Sandi parked the Rover carefully before she climbed over the backseat. Somewhere in the back there was probably a rain slicker. If she went out in this deluge, she’d be soaked in seconds. She rummaged until she found a yellow-lined brown poncho and struggled into it, making mental notes as to how the things had been packed by Laker. At the last second she picked up a black ski mask and stuffed it inside her windbreaker.
Sloshing through the rain, Sandi searched out Nellie’s building. She had no trouble opening the door that led to a small lobby and a bank of mailboxes. The building seemed exceptionally quiet. Buildings like this usually had thin walls, through which stereos and televisions could be heard. Maybe this was a senior building where elderly people lived. It would certainly account for the lack of bicycles and baby carriages that were usually parked in the lobby. Nevertheless, didn’t seniors have hearing problems? Televisions and stereos would be louder. There were also no cooking odors of any kind. She wondered if it meant anything. Another few minutes were used up as she tried to assess the situation. She decided none of it was important. The time was four-thirty.
Her ear to Nellie’s door, Sandi spent a good five minutes listening to total silence beyond the doors. She squinted, trying to see through the small magnified peephole in the middle of the door. With nothing directly in her line of vision, Sandi withdrew the small pick in her tool kit. She fit it into the cheap lock. Within seconds the dull brass knob turned in her hand. She squinted again as she looked through the peephole. Nothing had changed. There was no sign of Sara Killian or the person named Nellie.
Sandi pushed back the hood of the poncho and pulled on the ski mask. She let herself into the apartment, closing the door quietly behind her. She looked around, seeing everything at once. She’d seen similar layouts when she’d been apartment hunting. The bedrooms and bathrooms were off to the left, the dining room and kitchen to the right. Tiptoeing across the carpeted living room, she followed the sound of soft music and what sounded like running water. She grew light-headed when she recognized the Dallas Lord song. She waited quietly in the small hallway until the water was turned off. The soft splash and muttered, “Ooooh,” had to mean the doctor was taking a bath and the water was hotter than expected. Perfect. She couldn’t be more vulnerable than when she was naked.
Again, Sandi waited until she was certain Sara was immersed completely in the water before she crossed the bedroom to where a large black bag rested on the bed. The same black bag the doctor was never without. Her eyes were murderous when she dumped the contents on the bed and found no sign of the cassette. She stuffed the gun and the clip into the pocket of her poncho. The Taser went into the pocket of her windbreaker. She stared at the two rings of keys, pocketed the one with the most keys because she recognized the safety deposit key. The second key ring must belong to the owner of the apartment. She left it on the bed. The wallet with Sara’s credit cards and driver’s license went into the hip pocket of her overalls. Where was the damn tape? Blind with rage, she fished out the gun clip, stared at it a second, and then slid it home. The heaviness of the gun surprised her.
The song ended and was replaced with a second one of her favorites. She listened, mouthing the words she’d sung so many times. She shook her head to clear it when she noticed the small vanity area outside the bathroom. It was supposed to be a plus to tenants because bathrooms steamed up; vanities outside the bathroom were the in thing these days. She had one herself. However, it wasn’t the vanity but what was on it that interested her. A blow-dryer with what looked like a very long cord was plugged into the wall. If she wanted to, she could pitch it into the tub from where she was standing. It would take just a second to kick the partially open door to the side and toss the blow dryer. Surprise would be on her side. The doctor wouldn’t have a chance.
Sandi adjusted the ski mask so that her eyes were barely visible. With the blow-dryer in one hand, the loaded and cocked gun in the other, she kicked open the door. She almost laughed then when Sara covered her breasts. “Stupid bitch,” she hissed under her breath. A heartbeat later, she saw fear and recognition cross Sara’s features and settle in her eyes.
Her bare breasts were no longer important. Sara grasped the edge of the tub and threw herself over the side and onto the floor just as the blow-dryer hit the water. She floundered for a moment before she whipped the towel at Sandi’s legs. The singer danced backwards, losing her stance. She recovered and pointed the gun at Sara’s head. Her voice was a venomous low-pitched growl when she said. “Where is it?”
