Double Take (32 page)

A bomb, Savich thought, Dix meant a bomb. He said slowly, “Makepeace would have to have contacts to purchase explosives, if that's what you're thinking. It could be anything. Tell Ramirez to be very careful.”

“All right. The doorman's looking nervous. He knows something's going on. Can't anybody keep a lid on things?”

“You know that's impossible. You keep your eyes open, Dix.”

Savich heard Dix speaking, and then Ruth said something to the valet.

Dix said, “Okay, we're walking into the lobby. There's Ramirez, trying to look like he's waiting for his damned luggage or something. He might as well be wearing a sign around his neck that says
Hey, I'm a cop.
I've got to go, Savich. I'll call you as soon as we've got Golden.”

Savich didn't even bother to question himself about it. He simply thought,
Kathryn, Dix Noble and Ruth Warnecki are on their way up to your room with the local Palo Alto police. You'll be fine.

Savich was disgusted with himself. Why had he believed for a single instant that she'd heard him?

He pictured Makepeace jumping out of the elevator at them, mowing them down, and dialed Dix's cell again. He couldn't help it, he had to talk to him again. He pressed harder on the accelerator. The Beemer shot forward. They were still about a half hour away.

Dix said, “Savich, stop your worrying. We're being very careful, everyone is. No sign yet of Makepeace. We're going into the room now.” Savich heard a door open.

“We're in the room. Kathryn Golden's in the middle of the room, tied to a chair. She's gagged. Let me get to her, just a second—”

“Dix—”

Savich heard a loud explosion.

He frantically dialed Dix's cell again.

There was no answer.

He dialed Ruth's cell.

He got voice mail.

There was no answer.

CHAPTER 48

A frightened young voice answered on the tenth ring at the Mariner Hotel. "I'm sorry, but I can't talk to you. There's been an explosion, someone tried to blow up the hotel. I've got—”

"Don't hang up! I'm the FBI. What's your name?”

“I'm Melissa Granby, sir—Agent Sir.”

“Take a deep breath, Melissa. That's good. Now, tell me what's going on.”

“A couple of seconds ago this guy—he said his name was Makepeace—he called us, said a bomb was going off in the hotel in Room 415. Then there was this loud explosion, and everyone's screaming, guests are running down the stairs, it's crazy—”

“Stay with me here, Melissa, slow down. You're doing fine. Are there any police there?”

“Police? Yes, I see a uniformed guy running toward the stairs.”

“This is critical. Stop him. Now.”

Bless her young heart, he heard the yells, the running, the panic in the background, then he heard her shouting above them all for the officer to stop.

A few seconds later, a man's impatient voice came on the line. “Who the hell is this? You better really be FBI and not some dumb-ass reporter.”

“Yes, I'm FBI, Agent Dillon Savich. I'm in on the operation with Lieutenant Ramirez. Please go straight up to Room 415, then call my cell and tell me what's going on.” Savich gave him the cell number. “What's your name?”

“Officer Clooney.”

“Officer Clooney, please hurry.”

There was nothing more Savich could do except speed, which he did. He felt Sherlock's hand close around his. She said, “I've got our I.D. ready to shove in a cop's face if we're stopped.”

Savich let the Beemer ease up to ninety. He slammed his fist against the steering wheel. “I was afraid of a bomb, but there wasn't time—damnation, I should have gotten bomb squads there straight off, bomb-spotting equipment—”

“Yeah, yeah, maybe we'd have had them in a couple of hours, which we didn't have. Stop beating up on yourself. Concentrate on getting us there safely.”

“You're right. But Dix and Ruth—Kathryn Golden—”

“Be quiet, Dillon. Dad's Beemer needs you.”

Savich eased the speedometer to one hundred. Thank heaven traffic was fairly light.

Sherlock said, “So Makepeace calls in the bomb himself, even identifies himself, tells everyone the room number, and blows it right away. Why? Are you making any sense of this?”

Savich said, “Maybe he told them the room number because he wanted people to find Kathryn right away, wanted everyone focusing on her, on the explosion, getting tied up in all the chaos. Meanwhile he's hoping to see Cheney or Julia, betting everyone will haul butt down to Palo Alto. Or, maybe hoping we'll leave Cheney and Julia in San Francisco.”

