Bannerman's Law (7 page)

Dunville returned to the first cover sheet.
“
And if it does, I gather, a person named C
J
P is to hunt down and
kill Miss Ruiz and myself
.”

“
It's not necessarily one person. And CJP only picks
up the tab
.”

“
Ah, yes
.”
Dunville read the message more carefully.
“
The
recipient
of these faxes will avenge you
.”

“
That's the idea, yes
.”

Dunville counted the biographies that had been trans
m
itted. There were more than fifty including those of the St
r
eicher-We
in
bergs. Fifty men, a few women. Who they were before, and who they are now.
“
May I ask
,”
another
deep sigh,
“
how you knew to look for these
?”

”I didn't
,”
We
in
berg lied. ”I was looking for anything
at all that might compromise you
.”

Doubt flicked across Dunville
’s
eyes. He put it aside.
“
This box number. Six One Seven. You didn't, by any
chance, send these papers to one of those Mailbox USA
franchises, did you? Where some clerk could read them
?”

Weinberg shook his head.
“
They probably haven't
been read yet at all. The machine on the other end has a confidential mailbox. My friend has to punch in a code
before the machine prints them out. He will do so on
Monday morning, first thing
.”

Dunville considered this. Weinberg could see his mind
working. Could he possibly, Dunville was wondering, get
the phone company to give him that fax number, arrange
elsewhere to have it traced, get reliable people there in
time to intercept Weinber
g's
mystery friend, take the print
out from him, kill him, all within approximately eighteen
hours? A long shot. And even then, what is to keep whoever he'd send from making his own use of those papers?
And, of course, if he failed
.
.
.

“
Well
,”
he shrugged, eyebrows up.
“
Consider me
compromised. What now, Mr. St
r
eicher
?”

“
It's Mr. Weinberg
.”

The eyebrows went higher.
“
Your hope, am I to as
sume, is to proceed as before
?”

“
It's more than a hope. We have a contract. All this
is to make sure you honor it
.”

“
Although
,”
Dunville folded his arms,
“
at more favor
able terms, I assume
.”

Weinberg shook his head.
“
We made a deal. I'll keep
it if you will
.”

“
All of it? To the letter
?”

“
Pretty much
.”
Weinberg hefted the Ingram.
“
Except we
'd hold on to these for a while. And we move into the
Members' Wing where we won't be so isolated
.”

Dunville started to object. Barbara Weinberg inter
rupted him.
“
There's a car leaving
,”
she said to her hus
band.
“
It's that Fiero
.”

Weinberg moved to the window, glanced out. He saw
the USC sticker as it passed.

“
Is that the girl's car
?”
he asked.

“
And the girl
.”

In the trunk, Weinberg presumed, wrapped in plastic.
He forced the vision from his mind. His wife could not.

“
What will he do with her
?”
she asked, her jaw set.

Dunville hesitated. ”I am
.
.
.
sorry about that. More
than you know
.”

“
Answer me. How will he dispose of her
?”
Her
weapon swung toward his chest. But Weinberg said her
name, gently, and she returned to her window.

“
She'll get a proper burial
,”
Dunville answered all the same.
“
She won't be dismembered or thrown in a hole if
that's what you're asking. Please, for all our sakes, leave
the matter in my hands
.”

“
And Henry
?”
Weinberg asked
,
glad of another subject.

“
That as well
,”
Dunville said.
“
He will need
.
.
.
long-
term care
.”
He glanced at Ruiz, meeting her eyes. Ruiz
answered with a tiny nod.

“
What do you think
?”
Weinberg asked.

They had walked out onto the terrace. He stood facing
the ocean, she with her back to it. Both held their weapons,
thumbs on their safeties, within the folds of their robes.

“
They'll dump her someplace
,”
she said.
“
Make it
look like something else
.”

He was silent for a long moment. ”I meant
.
.
.”

