The Death Gods (A Shell Scott Mystery) (42 page)

That isn’t precisely what
Sergeant Lerner said, but only how I interpreted his officialese.
What he actually did say, near the conversation’s end,
was:

“
All right, Scott, we’ll
send a car and check it out. You claim there’ll be a dead guy
laying near the entrance?”

“
Yeah. He’s dead, all
right. And he was there...” I got another little twinge of worry
then, realizing how unlikely it was that Grinner, or anybody else
at Omega, would leave the stiff stiffening on their roadway. But I
finished, “He was there when I left. Probably isn’t
now.”

“
You don’t know who he
was?”

“
No, but the other guard is
named Francis Harris, AKA Grinner. He’s a bad one. You’ve probably
got paper on him.”

“
And you want us to check
on this lady, Dane Smith. She’s got some kind of problem out
there?”

“
Well, not that I know of,
not for certain. But—”

“
And you also want us to
look around for shell casings ejected from two Colt automatics, and
note damage to what you claim is a bulletproof window in the
gatehouse, is that right?”

“
Yeah. Perfect.” I didn’t
like the way he was asking the questions.

“
And, finally,” he said,
with what struck me as entirely gratuitous sarcasm, “this is all at
the Omega Medical Research Center? Which is operated by Dr. William
Wintersong, of whom we have been reading today?”

I didn’t answer, just
shook my head, scowling. I’d already told him twice where it
happened.

“
Anything else?”

“
Yeah. Thanks a
lot.”

“
I’ll tell you this, Scott.
We’ll check it. But if you haven’t given this to me straight, and I
mean a hundred and ten percent, I’d recommend you take a long
vacation someplace. Someplace like China.”

I snapped shut my phone,
looked at my car again. Again, it was a depressing sight. I’d told
Sergeant Lerner I would be glad to show him the half-dozen bullet
holes in my Cadillac, as evidence. Whereupon, in his sweetly
reasonable way, he had said, “Evidence of what?” and asked if the
shooters had autographed their holes for me.

At which point I’d gotten
an inkling that my problem wasn’t going to be top-priority on the
sheriff’s agenda. I would still show Lerner those bullet holes,
when I went in to sign the formal complaint, but that would have to
wait. He would no doubt dispatch a car and a couple of deputies to
Omega, but I didn’t have much hope that would help me in my
situation. In fact, I didn’t have any hope.

So I looked glumly at the
round holes and jagged holes in the Cad’s trunk, left-rear fender,
hood, and both doors, thankful only that no slugs had ruined the
engine, gas tank, or tires. Or me.

I was still determined
that I would go back to Omega—without getting killed. And that I
would get inside the damned place—without getting killed. So I had
everything figured out, except for the single question:
How?

I opened the Cad’s trunk,
which squeaked a little, but worked. In the trunk was a box of
.38-caliber cartridges, and I reloaded my Colt Special, put the box
and remaining cartridges on the Cad’s front seat next to me, and
sat behind the wheel, thinking. Not long.

Then I started the engine
and pulled away from the curb, back onto the Freeway, not certain
where I was going but rolling toward Hollywood, thinking. Without
result. Thinking. Without result. But I guess persistence pays,
because finally a curious memory floated up from somewhere in all
that thinking-without-results and I almost let out a whoop of
horrified pleasure.

Pleasure because now I
knew I was going back to Omega, and I was going to get inside the
damned place, and I even knew how I was going to do it...but
horrified because the unanswered question was still: How can I do
that without getting killed.

A year or so back I’d read
a newspaper story about a burglar who’d just been sentenced, and
judged. At the time, I’d felt it was unfortunate that such a
creative cat had wound up using his energies, and ideas, on the
wrong side of the law. What I’d thought creative was his method of
breaking and entering—which might never have come to light if he
hadn’t been caught. But caught he’d been, with the result that he
was now doing a bit of heavy time at San Quentin. However, that
didn’t have to mean I would get caught. And the more I thought
about it, the more I convinced myself the thing might actually
work. But I couldn’t pull off this kind of caper alone. I would
need help, quite a lot of help, and all of it in a
hurry.

