Killer Mountain

by Peter Pinkham

  “We’ll be on a plane by nightfall.”

  Bowditch wasn’t pleased, but Loni and Carver were allowed in. Wally went first to the half bath downstairs, then to the full bath upstairs. Loni found him sitting on the toilet fully clothed.

  “Oh! I’m sorry!”

  “You had the second bedroom.”

  “That’s right.”

  Wally led the way there. The room had one double bed, with blue and green bedspread, a night table which held a lamp, a half glass of water and a small box of facial tissue, a bureau painted the same blue as the night stand with empty drawers, on top a small electric alarm clock/radio - the clock had the correct time, the radio thumped rock music when he turned it on - a folded facecloth and a copy of Cosmopolitan, and a dressing table with assorted cosmetics on top. The floor was carpeted and clear of objects. There was an empty wastebasket next to the dressing table. Carver sat on the bed and considered the scene.

  “Is that your magazine?”

  “Yes.”

  “Were you listening to that station on the radio?”

  “I don’t know the stations out here. I just put on some music.”

  “The water glass is yours?”

  “I always have one next to my bed.”

  “Are these your cosmetics?”

  She started to reach for them.

  “Don’t touch anything!”

  For seventy-five years of talking, much of it bellowed in Suffolk and Essex county courtrooms, his voice had lost little of its power. Loni jerked her hand back as if the table had been a hot stove.

  “Just look,” he continued in a lowered tone. “Is that your powder puff?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you leave it out like that?”

  “I don’t think so. No, I’m sure I didn’t. I kept it in its box.” She looked around the table. “May I open the drawer?”

  “Carefully.”

  Holding the rickety table with one hand she edged open its drawer. “Here’s the powder box.”

  Carver peered over her shoulder. In addition to the powder box, the drawer contained an assortment of make-up items - lipsticks, nail scissors, eyebrow pencil, mascara, pills, hairpins, a brush and nail file.

  “Were there any items on top of the table when you last saw it?”

  The girl thought. “Maybe a lipstick.”

  “Which is in the drawer now. One of the few ways the two of you look different is Cilla doesn’t use cosmetics. So what do we have on top: the powder puff, a hairpin, two pills and another hairpin. None of these items was there when you were last in the room?”

  “I’m not real neat. When we moved across the street I just dumped everything in drawers. Nothing was out but the lipstick.”

  “What are those pills?”

  “Breath mints.”

  “From the container in the drawer.”

  “I usually keep them in my bag, if I’m carrying one. I like the taste. I wouldn’t have used those hairpins though.”

  “Why not?”

  “I have short hair. Only women with long hair wear those; they need pins like that, that are more open.”

  Wally picked up the breath mint bottle from the drawer. It was a brand named Tic Tacs. He returned it and sat back on the bed.

  “Something went wrong. And quickly. There were no plans to move again that you know of?”

  “We’d just settled in here. We wouldn’t have moved across the street if Mr. Rogers hadn’t got sick.”

  “Why did his getting sick cause you to move?”

  “More room. So he could have a bedroom of his own.”

  “Do we assume Mrs. Rogers’s identity has been discovered? The extra signal with the light would seem to indicate that. If she was about to be forcibly moved, unless she was restrained, there are three places she might be allowed to visit, the two bathrooms and her bedroom. I found nothing in either of the other possibilities. If there is a message, it must be here. And it must be in what’s on top of that dressing table.”

  “You expect to find a message in some pills, hairpins and a powder puff? You’re loony.”

  Carver went on as though she hadn’t spoken. “We have to assume she knew where they were going, and that’s a bit of a long shot in itself. But she did arrange these items. You didn’t, the FBI people wouldn’t have. Would Dora have used this table?”

  “She has her own.”

  “Cilla knew I’d look for a message. She also knew you would be here too. So she could leave something that calls upon both of us to solve. What is your expertise?”

  “I don’t have any `expertise’. Unless you count attracting men. I do that pretty well.” She giggled. “I can wrap any man around my finger.”

  “Did you with Frank?”

  Loni looked pained. “Yuck. I only turn it on for men I like. He’s a slime ball.”

  “You must have some skills. What do you do for a living? You don’t live off men I assume.”

  “I work in an office, when I’m working. I haven’t been doing anything the last month.”

  “A secretary?”

  “Data entry.”

  “You mean you sit at a desk in front of a computer screen and you work the keys.”

  “There’s a lot more to it than that. I can produce ten times the output of somebody in the old days with just a typewriter.”

  “Don’t you use the same keyboard?”

  “Don’t you know anything?” She glanced impatiently at Wally. Then, seeing his look, hurried on “It’s set up like a typewriter but it has a lot of extra keys and can perform many times the functions.”

  “Cilla said Andre talked a lot about you. I guess we can assume she knew what your job was. Sit down at the table.”

  Loni sat in the dressing table chair.

  “Put your hands on the table as though you were sitting at your keyboard. Does anything look familiar?”

  Loni looked back at him as though he’d slipped a gear.

  “Concentrate. You’re sitting at your desk. You’ve turned on your machine. You’re about to type things.”

  “After it’s booted I enter my password.” She moved her fingers as though entering the information.