Sherlock said, “Problem here, Dillon. Makepeace is down in Palo Alto setting off a bomb, he as good as asked Cheney to come on down and let him try to kill him again. Does he think we're that stupid? Wouldn't he be able to figure out that Julia's safe in my folks' house in San Francisco, with Cheney protecting her?”

At that moment, Savich's cell played “Born to Be Wild.” “Is that you, Officer Clooney?”

“Yes, sir. It's bad, Agent Savich. Here's Sheriff Noble.”

Thank God.
“Dix, are you okay? Ruth? You got Kathryn Golden?”

Dix stood in the midst of the rubble, swiping his hand over his eyes to clear away the dust, holding his arm. “Ruth and I are both okay, well, nearly. Kathryn Golden's in bad shape, Savich. There's lots of blood, and she's unconscious. Ruth's stanching the blood from a wound on her leg. Lieutenant Ramirez's face is bloody, mine too. Two of his men are slightly wounded.

“The room's a mess, lots of smoke, lots of alarms, but maybe more noise than real damage. He probably used about half an ounce of Semtex, or some equivalent. But why not more? What I'm not getting here is why this little boom when he could have blasted the whole hotel to hell and gone, and us too? Why didn't he?”

“Dix, hold on a second. Was the bomb detonated after you untied Kathryn and she stood up?”

“I'd say so, yes, wait. That's right, it didn't blow right away. Actually, she'd stepped away from the chair, three, four steps, then bang.”

“So he's close by, using binoculars to see into the room, which means he blew the charge exactly when he wanted to. He probably connected the bomb to his cell phone. Get the cops to canvass the buildings across the street, he'd have to be able to look into the room. Are the drapes open?”

“Yeah.”

Savich heard Dix speaking to Ramirez, heard Ramirez talking to his officers. Then Dix was back. “Okay, done. And we've closed what was left of the drapes.”

Savich said, “I'm thinking he could be across the street, or— am I an idiot or what? You said it yourself, Dix, it doesn't make sense. Quick, check around the hotel room—up at the ceiling line—see if there are any digicams pointed at you, or a cell phone—that'd be the easiest way.”

Dix said, “You think he's got two cell phones and he's been watching the hotel room ever since he left? That would mean Makepeace doesn't have to be across the street, Savich, he doesn't even have to be in Palo Alto. He could be in frigging Oregon.”

“Yeah, he could. If Makepeace blew the bomb exactly when he wanted, that would mean he didn't want to kill Kathryn Golden or any of the hotel people or cops who found her when he sent them up to her room.”

Dix said, “Okay, he sees us drive up and that spurs him to move. He calls the hotel and lays the bomb threat on them. Let me see if I can find— Hey, wait a second, just get away from me! No—not now—”

There was what sounded like a scuffle, then someone fumbling with the phone. Ruth, a bit out of breath, said, “A couple of paramedics grabbed Dix to wrap a pressure bandage around his arm to stop the bleeding. Okay, I'm going to look for a camera of some kind. Hang on.” Not ten seconds later, she was back on the line. “You nailed it, Dillon. There was a cell phone fastened into the folds of the draperies, the camera aimed right at Kathryn's chair. When I picked it up, spoke, the line was dead. But Makepeace has been watching us—or listening to us. Why would he wait for us to move away from the chair before he blew it? Why would he care if any of us was killed?”

Savich said, “Maybe he only murders for a purpose. Maybe mass murder isn't his style. Maybe he knows killing all of you would have brought every law enforcement agency in the world down on him.”

Ruth said, “Or maybe he was hoping Cheney would be the one trying to free Kathryn, and he would have blasted the bomb right away. They're carrying Kathryn Golden out right now. She's unconscious. ”

“Sounds like you and Dix need to get to the hospital too, see to his wounds. You promise me you're okay, Ruth?”

“I'd better be. Dix looks like he wants to start a brawl. We'll call you from the hospital, Dillon, let you know everyone's status.”

