by Teri White
Lars turned his attention back to Tran. “See? Now tell us what we want to know.”
Tran shook his head, apparently giving up. “The diamonds are arriving Wednesday night.”
“Where?”
He took a slip of paper from his pocket and slid it across the table toward them. “Everything I could find out is written down here.” He didn’t let go of the paper yet. “When do I get my ten grand?”
Lars gently forced the paper from beneath the other man’s fingers. “When I have the stones. We’ll be in touch then. Earlier if we need you. Take off.”
Tran hesitated, then left the diner in a hurry.
Lars watched the door swing closed after him. “I don’t trust that little prick,” he muttered.
“Hell, he’s just hustling for his cut. Like the rest of us.”
“Well, he better play it straight with me.”
Toby smiled. “Who the hell would dare cross you?”
“Nobody more than once.” Lars threw a couple coins down onto the table. “Come on, let’s get out of this joint. There’s a lot to do between now and Wednesday.”
He was still excited and feeling good. Things were rolling, damnit, and this time they were rolling his way.
37
“This really bothers me,” Blue said as they checked the row of mailboxes.
“Why?” Spaceman pointed at a box with the neatly typed name Conway above it.
“Conway is an artist with the damned camera. I mean, you saw those pictures. Why the devil would he be mixed up in whatever the hell is going on here?”
“We don’t know that he is mixed up in anything,” Spaceman said reasonably.
Blue wasn’t in the mood for reason. “I’ve got a bad feeling about it,” he muttered.
Hell, you gave a guy credit for a little instinct and he immediately went all weird on you. Feelings and vibes. Wonderful. Spaceman shook his head and then knocked on the apartment door.
It was opened almost immediately. The man standing there looked at Spaceman in obvious bewilderment. “Yes?”
“You Devlin Conway?”
“I am. What’s going on?”
“I’m Detective Kowalski. L.A.P.D. This is my partner, Detective Maguire.”
“We met last night,” Blue said.
“Oh, yes, I remember.” He didn’t look real thrilled with the memory; that could mean he was up to something or maybe he just wasn’t that crazy about Blue.
“Can we come in?” Blue said. “There are a few questions we’d like to ask.” He kept his tone casual.
Conway still hesitated. “What kind of questions? About what?”
Spaceman got impatient. “Conway, do you really want us to talk to you out here in front of the neighbors?”
He shook his head and stepped aside so that they could come in. As he followed them into the living room, Conway took a deep breath, looking like a man trying to tow himself in, getting control over his emotions. He swept a blanket from the couch and began to fold it. “Okay, Detective Maguire, what can I do for you?”
“The photograph I saw last night. The soldier?”
Conway finished with the blanket and set it aside. His perplexedness at the question might have been genuine. Or it might have a good act. “Excuse me for seeming dense, but those were war pictures, after all. There were a lot of soldiers.”
“This one was special to me. I asked you if you knew who he was.”
Light dawned in the dark blue eyes. “That one. Well, as I told you then, I have no idea who the boy was. Just a soldier. There were so many.”
“That’s what you said at the time, yes. But I thought that maybe you answered too quickly. Perhaps if you gave it more thought?”
But Conway shrugged. “Frankly, Detective, I think that the whole question is absurd. What reasonable person would expect me to know such a thing?”
Spaceman saw the overflowing ashtray and so he felt safe in lighting a cigarette of his own. “Okay. Put that aside for the moment. Does the name Wolf mean anything to you?”
Conway didn’t move or even change expression at all, but Spaceman saw immediately why Blue had doubted his words. It was in the eyes; less cynical than the rest of his face, they were definitely hiding something. “Wolf? No. Is that his name?”
“We think so. A nickname, probably.”
There was an old denim jacket tossed across the back of the couch. Conway picked it up, started to fold it, then tossed it down again. “Well, I’d like to help, of course, but I don’t know either the boy in the picture or anyone named Wolf.”
Spaceman nodded. He looked around the room, a little surprised to see that beyond one standard furnished apartment painting, the walls were bare. Apparently Conway didn’t hang his own pictures. “This is a triple homicide we’re working on here,” he said almost indifferently. “That may be why we seem to be pressing you so hard.”
“A what?” Conway said.
“This Wolf, who we think is the guy in the picture, is a suspect in three recent killings.”
“Who?” It came out a little shaky and Conway tried again. “Who is he supposed to have killed?”
“A small-time hood named Vacarro. A Vietnamese refugee named Hua. And Marybeth Wexler, the woman he was shacking up with.”
Conway seemed a little paler now. His fingers twisted in the denim jacket again. But he didn’t say anything.
Spaceman sensed the sudden vulnerability and moved in to capitalize on it. “You see now why we’re so anxious to nab this bastard? To get him before he gets somebody else.”
