Bannerman's Law (65 page)

It was Waldo's practice to travel with a retractable
leash. A dog could always be borrowed from someone's
yard. No one ever seemed to look twice at a man walking a dog.

His basic purpose in strolling along Tower Road was not so much to spot Ca
rl
a as to be seen by her. To make her think twice about goin
g
in by herself. But he really
didn't think she'd show. Broad daylight, no equipment, no
weapon except her dumb knife and no idea of the layout
once she got here. He, at least, had studied the plans.

She's probably just cooling off someplace, he decided. But if she did turn up, she'd check out the perimeter first,
starting with the gates and cameras. And it wouldn't take
her five minutes to notice that one blind spot where two
cameras faced in different directions.

Walking a dog is fine but you can overdo it. A dog
shits or he doesn't. After the station wagon and the little
bus went in, he decided he'd better sit in the blind spot
for a while. He let the dog go. A young golden retriever. It sniffed around a little, then trotted off when it looked
like Waldo wouldn't be much more fun. It only lived a
few streets away.

Golden retrievers and yellow labs were the best when
you needed a dog. They're always wandering and they
never get skittish. You don't even really have to steal
them. You just call them, tell them how pretty they are
and they say,
“
Hey, you want to play
?”

Waldo was half-tempted to go up and take a look. Ex
cep
t
that his job was to watch for Carla. On the other
hand, he thought, this is the way she'd come in. He turned
to peer in through the pine trees. Thick woods. Plenty
of
cover. Idly, he picked out a route. He still had no intention
of following it but then he noticed a footprint.

It was more of a scuff. Where the ground sloped
sharply. Someone had dug a shoe into the carpet of pine
needles to boost himself up. Or herself. Waldo grumbled
inwardly. From the width, it was a very small shoe.

Nah. No way.

He tried to imagine how Ca
rl
a might have beaten him here. After she took off from Banne
rm
an she would have
had to steal a car almost immediately and she'd have to
have known exactly where this place is. He had needed
an address and a map to find it. On the other hand, she's
from California. Maybe she knows Santa Barbara.

Waldo still couldn't believe it. But the footprint both
ered him. He decided to take a closer look
.
He stepped over the low fence and up the small slope.

He found more scuff mark
s
and the clear imprin
t
of a
sneaker. About a size four. Carla was wearing sneakers.
Waldo examined the imprint wishing he'd brought his
reading glasses. Still, he could see that it was reasonably
fresh. But not that fresh. Pine needles had fallen onto it. And whoever was scrambling around in here was a little
bit of a klutz. Carla wouldn't have left so many tracks.

He was about to turn back when he noticed the trip
wire. He examined it critically. It was poorly hidden or at
least poorly maintained. Not enough tension either. He
climbed a little farther and found another one, same story,
except this seemed to be electrified. He also noticed that
some of the rocks were greased. What for, he wondered?
Sneak in here and we get your pants dirty? Whoever laid
this out should be ashamed of himself.

His curiosity had gotten the better of him. He continued
on. Ten minutes later he could see the eaves of the house.
A big sucker. Two minutes after that he saw a row of
marble benches, a hedge, and a vast lawn beyond it. There were a dozen or so old people scattered over the lawn, a
couple of doctors, several guards. The guards carried rifles.
He assumed that this was not usual. Must be for the Ma
r
ek
guy. He unzipped his jacket part way, leaving access to
the Ingram slung under one arm and the silenced pistol slung under the other.

Off to his left, overlooking the ocean, Waldo saw a tall
elderly man who was making a painting. He was standing
at an easel slapping red paint onto a canvas. Red was also
the only color on his palette. To Waldo's eye, the picture
didn't look like much of anything. Must be modern art.

“
Hey
.”

Waldo heard the voice and froze. Stupid. He
'
d allowed
himself to get distracted. Why do people always stop to watch painters?

“
You. I'm talking to you
.”

Waldo pretended not to hear or see. He knew it was a
guard but he realized from his tone that the guard was not
greatly alarmed. He would stand still. Let the guard come
to him. Then Waldo would quietly put his lights out and
slip back down the hill.

“
You hear me? You're not allowed past the tree line
.”

The guard did not approach. He stood, some thirty
yards to the right, now snapping his fingers.

“
Anyway, get down to the bus. You're going bye-
bye
.”

Waldo understood. The guard thought he was one of
these inmates. This was annoying because he was a good
twenty years younger than anyone he could see on the lawn. He only looked old. It was the hair, mostly. And
this guard was a punk kid with a ring in his ear.

“
Come on. Move. Wake up
.”