Savich heard Dix yelling at someone in the background. He pulled off at the next exit. “It's back we go to the city,” he said. “Even though I can't tell you for certain where Makepeace is, I want to get over to Julia's house and find those journals. They're at the center of this thing, Sherlock. I think we'll find some answers when we find those journals.”

“Are you going to let Julia come with us?”

“It's a tough call, but you know, Julia knows every nook and cranny in her own house. We need her. Captain Paulette will provide enough people to keep Makepeace away, if he so happens to show up there.”

“From your mouth to God's ear,” Sherlock said.

CHAPTER 49

At two o'clock that afternoon, Julia, with Savich, Sherlock, and Cheney close behind her, unlocked the front door of her house and stepped in. The large entryway was filled with shadows, empty and silent.

She shuddered. “It seems like I've been gone years rather than days,” Julia said. “It's like a stranger's house.”

Cheney took her hand. “We don't want to stay here any longer than necessary, Julia.” He frowned at Savich, who raised his hand.

“Listen, Cheney, we've already discussed this into the ground. We've got to find those journals. Both you and Julia said Kathryn Golden put extraordinary emphasis on them. Julia knows this house, knows all its hiding places. They've got to be here, so let's get busy. The sooner we find those journals, the sooner we're out of here. Julia, you said you already searched your husband's study, but we'll start there.”

“I didn't really search everywhere, simply gathered all his things up.”

“Okay, then you and Cheney go to the study. Cheney knows more about hiding places than a drug dealer. Sherlock and I will start here in the living room.”

When they were alone, Savich walked to the front windows and pulled back the thick draperies. He saw a man across the street dressed in an aloha shirt, trimming a neighbor's bushes. Another man was mowing a yard. Both were undercover cops.

He joined Sherlock in front of the painting over the mantel. “So that's Dr. August Ransom,” he said. “His eyes are dark and intense, just like Wallace Tammerlane and Bevlin Wagner.” Were they a necessity, he wondered, for the psychic package? He glanced into a mirror on the wall beside the fireplace, and his own dark intense eyes stared back at him.

“Let's get to work.”

There weren't any wall safes behind paintings, there weren't any safes behind the books that filled the single bookshelf against one wall. Sherlock checked the floorboards—no hollow sounds, nothing under the carpet.

“Well, I say we do the kitchen next,” she said. “I vote for the Sub-Zero freezer.”

Julia and Cheney walked into the living room, Cheney shaking his head. “Nothing. We even moved his big desk aside to check the floorboards. Zilch, nada.”

Julia said, “I'm thinking I should check August's bedroom next. I did only a quick clean-out. He worked in there as well.” She turned to leave the living room when in that moment there was a very slight creaking of an oak plank overhead.

They all stared upward. Cheney already had his SIG pulled. Savich placed his finger on his lips. “Julia, how would he get in the house without any of the cops outside seeing him?”

She looked perfectly blank, then, “I remember. There are some ancient fire stairs hanging from outside the attic window, bolted to the side of the house. They're mostly covered with vines and bushes because August thought they were an eyesore, wanted them hidden.”

Cheney said, lowering his voice, “We're not going to take any chances with Julia. She and I are going to hunker down in the kitchen pantry; it's probably the safest place in the house. We'll be as quiet as we can.”

Savich said, “I don't care what happens, keep Julia safe. Sherlock, you're with me.”

Once Cheney and Julia had disappeared, Savich and Sherlock walked to the foot of the grand staircase, and stood quietly, listening.

There was not a whisper of a sound.

“Maybe it was only a creak from an old house,” Sherlock whispered.

“Possible.” He motioned her to the other side of the stairs, opposite the door to the living room, beneath the staircase.

Sherlock dropped to her knees, keeping a clear view up the stairs to the second-floor landing. She didn't have much patience. It drove her nuts to hold herself still and not run up the stairs, listening to her own heartbeat, the thump of her pulse in her throat, wanting to scratch an itch, but not daring to move. They waited, until her feet were numb and her stomach was growling. She looked at Dillon, still motionless as a shadow on a still night.