  “Look at the items on the table. Would you use anything that looked like them?”

  “Pills and hairpins?”

  “Think. Is there a symbol that looks like a powder puff?”

  “I suppose the asterisk. It’s up on the top row. But only because it’s round. Actually the pills are a lot closer to the size.”

  “The hairpins, what would they be? We’re on the top row so let’s stay there.”

  “They could be the tents.”

  “Tents?”

  “The little upside down Vs.”

  “Alright. If the pills aren’t asterisks, what would they be?”

  “Periods? But that’s on the bottom row not the top.” She studied the five items. “Maybe the powder puff is an `at’ sign, then the pills could be asterisks.”

  Carver had taken the pillbox from the drawer. “Isn’t there a symbol that looks like a tic tac toe game?”

  “The pound! It’s a crosshatch, a little at an angle, but if it were bigger you could use it for tic tac toe.” Her voice faded at the end. “But so what? I mean what have we got with an asterisk, two tents and two pound signs?”

  “How do you type them?”

  “I press shift, then the number key they’re on top of.”

  “Each one is on top of a number?”

  She nodded.

  “What are the numbers? In order.”

  “The asterisk is on the eight key, the tents on the six and the pound is on the three.”

  “So the number we come up with is 86336.”

  “A license plate?”

  “Let’s check with Bowditch.”

  The FBI man was in the living room with the fingerprint crew. “You got it from what?”

  “Some items on the dressing table.”

  “What items? We’ve g
one over each room carefully.”

  “A powder puff, two hairpins and two tic tacs.”

  Bowditch stared at him. “And that gives you this number?”

  “It could. They were carefully arranged not carelessly put down.”

  Bowditch glanced at his fingerprint man with a lift of his shoulders. “You know, Mr. Carver, police work isn’t...”

  “Could this be a Washington State automobile license number?”

  “No, it couldn’t.”

  “An adjacent state’s?”

  He studied Carver for a long moment. “Mr. Carver, I appreciate your interest, but we are all very busy working on the kidnapping of your daughter-in-law.”

  “Cilla Rogers is not related to me.”

  “Whatever. I’m told you and Miss Sturgis are to be on a plane today. Do I need to have my people escort you to the airport?”

  “No. I gave my word.”

  “Good. Please leave investigative work to those trained for it.”

  “May I look up the number?”

  Bowditch handed him the telephone book. Carver studied a page, then to Loni. “We’re going.”

  In the car he turned toward the center of the capitol city, looking at street names and finally stopping in front of the library. “Stay,” he told Loni. He was gone ten minutes.

  “What was that for?”

  “Checking another possibility.”

  “And now to the airport?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re giving up? We’re going home?”

  “No to both.”

  “Then...what?”

  Without answering, Carver pulled into a gas station and went inside, returning with a map. “You look a little pale.”

  “Well I am pale. I’ve been kept indoors all winter.” She swiveled in her seat. “You don’t look so hot yourself.”

  A twitch at the corner of his mouth could have been what passed for a Carver smile. “But my problem is irremediable.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means we’re going to get you some sunshine.”

  “Where?”

  “In Arizona.”

  “We’re going to Arizona?” Loni sat straight in her seat. “Just because I look a little pale? What are you, a Donald?”

  “What did Cilla and I set out to do?”

  “Find your friend, Hudson Rogers.”

  “And?”

  “And find the people that killed my father, I guess.”

  “That’s what we’re doing.”

  “You think they’re taking Rogers and Cilla to Arizona?”

  Carver nodded. “If we’re right that they were in that ambulance, the number we found can’t be its license. It’s a Thurston County vehicle and must have Washington plates.”

  “But Mr. Bowditch said it wasn’t a Washington plate number.”

  “So what else could a five digit number be?”

  Loni fidgeted.

  “That would be a location.”

  “A zip code!” She sank back in the passenger seat. “My God, we’re going to Arizona because of some hairpins and pills scattered on a table.” She was quiet for a minute. Then, “Where in Arizona?”

  “Sedona.”

  “Aren’t you going to tell Mr. Bowditch?”

  “Would he believe me?”

  “Hell, I don’t believe you.”

  Loni looked out the window. At Tacoma she said, “I haven’t any clothes.”

  “We’ll get them there.”

  “Have you also figured what in God’s name else we’re going to do there? How are we going to find these people?”

  “They’re not driving just any car, it’s a Thurston County ambulance.”

  “So we just ride around until we find it? Suppose they paint out the name?”

  “It’s still an ambulance. Open the map.”

  It proved to be one of the western states. “I’ve found Arizona. Where’s Sedona? Oh, I see it, right in the middle.”

  “I figure they’ll go through Flagstaff. Then it’s less than fifty miles, and just one road.”

  “We fly into Flagstaff?”

  “Phoenix. We rent a car and drive up to wait for them.”

  “How do we know when they’ll get there?”

  “We don’t. If they drive right through, the earliest they’ll be there will be midnight tonight. That’s when we start watching. And hope for moonlight.”

  “And suppose they stop someplace overnight? It might be tomorrow afternoon, and we’ll be sitting in the car for over twelve hours.” Almost a wail.