Waldo let his jaw go slack and his eyes go vacant. He would have drooled if he had enough spit. He stood there
until the guard lost patience and closed the distance be
tween them. Good. Waldo would enjoy teaching him re
spect. But just then the painter decided he was finished.
He had closed up his case and was starting this way with his easel.

The guard was almost within reach but Waldo knew
he'd better wait. Except the guard, this close, still thought
he was that old. The guard came on, and tugged at his
sleeve.

“
Come on, Pop. Both you guys get down there
.”

Waldo, staring vapidly, allowed himself to be shoved into step with the painter. He could hear the guard mut
tering behind him. Waldo knew what he was probably
saying:
“
If I ever get like that
.
.
.
”

Right, you little fuck. You don't know how close you
came to not even making lunch.

He could see that two people were already aboard the
bus. Others were walking toward it, one by one. Up at the
house, another guard, this one leaning on a cane, was
standing at the double doors with a tall nun looking over
his shoulder. He was calling to someone else,
“
Captain
Darby
,”
it sounded like. A beery looking man with a cap
left one of the doctors and walked up toward the terrace.

Waldo didn't feel he had much choice. It was either climb into the bus or be left standing in the open. Better to mix in with the rest of the white hair. An old woman was getting ready to board. She stopped and intercepte
d
the painter who was about to walk past her. John now
realized he was blind. The woman took his easel and case,
handing the wet red painting to Waldo. Waldo's fingers
smeared it. It didn't make much difference. He held the
canvas until he could stick it onto a rack. Waldo took a
seat in the rear. The old woman did a double-take but she
was more interested in helping the painter. No one else
paid much attention.

At the rate they were going, it looked as if it would
take all morning to fill the bus. But then this Captain
Darby turned around at the double doors, looking dazed.
He cleared his throat and began shouting instructions to
move things along. The two doctors seemed surprised. The
bus was loaded within five minutes, wheelchair patients
last. One was dressed like an Admiral. Waldo was crowded
in against another old woman who wore makeup like
Vampira's
grandmother. She dumped a pile of scrapbooks
on his lap.

Next, the guards' captain came down toward the bus.
He was followed, very closely, by the nu
n—w
ho walked
funn
y—a
nd by a small woman who had a greasy face and
hardly any hair. Waldo hadn't noticed her before. The
captain was more than dazed. Waldo recognized the look
of a man who had a gun barrel tickling his liver. The bald
woman marched him to the bus and gave him a front seat.

The nun had broken off. She walked over to the doctor
with the pipe in his mouth. Guy looked familiar. Waldo
couldn't place him. Whatever the nun was telling him
now, he didn't seem to believe it. The nun was shaking
her head, denying something, pointing to the little bald
one. The doctor just threw up his hands. He asked her a
question. In response, she ran a finger down her clipboard
and nodded as if to say that all the patients were ac
counted for.

The doctor tossed his head toward the station wagon,
which the younger doctor was now starting. The nun
climbed in, stiffly. Once seated, she seemed to be tugging at her crotch. The doctor climbed into the driver's seat of the jitney bus and closed the door behind him. He started
the engine. The bald one gave him a funny look but mostly
she kept her eyes on the captain.

This was getting interesting.

Waldo had an idea that there might be a problem at
the main gate but that the bald one and the nun had doped
out a solution.

Just in case, he cracked his window and slid his Ingram
under the top scrapbook.

He hoped that the dog was not still hanging around.

₅₃

The first four of the reinforcements from Westpo
r
t had
arrived at the airport. It was a condition of using
Belkin's
safe house that they not b
e
given the address over the
phone. They would rent cars and drive to a certain avenue
in Culver City where they would look for Billy Mc
H
ugh.

When they appeared, Ba
nn
e
r
man had the phone in
hand, about to make his second attempt to reach Susan.
He was already anticipating what she would say:
“
Relax,
Bannerman, I can handle this. I'll call you when Claude
calls me. Now get off the line
.”

And she would be right, he decided. He put the phone
down. Besides, he wanted to keep it clear for
Lesko's
call.

He showed the four where they would be sleeping,
where the weapons were, and began briefing them on the
events of that morning. One of them, Janet Herzog, had
been the closest of any to Car
l
a. He asked where she
thought Carla might have gone.

“
She said she wanted her own pantyhose
?”
Janet an
swered.
“
Then she went to get her own pantyhose
.”

This did not strike Banne
r
man as an insightful response. He was about to point out, patiently, that Ca
rl
a had more than underwear on her mind when the phone
rang. It was Molly.

“
Turn on the TV
,”
she told him.

“
Molly
?”

“
Hello, Axel
.”

Molly took the call in Kevin's house. Barbells every
where. Di
Di
and two of her father
'
s people sat transfixed in front of the television set. The third bodyguard was
watching the front with Kevin.

