Bannerman's Law (59 page)

that he keep his eyes averted and avoid, for his own sake,
a close look at
Weinberg's
new face.

But D
u
nville could hear. He heard We
i
nberg rifling
through the leather case, handling documents, running his
thumb over stacks of them. He could hear Nellie, in the
front seat, trying to comfort him. Barbara Weinberg had
stayed near the ramp, covering them.

“
It was the key envelope, wasn't it
?”
he asked.

”
I beg your pardon
?”

“
The key to my safe deposit box. You saw it in my
briefcase
.”

“
I'm afraid so, yes
.”

“
How did you know which branch
?”

“
The branch number was on the little yellow envelope.
The phone book showe
d
where it was
.”

Dunville gritted his teeth.
“
Then why, for God's sake, couldn't you have waited until nine? Banks open at nine
.”

“
Relax, Ca
r
leton. It's not that bad
.”
Weinberg found
the envelope for Hilton Head.
“
Wha
t
does the
'B'
stand
for
?”

“
What
?”

“
Ashley B. Ha
m
mett
.”

“
It's Beaurega
r
d
.”

“
That's certainly southern
,”
said Nellie.

”
.
.
.
Thank you
.”

“
Do you have a big house i
n
Hilton Head
?”

“
It's
.
.
.
comfortable, yes
.”

“
You should give it a southern name as well. Like
Twelve Oaks or The Willows
.”

Dunville grumbled something unintelligible.

Weinberg had found his second identity. A French
name this time. Excellent papers. The deed to a tow
n
house
in New Orleans. Dunville stole a glance.

“
Why do they interest you? You could never use
them
.”

“
No, but I might want to stay in touch. Where are the
Sur La Mer files
?”

”
I don't have them
.”

Weinberg reached to pat his chest. He felt the padded en
velope.
“
I'll tell you what
,”
he said.
“
If that bulge is
what I think it is, and you give it to me, I'll give you
all this
,”

Dunville blinked in disbelief.

“
Just trying to keep it friendly, Ca
r
leton. You can even
have your Mercedes
.”

“
You'd let me go? With the money
?”

“
Nellie? Tell hi
m.”

“
He's really very nice, Carleton
.”

“
There you have it
.”
Weinberg held out his hand.

Dunville sighed deeply. He reached into his pocket and produced the set of disks. Weinberg took them. He zipped
the leather case and moved it onto Dunville
’
s lap.

“
What will you do with those
?”
asked Dunville.

“
Same as you, I think. Keep them as insurance. Or in
case I ever need a favor from one of these people
.”

“
And help me find my children
,”
Nellie added.

“
Yes, that will come first. May I assume that there is
no other set of these
?”

“
You may
.”
To Weinberg
'
s stare he added,
“
That
happens to be the truth. I would never have left them
behind
.”

“
There's no record elsewhere of what I might look
like
?”

“
If there were, I'd have taken it with me. Do I gather
that you're going to stay as Alan Weinberg
?”

“
Either that or George Bancroft
.”

Nellie chuckled. Then,
“
I'm sorry. Private joke
.”

“
Carleton
,”
Weinberg asked,
“
who else knows that I
have the files
?”

“
I've warned a few people. They would have called
others
.”

“
But what was the point of warning them? What could
they do
?”

Dunville shrugged.
“
Prepare themselves, I suppose. Or
try to find you first
.”

”
I take it that Theodore Ma
r
ek knows
.”

Dunville shook his head.
“
Marek has concluded
that you're in league with those women
.
.
.
and this B
anne
rm
an. But he knows nothing about the files. I de
spise the man
.”

“
Is that why you blamed him for the death of Lisa
Benedict? Or was it to leav
e
a bit of confusion in your
wake
?”

Weinberg gave
h
im a moment to recover from his
surprise.

“
Both, I suppose
.”

“
And, to that end, I presume you told Marek that Car
l
a
would be coming for him
?”

Another shrug.

Weinberg rubbed his new chin, thoughtfully. He did
not blame Ca
r
leton. Weinberg might have done the same
in his place. Safety in confusion. But he did not like the thought of Carla stalking
M
arek, perhaps getting herself
killed, over a lie. Or of Marek stalking Carla. She had
family here. That made her vulnerable.

He had corrected the lie, although he wasn't sure why
he bothered. Perhaps he felt that he owed that much to
Lisa. For failing to have anticipated Henry; failing to have
saved her. Corrected it, that is, if the Fene
r
ty girl had
passed his message on.

“
Nellie
.
.
,
” Dunville was speaking to her.
“
I'm very
sorry. I really am
.”