”
I know what you meant
.”
Still, she waited before
answering.
“
Who is C
J
P
?”

“
Nobody. I made it up
.”

She thought so.
“
Will anyone see those pages
?”

“
No
.”

“
If he suspects that, we're dead meat
.”

“
You saw those names. He can't just suspect. He'd
have to know
.”

“
Then he'll try to track that machine
.”

“
It's reached through a relay. He would have to find
two. And the one in Santa Fe is wired with thermite
.”

She allowed herself a smile of appreciation.
“
Even
so
,”
she said,
“
he's got to try to get them back
.”

“
Perhaps not. Surely, he'll look for a way in which he
can safely kill us. I can't think of one. In the end, he will
probably accept that we have as much to lose as he does
if we try to go our own way. It's a standoff
.”

“
What about Nellie
?”

“
What about her
?”

“
We can't just leave her here. Dunville already won
ders how you knew to look for those records. He knows
we've been spending time with her. And he knows she
saw that girl
.”

“
I'll
.
.
.
make it part of the deal. He doesn't touch
her
.”

She shook her head.
“
That would remove any doubt.
He'd give Nellie the same stuff Henry gave the girl and
he'd find out not only that she can talk but what she
knows.
Then,one
day soon, we'd hear that she died in
her sleep
.”

“
Bonnie
.
.
.”

“
Barbara. Stick with the program
.”

“
She's a very old woman. We'll hear that soon no
matter what
.”

”
I like her
.”

“
Well
”—h
e shrugge
d—“
so do I, but
.
.
.”

Barbara Weinberg turned, staring at him. He tried not to look. She waited. He began to fidget. At last, she saw
his chest rise and she heard the low growl she was wait
ing for
.

“
The things I do for love
,”
he muttered.

₆

The next afternoon.
W
estport, Connecticut.

Paul Ba
n
ne
r
ma
n
, one hand resting on the shoulder of
Ca
rl
a Benedict, walked with her, slowly, along the road
that ran parallel to the town's public beach.

They had it largely to themselves. At water's edge, a
young woman dismantled a windsurfer, the late April
breeze having faded to a whisper. One couple walked with
a golden retriever. In a week, the beach would be closed
to pets. Parks Department vehicles would begin combing
the sand for their leavings and for the winter's flotsam.

The sun seemed to hover in the western sky. Carla, Bannerman saw, could not keep her eyes off it. He could
only imagine what she must have been seeing there.

“
Would you like me to go with you
?”
he asked.

She shook her head.

She was a small woman, no larger than her sister, of
whom he had only seen snapshots. Same color hair, almost
bronze, but worn in a pixie cut while Lisa wore her hair
longer. Seen together, in flattering light, one would guess th
at Ca
rl
a was no more than five or six years older.
But
he knew that Carla had turned forty barely a week before
her sister was murdered.

She was crying softly. Ba
nn
e
r
ma
n
had never seen Carla
cry. Not once in more than fifteen years. Not even when
she took the call from California. But here, arriving at this
beach, she had collapsed
,
utterly, in u
ni
magined pain
.
He
had held her, tightly, against his chest, enduring the fin
gernails that dug into his flesh, feeling the deep, wracking
sobs that welled from so far within her that he thought
her lungs must surely burst. But she was better now. Not
yet in control. But better.

He glanced at his watch. Her flight would leave in less
than three hours. Molly Fa
rr
ell had the tickets. They would
meet her at Mario's, perhaps get Carla to try to eat some
thing, then leave from there.

”
I want you to stick with Molly
,”
he said, squeezing
her shoulder.
“
Except for private times, like seeing your
father, I've asked her not to leave you alone
.”

“
Seeing my father is when I'll need her
,”
she said,
swallowing. She gestured toward the horizon with her
chin.
“
He's sitting out there, right now, wondering why it couldn't have been me
.”

Bannerman chewed his lip.
“
Don't talk that way
,”
he
said.
“
I'm sure it's not true
.”

