have any comment about the warrant for your arrest that was just issued? I’ll try you again at home, Avery. We want to tell the people your side of the story….”

“What?” Avery said to no one. He stopped dead by the lobby doors.

The second message was from his friend, George: “The cops came by, looking for you, Avery. They even asked to search the house—in case we were hiding you. They have a warrant for your arrest. Sheila and I are by the phone here. Call us. We’re worried sick.”

Dayle kept thinking about what Sean had said over the phone:
Ask yourself, who else in your camp knew of Nick’s whereabouts….

Only two people knew: Dennis and Ted. Dennis had been her right-hand man for almost four years. She’d come to depend on him. She’d known Ted only four days. Still, she’d entrusted her life to him. He’d spent three of the last four nights sleeping down the hall from her—in her guest room. She hadn’t set foot outside of her apartment without Ted at her side. He’d handpicked the two security guards in her building—as well as every one of her temporary chauffeurs.

Then again, he’d caught her at an extremely vulnerable time. And his most impressive reference was Gil Palarmo, who was dead.

Dayle wandered into her study. She shuffled through some papers on her desk until she found Ted’s résumé. If Ted Kovak had tolerated Gil and his gay buddies for ten months—and put him down as a reference—it wasn’t very likely he’d be connected to some intolerant hate group.

Biting her lip, Dayle reached over and checked her Roladex. One of her acquaintances, Jonathan Brooks, had been close friends with Gil Palarmo. The Rolodex card in front of Jonathan’s was a new one, still white and crisp. Dayle had added it to the file less than a week ago. She plucked out the card and stared at the address and phone number for Nick Brock. Last night, she’d burst into tears when she’d heard the news. She’d grown very fond of that “cool jerk.” She returned the card to her Rolodex. She didn’t want to part with it—at least, not yet.

Dayle moved on and found Jonathan’s card. She dialed the number in Palm Springs, and his machine answered: “Hello, I’m unable or unwilling to come to the phone right now,” he said in a haughty tone. “But leave word after the irritating beep, and I might return your call.”

Beep
. Dayle cleared her throat. “Hello, Jonathan,” she said. “This is Dayle Sutton calling. It’s been a long time. Listen. Do you remember if Gil had a bodyguard named Ted Kovak? Tall, good-looking, blond hair? I hired this guy recently, and I’m checking on his résumé. Cart before the horse. Anyway, he says he worked for Gil nearly a year. If you could call me back as soon as possible, I’d appreciate it. It’s Sunday afternoon—around one-thirty. And here’s my number…”

After Dayle hung up, she stared at an old phone message on her desk. Dennis had scribbled it down for her earlier in the week. She’d come to know his handwriting quite well. As much as she hated to think about it, if she couldn’t trust Ted Kovak, she had to question the loyalty of the faithful assistant who had recommended him.

Avery was third in line, and he couldn’t stop sweating.

The agent at the ticket counter had been dealing with a couple of elderly tourists for ten minutes now. He was a young, East Indian man with a mustache, and he kept having to repeat everything to them loudly. Apparently, they wanted special seats or a special meal—or something.

Avery wiped the perspiration off his forehead. So far, no one had recognized him—
People
cover boy, movie star, and fugitive. If he stopped to think about it too much, he’d die laughing—or just go crazy as Joanne did.

She was sick, and he’d let himself fall in love with someone else. He could try making excuses, blame it on the timing or his vulnerable situation. He might even try blaming Sean a bit—for being so vulnerable herself. But in truth, he’d allowed this to happen. He was responsible. Because of him, Joanne was in an institution—and Sean was risking her life alone in that awful little town. He couldn’t do anything for Joanne now. But maybe he could help Sean—before it was too late for her too.

He had to leave town immediately. Turning himself in to the police wasn’t an option. He couldn’t let himself not in jail while Sean risked her neck for him in Opal.

He hadn’t seen any rental-type cars on his tail. He’d taken a roundabout way to the airport—just in case. He would buy a change of clothes and supplies during his stopover in Portland—if the police hadn’t already put a freeze or a trace on his debit card.

A husky, blond woman with airport security sauntered by and scrutinized him with a narrow gaze. He tried to avoid eye contact with her.

The older couple were still talking to the ticket agent, whose name tag read
SERGI
. He was shaking his head and apologizing to them about something. Perhaps Sergi would be so rushed and haggard after these two customers, he wouldn’t notice that he was sending a famous fugitive to Spokane, Washington.

The security guard wandered by again, glancing back at him over her shoulder. She unhooked a walkie-talkie from her belt and whispered something into it as she strolled away.

The man in front of him stepped forward. The old couple shuffled off with their tickets, thank God. Maybe the line would start moving now.

He spied the security guard near the outside doors. She was talking to a cop, and pointing directly at him. Avery’s heart seemed to stop. His first instinct was to run, but all he could do was watch the policeman and the security guard descend on him. The cop had something in his hand. “Hey, mister, you’re not going anywhere,” he said.