Sara knew exactly what the person towering over her meant. There was no point in pretending she didn’t. “I don’t have it. I gave it to Judge Ronald Iverson to keep for me. You’ll never get your hands on it. Who are you? How did you find me? Where’s Adam? He’s the only one who knew I was here. Go ahead, kill me. They’ll catch you and for what? A stupid song! Is it worth going to jail for the rest of your life? I’m going to give the song back to Adam. You can tell him that for me. I don’t want anything from you crazy people. If you’re going to kill me, do it now or get out of here.” With what dignity she could muster, Sara reached for the towel she’d whipped at Sandi and wrapped it around her naked body. She watched in stupefied amazement as the intruder backed away, past the vanity and across the bathroom. Too weak in the knees to follow, Sara sat down on the edge of the vanity stool. She needed to turn off the power or call the maintenance people to do it. When she heard the sound of the door closing, she rolled onto the floor, sobbing hysterically.
Sara continued to lie on the floor, her closed fists pummeling the tile. If she hadn’t moved when she did, she would be dead. She needed to get up and dressed and get out of here before the intruder returned. Why had he or she left? Surely it wasn’t her less-than-perfect oratory. No, it must have been when she said she was giving the song back to Adam or when she said he was the only one who knew where she was.
Sara tottered to the bedroom. She wanted to cry all over again when she saw the contents of the black bag spread all over the bed. Other hands had touched the things she held most precious in her life. The ugly hands of a person filled with hate and greed. As she piled the things back in her bag, she realized the intruder had kept her father’s gun and the extra clip. The Taser as well as her wallet and keys were also gone. She had no money, no credit cards. What was she supposed to do now? Damn, why hadn’t she listened to Judge Iverson when he told her to go to Alpine Forest. If she had done what he wanted, she’d be safe now in his cabin. Oh, no, she had to hang around for her date with the biggest piece of scum walking the earth.
Would Adam Lord show up at seven to finish her off? Would he continue to play the game? Of course he would. He was a pro. Tears rolling down her cheeks at her own stupidity, Sara rummaged in Nellie’s closet for a warm set of clothes. Everything was sizes too big, but she didn’t care. She had to get out of here and she had to get out now, but she needed money. She had to get gas and have the oil checked before she headed out. Surely Nellie kept some cash in the house. Was she the sugar-bowl type or would she hide it somewhere more secure? It took her fifteen full minutes before she found the old nurse’s secret three-hundred-dollar stash in the back of her Betty Crocker Cookbook. Sara took it all, wadding it into a roll to stuff into the lined corduroy trousers she was wearing.
Sara took a last look around the apartment. She had absolutely no idea where the electric panel was, and she had no time to look for it. She’d call Nellie when she was safe in the cabin and explain what happened. As long as no one entered the apartment, things should be fine. Carly would know about things like that because she constantly watched crime shows.
Leave the lights on? Don’t leave the lights on? Did it matter? No, it did not. Adam Lord, snake that he was, would know she was onto him the minute his ally reported back to him. She was delirious if she thought he would show up at all.
Outside in the rainy night, Sara felt such fear she could barely stand erect to lock the apartment door. She pressed
her forehead against the cold feel of the wood to ward off the light-headedness that was threatening to overpower her. Get a grip, Sara. You’re alive. You have transportation and you have money. You’re going to a snug harbor where you’ll be safe. Tomorrow you can call Judge Iverson and have him contact Adam and give back the song. Move! Move now!
Sara obeyed her own warning and ran to Nellie’s truck. Rain sluiced down, soaking her already wet head. She barely felt it. Don’t think about anything but getting on the highway. Go, go, go! Her mind shrieked.
Visibility was so terrible, Sara started to shake all over again as the oversize windshield wipers furiously attacked the windshield. She knew how to drive in the rain, why didn’t other people? The traffic was stop and go, red taillights blinking for miles in front of her. The worst time of day to be on the road.