She didn't argue. But she knew better.

“
Paul
?”

He waited.

“
Lisa liked me
.”

“
I'm sure she did. And so do we
.”

“
No
,”
Carla Benedict said firmly.
“
You
accept
me.
You
tolerate
me. Lisa
liked
me
.”

Bannerman stopped walking. He turned her so that she
had to look at him.
“
At least four of us, me included
,”
he reminded her,
“
would be long dead if not for you. We
do love you, Carla, each in our own way. There's not a
thing in the world we wouldn't do for you
.”

She leaned her face into his chest. A shudder rose from
deep inside her. He felt new tears soaking through his
shirt.

“
Will you
.
.
.”
She swallowed.
“
Will yo
u
help me
find the son of a bitch
?”

She had asked him that before, within an hour of the
phone call from a neighbor of her father. He answered
only that he would do what he could. Make some phone
calls. In the meantime, see to her needs.

He wanted to help her. They all did. They would have
liked nothing better than to find and slowly dismember the
animal who had done this to her sister. Raped her. Strangled her. Left her body, nude, spread-eagled near an off-ramp of the Ventura Freeway in Los Angeles, a grotesque
smile cut into her face, just as he
'
d done to six other
young women, all college students, over the past two
years.

But this was a police matter. The police had a task
force, organized after the third of these murders. The FBI
had one of its own. Between them they had the experience and the tools. They had the psychological profiles of past serial killers, their behavior patterns, they had all the accumulated physical evidence, forensic data, the killer's DNA
fingerprint from his semen, all on a computer. Ban
nerman's
people had nothing. They would get in the way.

“
I'll see what I can learn
,”
he told her.
“
If we can
help, we will
.”

“
You could call Lesko
,”
she said into his chest.
“
He
probably knows about things like this
.”

“
We
'
ll see. I'll ask him
.”

No harm in asking, though he did not think it would
do much good. Lesko had been a good street cop, but he'd
mostl
y
worked narcotics. New York, as far as Ba
nn
e
r
man
could recall, had never had a serial killer. Not that one would necessarily be noticed there. They all seemed to
come from the West Coat. And Lesko, in any case, was
now living in Z
u
rich.

Still, Lesko had made a national reputation for himself.
Bannerman had never met a policeman who hadn't heard
a story or two about him. He might well have a connection O
r two on the Los Angeles force. Someone, at the very
least, who could help keep an eye on Ca
rl
a. Lesko would
probably want to know in any case.

“
Listen
.
.
.”
Carla fingered his lapels.
“
About
Susan
.
.
.”

Susan Lesko.
Lesko's
daughter.

“
I'm sorry I gave you so much shit about her
.”

“
Forget it
.”
He shook his head.
“
That's in the past
.”

“
She's been great about this. Everybody's been great
.”

It was Susan who'd made the flight reservations. And suggested that he send Molly with her. And had gone to
Carla's
house to help her pack the things she'd need. All this in spite of the fact that Carla made no secret of re
senting her presence in Westpo
r
t, telling him how foolish
he'd been to take up with Susan, an outsider, unproven,
untested, no skills. But Susan, over the past year, ha
d
more
than proven herself. Everyone had acknowledged that but
Carla. Until now.

“
Maybe Susan's okay
,”
she said.

“
Thank you
.”

“
Don't tell her I said so
.”

Banne
rm
an made a face.

“
I'll tell her myself. When I get back
.”

“
That would be nice
,”
he said. He steered her t
o
ward
the parking lot where he'd left the car.

“
Paul
?”

”
Umm
?”

“
Did you mean what you said
?”

“
About what
?”

“
That you love me. Except when I make you crazy,
I mean
.”

“
Even then
.”
He leaned and kissed the top of her head.

“
Don't take this wrong, but if Susan ever dumps
you
.
.
.”

“
I'll come crawling
,”
he said.