The only man I knew who
would be willing to help me commit such a heinous act as
desecrating a medical temple was—who else?—Henry Hernandez, M.D.
Hank, I knew, would not only help me, if he could, but would become
my co-conspirator with lots of “hallelujahs!” But, could even he
get me what I needed?

I checked my watch. I
could be on Mulberry Street and at his office in ten. So, I just
kept rolling along.

* * * * * *

Hank looked intently at
me, eyes almost glowing, brushing the right half of his sharp
mustache with the tip of his index finger. “I fix,” he
said.

“
You’re serious? You
actually know somebody who can help me do this? I mean now, not
tomorrow. That’s the main thing that worried me, that there isn’t a
lot of time—”

“
I know nine thousand
people who would help you—help us—if they could. But, here in Los
Angeles, almost thirteen hundred. Among them...yes, I know from
memory two who will have everything required. And they will know
others who can do what else is needed, the spray-painting with
stencils, bringing the truck.”

He was pulling his phone
toward him over the desktop, already dialing.

I said, “Nine thousand?
What’s this nine thousand people? And the three hundred
here—?”

Hank waved a hand, not
looking at me but saying, “Later. Later, I will explain this, and
much else. But now—”

He broke it off, then said
into the phone’s mouthpiece, “Geraldo? Si, it is Henry Hernandez
here. I need your assistance. We are going after Omega again, but
this is the best yet, a man will go inside this afternoon when most
others have left the buildings.”

He listened briefly, then
continued, “It is a friend of ours, a new friend but a most
competent individual. Yes, he may be killed. But he knows that.
They have tried already to kill him. Yes, twice already. Bueno,
Geraldo, this is what we require—and swiftly, with much speed,
comprende?”

After that, Hank quickly
explained precisely what was needed, and didn’t leave anything out,
covered it all. I just sat there, shaking my head.

“
They,” Hank was saying,
“Good question. I have a good answer, I think.
Momentito.”

He opened a desk drawer,
pulled out a manila folder and opened it, thumbed through papers,
found the one he wanted. “Omega is expecting shipment of 2 Nuclear
Resonance Analyzers.” He spelled it slowly, then: “It was shipped.
Let’s see here, should arrive Monday. Bueno. Today, Saturday, will
not be surprising. It is mmm...from United MediTech in Albany, New
York.” He spelled that name, too, then, listened, smiling. “Good,
good. Mil gracias.” Then, “De nada, Geraldo,” and hung
up.

“
All fixed,” he said,
beaming happily.

I just looked at
him.

He continued to beam,
happily, waiting.

Finally I mentally shoved
my eighteen or nineteen questions over into one corner, and simply
said, “Will I be on my merry way sometime today?”

“
Maybe an hour, Sheldon.
Could be less. Geraldo is only five minutes from here, but he must
get the truck driven to his business office, plus arrange the other
things. But he is one most creative dynamo, and I would guess it
will be not more than one hour from now.”

He leaned forward, arms
folded on the desktop. “Your idea of how to accomplish this
exciting invasion of the Omega death factory is also most creative,
Sheldon. Yes, brilliant, excellent. I am impressed.”

“
You’ve got it backwards.
I’m impressed. Besides, shipping me into Omega disguised as a
Nuclear Whosit wasn’t really my idea. I got it from that crook I
mentioned.”

“
I know. But the
creativeness was applying that criminal’s method, which failed, to
a situation with different parameters and more laudable
motive—which, therefore will succeed, and produce marvelous
benefits for you, me, POCUEA, the others—for everybody.
Perhaps.”

“
Perhaps,” I echoed him,
adding a couple more questions to my pile in the corner of my
head.

After filling Hank in on
the recent events at Omega, I had told him what I recalled about
the burglar, now counting his days in ‘Quentin.