She nodded slowly.
“
You have decent instincts, Carle
ton. You should try to nourish them
.”

“
I hope to
.”

Weinberg grunted. ”I know you have to run
,”
he said.
He held out the keys to the Mercedes.

Dunville took them, then hesitated. He looked up
toward the figure of Barbara Weinberg, not quite able to
believe that she would let him drive past her. At last, he
gripped the door handle.

“
Good-bye, Nellie
,”
he said.
“
Stay beautiful
.”

Weinberg gave him a gentle push.

“
Good-bye, Mr. Ashley Ha
m
mett
,”
he said.
“
Stay
alive
.”

₄₇

Theodore Ma
r
ek, Darby and two new bodyguards with
him, stood at the window of Ca
r
leton
Dunville's
office,
pounding a fist against his palm, watching the road that
snaked up through the morning mist.

It was well after nine.
Marek'
s faint hope that Dunville still might appear, thinking he was dead or in hiding, was
fading rapidly. But Marek clung to it, unwilling to aban
don the scene he had envisioned since escaping from his
home. Of seeing Dunville
’s
face when he found him there.
Of hearing his fumbling denials. Of then having hi
m
strapped to that basement table.

Poor Felix. He would have enjoyed that so. Perhaps,
thought Marek, he would do it himself. Wear one of those rubber aprons. But, no. Better to stand and watch. Make suggestions. Before Carleton was allowed to die, he would
feel everything that Harry Bunce and Felix must have felt.
”

.
.
.
is back. Messed up. Not too bad
.”

That was Darby. Saying something. Marek barely heard
because he was seeing Harry Bunce and he was hearing
Carleton's
voice, speaking to that Fene
r
ty girl, blithely
claiming that he, Theodore Ma
r
ek
,
had murdered the sister
of the redheaded butcher.

Somehow, she'd been waiting for poor Harry. Caught
both of them. And then sent them back. Standing up on
that hill. Daring his people to come after her. But he wasn't fooled. An obvious trap. His people would rush
out and be slaughtered. Then she would come for him.

But I am innocent,
he screamed in his mind.

Scholl.

Where was Scholl all this time?

Carleton's
telephone rang. Marek stared at it for a mo
ment, then flicked a finger at Darby, telling him to answer.

Whoever it was, it was not Scholl, not Carleton. Doctor
someone or other. Darby was arguing with him. He
pressed the
“
hold
”
button.

“
It's Dr. Feldman
,”
he told Marek.
“
Says he wants to move all the members this mornin
g—t
ake them down to
the Country House. Says he's got authorization
.”

“
Tell him not until your boss says so
.”

Darby spoke into the phone.
“
Mr. Marek says
.
.
.”

Marek waved furiously.
“
Not me, you ass. Dunville
.”

Darby flushed.
“
Mr.
Dunville
,”
he corrected himself,
“
has to give the okay. He'll call you when he gets in
.”

Darby listened. He pressed the
“
hold
”
button again.

“
He's saying it was Mr. Dunville
’s
idea. He says he
has written authorization from the Motion Picture and
Television Fund and wants to know if he needs to bring
the cops
.”

“
Say you'll call hi
m
back
.”

Darby hesitated. ”I don't know, Mr. Marek. He
sounds
.
.
.”

Marek raise
d
a staying hand. He considered the situa
tion. That bastard, Dunville. What's his game? Certainly
not a last act of humanitarian concern for the members. Probably wants to prevent their use as hostages. And what
has made Dr. Feldman so defiant all at once? Didn't the
Dunvilles have some hold on him? Yes, they did. Those
files.
Feldman's
sudden bravado might mean that Dunville
had destroyed them.

Yes. He very well might have. Burning all bridges.
Ma
r
e
k
seized the hope that Dr. Feld
m
an would know if
he had. Has probably been i
n
league with him all along.

“
Tell him to come
,”
he said to Darby.
“
The police
will not be necessary
.”

Insolent young pup.

We'll strap him to a table instead.

Molly Fa
rr
ell had paid her driver at Twenty-ninth and
Vermont, then walked to the Men
l
o Avenue house of
DiDi Fene
r
ty
.

She saw no suspicious cars or utility workers. Several
joggers moved up and down the residential streets but all of them seemed of college age. To her surprise, DiDi's
friend Kevin was still on the porch. Awake. Doing squats. He saw her coming and rapped on the door. It opened as Molly approached.

DiDi looked tired but was excited to see her. She intro
duced her three bodyguards. They were men in their for
ties, all armed with hunting rifles, no concealed weapons, hard faces, sullen eyes. Molly guessed, correctly, that they were parolees. They studied her face as well, respectfully
enough. One seemed awed. DiDi must have passed the
night telling stories.

