Muller, Marcia - [McCone 05] Leave a Message for Willie [v1.0] (htm) (20 page)

But why had anyone been firing the paint-pellet gun there? Had
their whole scheme really started as a variant of the National
Survival Game? Or did they train with the Nel-Spot because it was
quiet and cheaper to use than a real weapon? It didn't matter; what
did was the fact that their game had quickly turned into something
far more serious and deadly than playing war.

"I'm not a member of the Krupp family."

That was what Fat Herman had said when he'd spoken of Adair's
interest in buying weapons from him. Herman would go outside the law
and sell untraceable guns under the counter, but he didn't supply big
guns—machine guns, mortars, the sort of weapon a paramilitary
encampment would require.

I pulled into a parking lot a block away from the Oasis, parked
the car, and took a shortcut through a pizza restaurant, still
pondering.

Had the group gotten their hands on those kinds of weapons? The
gun that had been fired at me when I'd been exploring Levin's former
land had probably been an ordinary hunting rifle. What Herman had
been alluding to was more firepower than that.

And what had happened with Jerry Levin and the Torahs?

He'd rediscovered his religion, Selena had maintained. Maybe it
was a genuine religious conversion. If so, he would have reason to
hold back the Torahs from the others. But that made no sense; if
Levin could have gotten them
into
Willie's garage and
stashed them with the player piano rolls, he could also have gotten
them
out
. There would have been no need for him to watch
Willie and ask Selena to get him keys to the house.

Okay, forget that for a minute. Levin got religion. What then? His
enemies—meaning the others in the organization— tried to
destroy him. How? By burning his cabin? Probably. After all, Jack
Foxx, the Arson Squad inspector, had said the site had the signs of a
deliberately set blaze. Why hadn't Levin gone to the authorities,
then? Possibly he couldn't prove who had done it, and also didn't
want to incriminate himself.

And then Levin came to San Francisco, determined to rescue his
Torahs. And had been given keys to Willie's house by Selena. I hadn't
thought to ask her, but it was obvious that Adair had made not one
but two sets of keys. Levin had used one—and died. And then,
since the keys hadn't been found on his body, the killer had removed
them.

I thought I knew who that killer was, too. But there were loose
ends. Too many loose ends…

The alley that ran behind the Oasis opened up onto one of the
sidestreets. I rounded the corner and started down there, peering
through the darkness for Willie. There were cars pulled up on either
side, their wheels on the sidewalks, almost flush against the
buildings so other vehicles could pass. I didn't see the borrowed
van, but that didn't surprise me. Willie would probably approach on
foot, as unobtrusively as possible. I spied the floodlit sign
indicating the rear entrance to the bar. No one waited there.

Of course, I thought, Willie would be in disguise, probably
wearing his derelict outfit. And he certainly wouldn't stand out in
the open where a passing patrol car might spot him. I went as far as
the entrance to the bar and looked up and down the alley again. No
sign of anyone.

Damn McFate! If he had only come to my house a few minutes later,
I would have already been on my way to this appointment. As it was,
he had delayed me a good ten minutes and caused me to exercise undue
caution, driving here by a circuitous route in case he really
suspected my so-called date was with Willie. There was no telling,
without going inside, whether Willie had checked the bar for messages
when I didn't show on time. But even if he hadn't, he might have gone
away, intending to return here later. There was nothing to do but
wait.

It was cold there in the alley. I pushed my hands into the pockets
of my sweater and began to pace. My watch showed close to eight. Had
Willie given me up and gone off on another of his tangents?

I'd better go inside and use the phone to check my answering
service. Maybe he'd left another message.

But he had specifically said not to go into the bar.

Still…

I started over toward the floodlit sign. There was a sudden
rushing noise behind me. Before I could turn, hands gripped me. I
tried to wrench away, but they held me tighter. Then an arm hooked
around my neck, and a cloth was pressed over my nose and mouth. A
rough cloth, damp, reeking of…

I struggled harder, kicked out, tried to dig at him with my
elbows. Futile. A chloroform-suffused darkness was closing over me,
and there was not a damned thing I could do about it…

My head ached worse than it ever had in my life. Each throb set
off flashes of light behind my eyelids. My sinuses were plugged and I
felt queasy.