How could she have been so wrong about Adam Lord? Wrong wasn’t quite the right word. Stupid was more like it. Stupid and blind. She felt herself start to shrivel inside. As she crawled along in traffic, her thoughts were chaotic. Less than an hour ago she’d stared at her own death with wide-open eyes. Carly was the athletic one in the family. Where had the insight come from to flop out of the tub the way she had? Total, all-consuming fear had given her the adrenaline surge she needed to survive. She had to call someone to tell them what happened. Who? Detective Luzak? Judge Iverson? Was the cell phone still in the black bag? She couldn’t remember seeing it. Had the intruder taken it? When traffic stopped again, Sara rummaged in the bag. The cell phone wasn’t there. She was on her own now, cut off from everyone. When would someone start to miss her? Would Detective Luzak stop by the house? Would Judge Iverson check up on her when he didn’t hear from her? Would Adam Lord try to pick up her trail? And the intruder, what was he or she doing right now? Were they somewhere behind her in the miles of traffic? How would she know and what could she do if they were behind her? The stark reality of her situation slammed her in the face.
All her life she’d been a bookish person, sedentary, dedicated to her profession. She didn’t do any of the athletic things Carly did. Everything she’d learned when she was a Camp Fire girl was long forgotten. Not so with Carly. She knew about the woods, which berries were safe to eat, which bugs were full of protein. She could build a fire by rubbing two sticks together. Carly knew how to survive and had the merit badges to prove it. All Sara’d ever got for her years in the organization was a badge for perfect attendance. What a sad commentary on her life.
The will to survive and her wits would get her through this. She had to believe in herself, or she didn’t have a chance.
Sandi Sims parked in the Range Rover’s assigned spot. She calmly exited the vehicle, walked around to the back to repack the neat cargo hold. The courtesy light’s overhead bulb cast a dim bluish light to the yellow-and-brown poncho as she dried it off with the sleeve of her windbreaker before she folded it neatly the way it had been. Satisfied that Jim Laker would never know she’d borrowed the car, she climbed back into the driver’s seat, turned the key, adjusted the seat to the way it had been before she drove it out of the lot. She’d pumped exactly one and a half gallons of gas into the tank just minutes ago. She toyed with the idea of adjusting the odometer. Would Jim notice the nine-mile difference? Not likely. She replaced the key under the mat, locked the door by pressing the button at the base of the window but left the door to the cargo hold open. It made a loud clicking sound that was jarring to her for some reason.
Inside her apartment, Sandi shed her clothes as she pressed buttons on the cell phone. She cut off the call before it could be completed. She needed to think. The shower was always a good place to contemplate life. Ronald Iverson had what she wanted. That’s what the big surprise was. Two new outfits wasn’t going to cut it. Neither was a fancy dinner and a night in bed with the old guy. An hour ago she’d been prepared to commit murder to get the tape when all the while her old lover had that very same tape in his possession. If Sara Killian hadn’t flopped out of the tub when she did, she’d be a murderer. Did California have the death penalty? For the life of her she couldn’t remember. The judge would know. Life in prison for attempted murder wasn’t something she wanted to think about. Sara hadn’t recognized her. Just to be on the safe side she was going to dump the clothes she’d had on. When people were in fear of their life, they had extra sharp perceptions. The doctor might remember her pant legs, her sneakers; something.
Naked, Sandi sat on the edge of the tub. Had it been a mistake to let Sara Killian live? The shock she’d experienced when she heard the doctor say she’d given the tape to Judge Iverson was the reason. Not to mention her greed. She should have followed through. She cursed her greed and sloppiness.
Sandi dressed in a dove gray pantsuit. This evening was not going to be as the judge had planned. There would be no grand dinner in a fancy restaurant, no marathon sex until she had what she wanted. Would Iverson take the tape and sheet music home with him so she could verify it? She decided it was unlikely. The judge wouldn’t trust her any more than she trusted him. There was too much money involved and the stakes were too high.