“
Could I ask
.
.
.
who all came to California with
you
?”

“
Why
?”

“
Indulge me. Please
.”

She hesitated, then decided there's no harm.
“
You
know about Carla and Paul. Billy's here. You wouldn't
know Ray Lesko or his daughter but they're on TV at
the moment
.”

“
No
...
I mean just Bannerman
’s
crowd
.”

“
That's all for the moment
.”

“
That's all? Doesn't he usually send an advance man?”

“
Oh, yes. John Waldo. I'm sorry, Axel. I have a lot on my mind
.”

A long silence. Muffled whispers.

“
Axel
.
.
.”
Why the tap dance
,
she wondered. Her
sense was that John was the object of the probe. She also found it odd that she showed no interest in why the Leskos
might be on television.
“
What's this about
?”

“
Ah
.
.
.
nothing, really. I thought I saw John
Waldo
...
on the highway. But that's not why I called,
actually
.”

She waited.

“
Theodore Ma
r
ek is dead. Or
...
does Paul know
that already
?”

Another undertone. But no. She'd just spoken to him.
”I don't think so
.”

“
Well, he is. My word on it. Tell him that there will
be no more mischief. Miss Fene
r
ty can relax as well
.”

She said nothing.

“
Molly? Did you hear me
?”

“
Ca
r
la's been arrested, Axel. Turn on the news
.”

More whispers. Molly heard a blurted audio and the
rapid switching of channels. Then news about the serial
killer.
She listened and watched at the same time, giving
Streicher a
f
ull two minutes. He came back on.

“
Ca
rl
a knew him
?”

“
It's a long story
.”

“
They should be giving her a medal. Why are they
talking about Hickey
?”

“
They think Carla did that one. A man named Bunce.
Claude
...
I mean, Dommerich did
.
.
.
but the FBI isn't
buying it
.”

A thoughtful pause.

“
Has Roger Clew turned up
?”

“
I'm not sure
.”

“
He will. Tell him to deal with it
.”

“
Axel
,
we're not holding many cards. The price could
be high
.”

She heard a chuckle. It annoyed her.

“
How would you like all the aces? And a queen or
two in the bargain
.”

“
Axel…”

”
I know. What is there to be jolly about? Tell Banne
rm
an this.
Roger, and
I'm sure Barton Fuller, will do
anything he asks if he says four magic words. The words are these. ‘
I
—m
eaning Ba
nn
e
rm
a
n—
have the files
.’”

“
What files
?”

”
I think they'll know
.”

She shook her head.
“
Come on, Axel. Paul's supposed
to take this on faith
?”

“
If not Paul, you. Don't doubt me on this, Molly
.”

She let out a breath.
“
Okay, I have the files
.”

“
All of them. Over two hundred of them. Since 1932
.”

“
From Sur La Mer, right
?”

“
Exactly
.”

“
They'd want to see a sample
.”

“
Good thought. Give me a fax number
.”

She gave him two. Mario
's
in Westpo
r
t and in care of
herself at the Beverly Hills Hotel.
“
Axel
...
if this really works
.
.
.
”

“
Banne
r
man will owe me. I know
.”

”I was going to say me. I'll owe you
.”

Another silence. Then,
”
I did love you, Molly
.”

“
Is Bonnie right there
?”

“
She is. She knows it
.”

“
Don't be a jerk. Axel. Go find a life
.”

The Weinbergs had not lingered at the Motion Picture
Country House. Genuine nurses had begun helping the
members off the bus. Darby, head low, mixing with them
,
crept away under the impression that no one had noticed.

Alan and Barbara sh
o
ok hands with Dr. Michael, thank
ing him for the offer of his station wagon. They would
call him, tell where he could retrieve it.
In
return, he
extracted a promise that he would hear from Nellie from
time to time.

It was then that Alan noticed a short, white-haired member whom he could not recall seeing at Sur La Mer
and who, although his appearance showed the ravages of
Alzheimer's, looked remarkably like old John Waldo. He
was holding a stack of scrapbooks, being tugged along by
the actress who thought she was Theda Bara. Weinberg,
blinking, lost no more time in leaving.

En route to Dr. Michael's house, Barbara told him that
he must have been mistaken. No, she had not taken a final
head count but neither had she seen anyone who resembled
John Waldo. Why, in any case, would he penetrate Sur
La Mer just to ride a bus back out? Weinberg had to
agree. He would ask Molly nonetheless. Find out, at least,
whether Waldo is even in California.

The greater shock, on speaking to Molly, was to learn
how busy Ca
rl
a Benedict had been.

“
The poor dear
,”
said Nellie, watching the continued
coverage.
“
First her sister, and now this
.”