And then came the memory of suffocating chloroform fumes.
Chloroform, and strong arms pinning me. The alley behind the Oasis
Bar and Grill. Willie…

I forced my eyes open to a slit. The light was more blinding than
the ones exploding in my brain. I focused on a nubby green material
and curving rattan arms. A couch. I was lying on a couch.

Opening my lids further, I looked past the couch to the rest of
the room. There was a metal desk and a bank of file cabinets. An
office of some kind. Painfully I moved my gaze to the far right,
where a man sat on a stool. A man clad in olive drab fatigues,
holding a rifle across his lap. Monty Adair.

I shut my eyes, but not fast enough. Adair said, "Ah, Sharon.
You're awake."

I tried to speak, but my lips and tongue were cottony dry.

I swallowed and tried again. "You were the one. In the alley.
Called me pretending to be Willie." My words were thick and
slurred.

"Very perceptive of you, considering you've been out cold for
a good three hours."

Three hours. That would make it… make it around eleven at night.
I wanted to ask him where we were, but it seemed too much of an
effort. Instead I lay there for a few minutes, letting my head clear.
Adair watched me impassively.

Finally I said, "Where am I?"

"Where do you think?"

I wasn't in any shape for guessing games. Raising myself on one
elbow, I started to sit up. A wave of nausea forced me down again. I
waited for it to pass, then said, "Paramilitary camp."

"That's very good." He nodded as if I'd just passed a
difficult examination.

"You brought me here."

"Right again."

"Why?"

"Mack wants to talk to you."

I made it up this time and swung my feet off the couch onto the
floor. The nausea came back, then subsided some. "About what?"

"Oh come now, Sharon. You know. You know too much."

"I know you set up your own camp. Did you buy the land?"

"Yes. Levin found it for us."

"It's near his cabin. You burned his cabin."

"Yes."

"Why?" My head was more clear now and the light was not
as painful anymore.

"He didn't play fair with us. We should have known better
than to deal with a Jew. So we set the place on fire so it would look
like an accident, and he went away."

"What was he going to do, give the Torahs back to the
congregations he stole them from?"

"Yes."

"Was he really serious about this religious conversion?"

"Entirely serious. It seems he did a lot of thinking up there
in the woods."

"So he hid the Torahs in Willie's garage where you couldn't
get at them?"

"No.
I
hid them there. Levin was being watched. By
those Nazi-hunters, or whatever they claim to be. He was afraid to
keep the Torahs with him. So one day when I was picking up some
merchandise from Willie, I put them in with the player piano rolls."

"Why didn't you just keep them at your apartment? You weren't
being watched."

"I don't keep anything illegal at my apartment. It's too much
of a risk. For years now I've used Willie's garage. Hot merchandise,
controlled substances, anything like that goes there."

"Does Willie know this?"

"Of course not."

"Weren't you afraid he'd find out?"

"No. That garage is like a pack rat's nest. He can barely
find the stuff
he
puts there."

It was a clever practice for a young man getting ahead in the
world, I thought.

I sensed I could get the whole story from Adair, if I let him
talk. He loved to listen to himself, to lecture and expound. But I
was more concerned with what they intended to do with me. I raised my
head and looked around the room. It had stone walls and a heavy oak
door with massive iron hinges. There were windows, small casement
types, but they were covered with thick shutters.

"How many are there in your group?" I asked.

"Enough."

"Enough for what?"

"To protect ourselves, our way of life. We don't like what's
happening in this country. Rampant liberalism. Women stepping out of
their place. Welfare cheats. Minorities demanding things. We've got
to be prepared, and this camp gives us the training we need."

"To do what?"

"I just told you. To protect ourselves, our homes. Our
families."