It took her ten minutes to check out the circuitry of
DiDi
'
s phones. She found nothing. She rummaged through
her shopping bag to find the wher
e
withal for a different
test. When ready, she asked DiDi to place a call, on any
reasonable pretext, using a house mate's phone. Molly
measured the amperage. It held steady. She asked DiDi to
make another call, this time on her own line. The amper
age dropped sharply. She let nothing show on her face
until DiDi broke the connection.

“
What do you think
?”
DiDi replaced the phone.

“
That one's okay. Someone listened on yours
.”

“
How about Kevin's
?”

“
It's probably clean. I'll check before I go
.”

Molly held up a hand to stay further questions as she
dialed, using the house mate's phone, the number Paul
had given her. He answered on the first ring.

“
You were right
,”
she told him.

”
I know. Don
'
t come back here. We're checked out
.”

“
Where, then
?”

“
Sit tight, but don't get trapped in that house. Can you
stay where the other phone is
?”

He means Kevin's.
”
I guess so. Sure
.”

“
Any ideas on who set the wire
?”

“
Could be the Sur La
M
er crowd, reacting to DiDi's
call. But my money's on the FBI
.”

“
Why
?”

A shrug.
“
They have the means. They were the only
other people who talked to DiDi. And they wouldn't have
believed that we came up empty here, especially when
they saw the bodyguards
.”

”
I was afraid of that
.”
Ba
n
ne
r
man took a breath.
“
Whoever tapped that phone knew that you calle
d
from
this hotel. He passed that information to Theodore Ma
r
ek
.”

Molly groaned. ”I screwed up. I'm sorry
.”

“
Forget that. We had a problem but we've dealt with
it. Do you still have the keys to your rental car
?”

The blue Chevrolet.
“
Yes
.”

“
Lesko's coming to get them. Warn those bodyguards
so they don't shoot him on sight
.”

“
That car has a tracker on it, Paul
.”

”
I know it does. In two minutes I'll call you on DiDi's
line. I'll ask you where the explosives are. You answer
that they're in the spare tire of that Chevrolet and then tel
l
me where you left it
.”

“
Um
.
.
.
won't they be all over him
?”

“
That's the point. Two minutes
.”
Bannerman broke
the connection.

Molly stared at the phone as if for some clue to what Bannerman had in mind. It did not surprise her, on reflec
tion, that Paul would look for a way to use the knowledge
that the car was rigged. The most obvious use was as a
decoy. Having John Waldo, for example, take it on a joy
ride to tie up several FBI surveillance teams while their
people were busy someplace else.

But he didn't need the phone call to do that. And that
business about explosives was almost certain to get Lesko detained. A search of the spare tire, of course, would con
firm that the FBI had wired D
i
Di, but so what? They
still wouldn't know which agent was passing information
to Ma
r
ek.

Maybe, she thought, Paul just wants Lesko out of the
way. Except Lesko would see through that in a minute.

The other phone rang. Molly gestured that DiDi should
answer. DiDi picked it up.

“
This is she
,”
she answered. Her eyes widened. She
raised one finger to stay Molly's outstretched hand.
“
Oh.
Um
...
hi
.”

She turned toward Molly, jabbing at the handset with
her finger.

“
Yes
,”
DiDi nodded. ”I told her everything you said
.”
To Molly, she mouthed the name
Streicher.

Molly hesitated, then held out her hand once more.

Elena, at the wheel of Billy's Ford, struggled to keep
her mind on the road. The pounding from the trunk, the
muffled screams of rage, made driving difficult.

Five minutes out of Malibu, with Ca
rl
a happily describ
ing the destruction of Theodore
Marek's
wall and gate, Billy had asked her t
o
stop behind a road stand that was not yet open. Elena assumed that he needed to relieve
himself. Two minutes later, Carla, stunned and bound, was
in the trunk. Her head cleared as Elena slowed for the
Sunset Boulevard exit of the Pacific Coast Highway. Billy
could see that the noise was unnerving her.

“
You have to put your foo
t
down sometimes
,”
he said.

He advised Carla that they were now on Sunset, that
the noise could be a problem, and that he would put her back to sleep if she made another sound. She answered
with a string of inventive curses but became silent when
Billy asked Elena to pull over again.

Billy waved her on. The threats resumed but at a lower
pitch. The pounding stopped entirely.

A few streets short of the Brentwood Holiday Inn, a
car drew close behind her and tapped its horn.

“
It's Waldo
,”
said Billy.
“
Give him room
.”