The pertinent point was
that he had arranged to have himself shipped as freight, inside a
large packing crate, into a Sears store in Glendale, which
establishment he was hot to burgle. Then when everybody else left
around five p.m. on Saturday, he let himself out of his box and
commenced burglarizing the premises. Burglarizing leisurely, even
enjoying part of a sandwich and some hot coffee he’d brought along,
assuming—with sadly misplaced optimism, considering that before
consummating his first burgle he’d triggered at least two, maybe
three concealed alarms—he had before him not less than thirty-eight
uninterrupted hours in which to gather up the goodies. He was off
by a tick or two more than thirty-seven and a half hours, since a
bunch of cops nailed him before he’d finished his
baloney-and-cheese on rye.

“
You know,” I said, sort of
musing, “maybe it wouldn’t be a good idea to get too optimistic
about this crazy idea, which sounds crazier and crazier the
more—”

“
Nonsense, Sheldon, I have
great faith in you. Now. At first, I was encouraged, but not
certain. Now I am certain. Have they not tried twice already to
kill you—to their dismay? Yes, I am heartened. If this thing is
possible, you will do it.”

That was a crock, of
course, but I liked hearing this old Svengali say it anyhow. Which
he undoubtedly knew. Maybe he also knew how to turn lead into gold,
double eagles, or shinny up the Philosopher’s stone, who knows? He
usually had me interested, confused, and more than a little off
balance. A condition which wasn’t, it appeared, going to change
very soon.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE

Hank and I stood in his
outer office, and Eleanora sat behind her desk. All of us chatting.
Then the phone rang.

Eleanora answered it,
listened, and said to Hank, “It is the Captain, for you. From the
Sheriff’s department.”

“
Muy bien,”

“
Come, Sheldon. Maybe we
find out what is happening at Omega.” He hustled back into his
office, behind his desk and picked up the phone. For half a minute
he listened, making only brief comments, then hung up.

“
I did not tell Captain
Winston you were here,” Hank said to me. “He is a friend, but some
of the deputies are unhappy with you. Especially, I think, a
Sergeant Wallace Lerner?” It was a question.

I nodded. “Yeah,
especially. Let me guess. They didn’t find a body stiffening in a
pool of his blood near the gatehouse.”

“
They found nothing. Two
deputies drove to Omega, but found no body, no blood
even.”

“
Look, I hit that window in
the gatehouse with one slug. The bullet didn’t penetrate, but it
sure as hell made an obvious—”

“
There was no window, just
air, an open space. Also, the deputies found no cartridge cases,
which I understand you assured Sergeant Lerner would be evident in
abundance. This Sergeant wishes to see you soon, even instantly. To
ask you, among other things, why you made a false
report—”

“
It wasn’t a false—” I cut
it off. Didn’t have to convince Hank, and probably couldn’t
convince Lerner. Besides, there was something else more
important.

“
What about Dane Smith” I
asked. “Did they talk to her?”

Hank shook his head. “She
had already returned to her hotel, with an employee who was driving
to Los Angeles.”

“
Who says so?”

“
Dr. Wintersong. Also Mr.
Hobart Belking. Both were interviewed by the deputies, and both
said the same things.”

“
They would. Belking was
out there?” Hank nodded, and I asked, “Who’s the employee Dane is
supposed to have left with?”

“
That was not mentioned by
Captain Winston. He said only that the deputies were informed Miss
Smith was driven to Omega by you, and expected to return with you.
But, when her interview with Dr. Wintersong was concluded, you had
left, or disappeared, at least were no longer there.”

“
Great.” I called the
Halcyon Hotel, asked for Dane’s room, let the phone ring ten times.
Then I spoke to the desk clerk, and was informed Miss Smith had not
returned. Her key was still in its slot at the desk, where the same
clerk had put it when she left shortly before noon.

I ended the call, hung up,
started pacing the floor, feeling jangly, nerves stretched. “She
isn’t there,” I said. “So there’s no point in my checking the hotel
personally. The best thing left is for me to get back to Omega as
soon as I can.”