Before she left the apartment, Sandi gulped down two fingers of Wild Turkey bourbon, the judge’s favorite liquor. Her eyes smarting, she grabbed the trash bags that held her clothes. She’d find different Dumpsters on the way and drop the bags separately, just in case some wise cop put two and two together. While she waited at a traffic light, she dialed the judge’s private home number. The moment she heard his voice she went into her spiel. “Something came up, Ronnie. I’m on my way to your house. I’ll blow the horn when I get to the gates. Be outside waiting for me. Please be on time. We’ll talk about it when I see you.” Did she just make another mistake by calling the judge on her cell phone? She felt like a nest of hornets were buzzing around inside her head. The dashboard clock said it was 6:45. Adam Lord would be on his way to pick up Sara. She realized she’d made another mistake by taking the doctor’s gun. If she’d left it, the good doctor probably would have put a bullet right through old Adam’s heart. It was all starting to look messy. Messes could be cleaned up.
Sandi pulled into the driveway of Judge Iverson’s Brentwood home and gave two light taps to the horn. The gate moved soundlessly as the judge walked through the opening. He wasn’t carrying anything. The tape was small; it could be in his pocket. She had to remember the judge didn’t know she knew what his big secret was.
Was she operating on Plan B or Plan C? She simply couldn’t remember.
“Climb in, honey. Buckle up. Sorry about the change in plans, but something came up. I need to talk to you in private, where there are no prying eyes. I thought we’d go to that small Italian restaurant with the busy parking lot.”
“I thought you hated Italian food. Where did you get this car?”
“It belongs to a friend of mine because the windshield wipers aren’t working very well on mine. I do hate Italian food. I didn’t say we were going to eat. I said we were going to the parking lot.”
“You have certainly had your share of problems with that foreign car. It seems like every time I see you you are driving a friend’s car. I told you to buy American.”
“I know you did, sweetie. This is just fine, and there are a million just like it on the road. No one will recognize either one of us. I know how you worry about things like that. With the way the rain is coming down, we’re better off in a car like this. And how was your day, sweetie?”
Chapter Sixteen
He had a hard-on just watching her turn the wheel. The scent of her perfume, the animal nearness of her, forced the judge to roll down the window. He smelled his own aftershave when the rain pelted his face. She had given it to him some time ago, and he always used it sparingly so it would last. Sometimes when he was sitting on the bench listening to presented evidence he’d get a wiff of himself and a particular memory would surface. Then he’d have to call a recess for ten minutes so he could close his eyes and get it off in the privacy of his chamb
ers. Plain and simple, he was addicted to Sandi Sims. He knew it, and so did she. Why else would he be sitting in a restaurant parking lot in a steamed-up car, with a hard-on that was down right painful?
The urge to move closer, to grope for her, to drag her head to his lap was so strong he gritted his teeth. Sandi Sims didn’t like spontaneous moves. She liked to be in control, choreographing, arranging, seducing. She liked playing little-girl and big-daddy games. At times it made his skin crawl, but the explosion of passion at the end of the game made the sick routine bearable. He grew light-headed when he thought about the outcome of the evening once he told her about his surprise.
He waited expectantly now that the engine and defroster were silent. She turned, a worried look on her face. “I think I might be in a little trouble, lover. Wait, hear me out. I know about your surprise. I wish you had told me sooner. I’m going to tell you everything. You’re an attorney as well as a judge, so whatever I say to you is privileged and confidential. Don’t interrupt me until I’m finished. Several hours ago I tried to kill Sara Killian. She’d be dead if she wasn’t so agile. She just flopped out of the tub a second before the blow-dryer hit the bathwater.”
The judge listened in horror, his mind racing as he recalled headlines of colleagues brought down by women like Sandi Sims. He thought about his wife Myrna and her long illness and how much he missed her. His children would never understand his relationship with someone like Sandi Sims. He could feel his stomach start to heave at what he was hearing. The cold, stinging rain was like an ice cloth to his feverish face. He made no move to roll the window up. He should be at his daughter Cissie’s house helping the children decorate the twelve-foot Christmas tree.
Sara's Song Page 27