It was scary stuff. Very scary. "Do you train with real
weapons?"

"Not yet. For most maneuvers, the type of gun used in the
National Survival Game is adequate. We haven't raised the money for
our real weapons yet."

"Levin was supposed to do that, with the remaining Torahs."

"Yes. His change of attitude caused us a real problem. I had
told him the Torahs were at Willie's. My first mistake. At least I
didn't tell him where. But he went to San Francisco after we burned
him out. Began watching Willie. We were afraid the Nazi-hunters would
realize why."

"So if you didn't want Levin to take the Torahs, why did you
have Selena give him the keys to Willie's house?" I glanced at
the shutters once again; they were nailed together.

"We thought we could convince him to come back into the
fold—temporarily. So he could sell the rest of the Torahs for
us."

"But why convince him at Willie's?"

"Because it was the one place we knew he wanted to go. We
knew we could lure him to Willie's." Adair shook his head. "I
thought it was a bad idea. Look how it turned out."

"Why tear up Willie's house, though, if you knew where the
Torahs were?"

Adair looked surprised. "We didn't."

"Someone did, looking for those Torahs. And it wasn't Levin,
because the person looked in places where the Torahs wouldn't have
fit. Levin knew how large they were."

He shrugged. "I don't know anything about that."

"Had Mack ever seen a Torah?"

Adair's eyes widened and he raised his brows. "How do you
figure it was Mack?"

I didn't want to tell him that I knew Marchetti had killed both
Levin and Alida. And I certainly wasn't about to explain about the
radio tape. About how Marchetti had told me Alida had been stabbed in
the neck immediately after Selena had called to tell him about the
murder, but before that particular detail had been released to the
press. If I told Adair that, I might never get out of here.

"Just a guess," I finally said.

He watched me, eyes narrowed.

"I was wrong about Mack, huh?"

"Yes."

I felt a twinge of relief. If Adair was determined to hide the
fact Marchetti had committed the murders, it might still be possible
for me to talk my way out of this.

Adair shifted on the stool, steadying the rifle across his lap.

I looked at it, wondering what my chances were of taking it away
from him. Nil, I decided. "Was it you that shot at me the other
day, when I was up there at Levin's cabin?"

"No. I was in the city."

"Mack, then."

He shrugged again, smiling unpleasantly.

I looked around the room, avoiding his eyes. It was sparsely
furnished, with only the file cabinets, desk, and this ratty old
couch, which probably had been left here by the previous owners. The
group didn't seem to be doing too well financially, as evidenced by
their desperation over getting Levin back into the fold so he could
sell the remaining Torahs.

"It's been expensive, getting set up here, hasn't it?" I
said.

"Yes. The land was high-priced. We had to convert some of the
buildings for our use. Make repairs. It's been costly."

Very costly, I thought. Two lives' worth. I shivered.

"My goodness, Sharon, are you all right?" he asked
caustically.

I placed my elbows on my knees and lowered my face into my hands.
It was a ruse to give me time to think. Perhaps there was some way to
deal with these people—

"You women should know better than to force your way into
professions you're not suited for," Adair said. "If you'd
kept to your place, none of this would be happening."

A retort rose to my lips, but I stifled it. I had an idea now.
This kind of man had a certain view of women. It went with his
right-wing politics. According to people like Adair or Marchetti,
women were weak, pliant, and easily frightened.

If I conformed to that image, I would pose less of a threat to
them.

"You know, you're not even a very good detective," Adair
added. "You asked all the wrong questions of the wrong
people—like asking Mack about the key duplicating service at
the Saltflats. And bullying Selena—you didn't think she would
keep it from Mack, did you?"

Instead of answering, I clutched my stomach and leaned forward.
"Monty, I feel sick."

"The chloroform should have worn off by now."

"But I'm sick! And I'm scared. Please, won't you let me go
home—"

The door opened. I looked up and saw Mack Marchetti. He also wore
olive drab fatigues, and his bearing was rigidly military. Adair
suddenly sat up straighter.