Avery started to shake his head. But the policeman passed him by. “Your ticket,” the cop said, grinning at a man in the line, four people in back of Avery. “You dropped this when you got off the shuttle bus. Can’t go very far without a ticket. I’ve been trying to track you down….”

Avery felt himself crumble a little inside. He wanted to sit down someplace, but Sergi waved him forward. “Next?”

Approaching the counter, he tried to smile at the ticket agent. “Hi, how are you?” he said. With a shaky hand, he reached for his wallet. “I need to go to Spokane, Washington, today.”

Sergi started typing on the computer. “How many people are traveling?”

“Just one, me.” He set his credit card on the counter. The card used his full name: Avery O’Reilly Cooper.

“Do you have any bags going to Spokane, Mr.—” he glanced at the credit card. “Mr. Cooper?”

“No, I—I don’t.” He wiped the perspiration from his forehead again.

“I’ll need to see some photo ID, sir.”

Avery nodded more than necessary. “Yes, of course.” He set his driver’s license on the counter.

Sergi studied the license, then handed it back to Avery. “Thank you, Mr. Cooper. Will you be returning from Spokane?”

“Um, I don’t know when. So—it’s one way—a one-way ticket.”

Sergi went back to his keyboard and computer screen. “Hmmm, I can book you on our Portland flight, leaving in thirty-five minutes. You’ll have an hour layover for your connection, which arrives in Spokane tonight at eight-eleven. Does that sound good, Mr. Cooper?”

Avery smiled gratefully. “Yes, that’s—just fine.”

He hadn’t anticipated any problems at the boarding gate. But then he learned his flight would be delayed by forty-five minutes, and one of the biggest attractions at the airport newsstand was
People
magazine—with Joanne and him on the cover. The issue was displayed—one after another—behind a plastic case above the entire length of the periodical section. Avery saw two customers buying the magazine in the shop, and he counted three more people slouched in the boarding area seats reading it.

He ducked into the men’s room and hid in a stall. Sitting on the edge of the toilet, he waited out the next forty-five minutes.

They were boarding his row number when Avery emerged from the lavatory. The plane wasn’t too crowded. He had a row to himself. For most of the flight—and through the dinner service—he turned his head toward the window and feigned sleep. But he was too wired to nap. He kept wondering if someone had recognized him in the boarding area and called the police. Would a bunch of cops be waiting for him at the gate in Portland?

It seemed like the longest flight he’d ever taken, and he still had to switch planes. When they finally landed in Portland, he was relieved to find no welcoming committee of cops. He got cash from the ATM, bought supplies, then hid out in the men’s room again until his Spokane flight was boarding.

Once they’d landed in Spokane, Avery quickly threaded around a barrage of people and carts in the terminal. He followed the signs to the rental car area. He hadn’t made reservations, figuring some customer service representative might blow the whistle on the “Beverly Hills Butcher.”

Avery caught his breath, and came up to the car rental counter. The attendant was a thin, thirtyish woman in a burgundy jacket with
PEGGY
on her name tag. She had bright red lipstick and tinted auburn hair that might have been a wig from the cut of her bangs and the way the sides perfectly framed her head, curling in at the shoulders. She greeted him with a professional perkiness. “How can I help you today, sir?”

“Hello.” He dug out his driver’s license and credit card. “I don’t have a reservation. Do you have any cars available?”

“Of course, sir,” she said, her fingers poised on the computer’s keyboard. “For how many days?”

“Um, just two days, I think.”

Peggy started typing. She glanced down at Avery’s credit card and license. Her smile seemed to freeze, then immediately wither. She stopped typing, and her eyes met his for a moment.

Either she was starstuck or suddenly very aware that she was face-to-face with a man accused of rape and murder. Avery did his damnedest not to appear rattled. “Is there a problem?” he dared to ask.

She quickly shook her head. “No, not at all.” She went back to her typing. But she kept peering up at him nervously. “Um, I think I can upgrade you, Mr.—Cooper,” she said. “Could you excuse me for a moment?”

Avery nodded.

Peggy turned and stiffly retreated into an office behind the counter. She glanced over her shoulder at him before closing the door. Avery caught a glimpse of a middle-aged woman seated at the desk in the office. She also wore a burgundy jacket. Now he stared at that closed door. A voice inside him said:
Get the hell out…now
.

He peeked over the countertop—to where Peggy had left his credit card and license by her keyboard. He decided to count to ten. If she wasn’t out of that office by then, he’d find the nearest exit.
One, two, three…

Avery turned and looked around. He noticed a tall man in a blue uniform, standing by the far baggage carousel. Avery couldn’t tell if he was with the Spokane police or airport security, but someone just called him. The guard unhooked his walkie-talkie from his belt, then spoke into it.

Avery glanced back at the closed office door.
…six, seven…

The walkie-talkie to his ear, man in the blue uniform seemed to be searching the crowd, his gaze shifting to the row of car rental booths.