  “Got a better idea?”

  There was no response from Loni. Carver looked at her. “I’d send you home but I may need you.”

  “What for?” She was near tears. “To sit in a car in the desert in the middle of winter with rattlesnakes all around?”

  “To substitute for Cilla. As she did for you.”

  Loni’s eyes widened, and she sat back in the seat.

  Chapter 27

  “I was looking for a sweater,” said Cilla. “All my stuff is in the other house.”

  “You cold?”

  Not as your voice, thought Cilla, but replied to Frank, “Yes, I am.”

  Dora looked at her closely. “You look thinner. You aren’t coming down with something are you?”

  “I don’t think so. I just need to lie down for a while.”

  “I’m afraid there’s no time for that,” said Dora. “We have to move.”

  “Again? Why? We just did!”

  “Orders. I reported that man’s visit. The agency said to move.”

  “That old man? What could he do?”

  “Just extra caution. He could have been a spy for the people after you.”

  “And when someone else comes to the door do we move again? When will it stop?”

  “This time. We’re going to make a move where they’ll never find us.”

  “Where?”

  “You’ll see. Let’s pack up what we have here.”

  “What about my things in the other house?”

  “We’ll have another agent pick them up and send them to us.” Frank went out. Dora crossed to her bureau, taking things out of drawers and putting them on top. Cilla snuck another look at the envelope in her hand and eased it back into the coat pocket.

  In her room she sat on her bed thinking. Should she make a break for it? Immobilize Frank and Dora and...could she lug Hudson’s dead weight out before Harv came? Perhaps she could take care of Harv, too. Then what? They were still no closer to finding out who was trying to kill them and why. She was in a position to look for answers. They said they weren’t going to hurt Hudson until they got to Arizona. Frank was quite a bit bigger than her, but his muscles looked soft and his flesh unhealthy. And Dora didn’t look strong. Yes, with a plan she could take them, and she’d have fifteen hundred miles or whatever it was to Sedona to come up with it. She and Hudson were not going to spend the rest of their lives running. She reached a decision, put the few clothes from her bureau in a bag from the closet and went to the dressing table. When she was done she went out, leaving the door open. If it was only Frances next in there, instead of a young office worker and an old man who hated computers.

  On the stairs she passed Frank and another man who must be Harv, coming up. Her heart sank. Harv looked well over 250 pounds and hard as a rock. She’d underestimated the opposing forces. Had she just gambled with Hudson’s life and lost?

  Wally tried to stretch his legs and groaned silently. He’d gotten out and walked around the car several times during the night. That helped, not only his legs but keeping him awake. Loni was asleep in the back seat. In mid sentence telling him for the fifth time how frightened she was being out in the desert with rattlesnakes crawling around, she’d conked out. Carver had let her sleep. There was a limit to his own stamina, and he’d need her to be alert when he could no longer stay awake.

  The road had been relatively quiet during the night; he was pretty sure
the ambulance had not come through. The map had been unfolded several times. He knew he was gambling; they could have gone through Phoenix and approached Sedona from the south. The sky was brightening over the red walls of the canyon. If they didn’t come through by nightfall he’d go look around Sedona for the ambulance.

  He’d picked a location just north of Sedona where his car was off the road, and he had a long stretch of road, not to the north where he’d only see headlights, but to the south where he might glimpse a lighted license plate. He’d purchased a pair of field glasses in Phoenix and studied the bigger vehicles as they went past.

  He was weighing the benefits of further surveillance against his brain’s need for sleep. The one thing he needed to be sure of was the solid reasoning of the organ he most prized in himself. He had taken his fame as an All-American end at Harvard almost for granted, a position today played by sleek and fast wide receivers and big, strong blockers. He’d been both strong and fast. But so were those he played against. What gave him his edge was his mind. It kept him a fraction of a second ahead of them, and that was all he’d needed. That and a determination - some called it arrogance - to succeed in whatever he did. No, not just succeed, dominate. With Wally, life’s fruits were not something hoped for, they were expected, because he had the better mind, and worked at keeping it sharp. Sharper than anyone’s. Except maybe Hudson. In this boy, he’d met his match. He was family, even though Sylvia had died. Now there was Cilla. Street-fighter Cilla. And Carver knew that Hudson would give up his life for this new light, that until recently had shined brightly in his household. And someone’s life might just have to be lost. He glanced in the rear seat. Loni was snoring softly.

  The morning traffic was starting. If the ambulance had driven straight through, it would have come by during the night. If they’d stopped someplace to sleep, they wouldn’t get here until afternoon. So perhaps he had a window of six or seven hours when he could turn off his mind. He was near exhaustion, and if he didn’t keep thinking efficiently, an old man and a young girl would be no match for an organization that had little difficulty operating on either coast.

  A larger vehicle came behind several compacts. Carver raised his field glasses. The follower was white; he sat up straighter. As it sped by he could see it was indeed an ambulance, but with no lettering on the side. Washington plates! That’s what they spent the extra hours on, finding someone to paint out the words `Thurston Ambulance’. He turned on the engine and pulled out into the road after them. The sudden movement woke Loni.