He realized his strategic mistake as soon as the words were out of his mouth and from the look on Blue’s face, he knew his partner did, too.
Conway’s mouth tightened. “I don’t know who the soldier in the photograph is,” he said in a hard, flat voice. “I don’t know anyone named Wolf. So?”
They would get no more out of him.
Spaceman went through the motions anyway, asking a few more inconsequential questions and receiving monosyllables in reply. Conway was on the defensive now. The news of the murders had shaken him, but there was something even more powerful controlling him.
It was a waste of time.
Outside, Spaceman swung his foot at the curb and connected. “Damn,” he said, out of both pain and frustration.
“You really are going to break a toe one of these days.” Blue said mildly.
“Yeah, I know,” Spaceman replied, limping toward the car. “But I blew that like a goddamned rookie.”
“Yes, you did,” Blue agreed with maybe too much alacrity. “But it’s done now, so we might as well push on.”
“Sure, sure. Like that guy pushing the rock up the mountain with his nose or something.”
“You mean Sisyphus?”
“What? Yeah, whoever. That’s us.”
Blue got behind the wheel. “I think maybe we better get down to business with the damned Pentagon. Otherwise, they’ll keep jerking us around.”
Spaceman groaned. “Jesus, I hate dealing with those assholes.”
Blue only nodded with a minimum of sympathy and headed for the office.
38
They met in a small Italian café several blocks from the gallery. Devlin finished his morning-after talk with Addison early and reached the meeting place before Lars. He was halfway through a second glass of wine by the time the fair-haired man arrived.
Lars sat down across from him and grinned. “Okay. Here I am, just as ordered, sir. Why did you leave the message on Tobias’ machine that I shouldn’t come home?”
Devlin was taken back a little by the word: home. Then he leaned forward and spoke softly. “The cops were there. Asking about the picture again.”
Lars poured some of the wine into his glass. “That goddamned picture. Why the hell did you hang it anyway?”
Devlin didn’t like the tone of his words. He paused before saying anything, so his anger wouldn’t show. “Because it’s bloody good. I like it. And maybe bec
ause it’s you and you’re my goddamned friend.” He hadn’t done a very good job of masking his feelings.
Lars pulled back a little. “Hey,” he said, startled. “Don’t get mad. I’m sorry. It’s your fucking picture. That doesn’t matter.”
Devlin took a deep breath. “They also asked about Wolf,” he said after a moment.
Lars massaged the side of his nose thoughtfully; the effects of the beating were almost gone now. “Well, they might have gained a few steps on us, but time is running out.” His smile returned faintly. “You were smart to keep me away, just in case they’re watching the place. We’ll have to make some other plans.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know yet. I’m working on it. But let’s eat first, okay?” He opened the menu and surveyed the price list. “You buying?”
Devlin couldn’t help smiling a little now, too. “Yes, of course.”
The restaurant was quiet, but he didn’t want to talk there about the things that had to be talked about. After lunch was soon enough.
Lars was curious about his suggestion that they drive out to the beach after the meal, but he agreed. Probably he didn’t want to risk an argument.
When they were parked in a secluded place overlooking the ocean, Devlin lit a couple of cigarettes, handing one to Lars. They each took a drag.
“Okay, Dev, what’s up?”
Devlin leaned both arms against the steering wheel and looked out to where a solitary swimmer was trying to catch a few waves. “The cops told me that Wolf was wanted for three murders. Vacarro I know about. But what about Hua? And some broad. Did you kill them, too?”
Lars was sitting slouched in the seat, staring at the dashboard. His fingers tapped out a restless melody on one knee. “Dev,” he said after a long moment, “do you trust me?”
The swimmer disappeared from view. “Yes, of course.”
“Then believe me when I say that I haven’t done anything that wasn’t absolutely necessary.”
Devlin wanted to let it go. But he couldn’t, not yet. He waited until the swimmer could be seen again, dog-paddling toward shore. “But the woman, Lars? What about that?” Now he turned and looked directly at Lars.
He rubbed his forehead as if it hurt. “Dev, please. Don’t press me on this. Sometimes I kill. You’ve always known that about me, right? I never lied to you about what I am. You watched me kill a lot over there.”
“But that was war. It was different.”
Lars shook his head, as if he were amused. “Lover, life is a fucking war. Don’t you know that yet? Face it.”
They were both quiet for a long time. Long enough for the swimmer to leave the water, dry himself, don a pair of jeans and disappear.
“Dev, you understand, don’t you?” Lars said finally.
“I’m trying to.”
“Shit, if you bail out on me now—”
Devlin shook his head sharply. “There’s no question of that, you ass. That’s not what I’m saying at all.”
“Shit, you had me scared for a minute.” Lars grinned, but it was a slightly nervous, unsure kind of smile.
Devlin started the car. “I’m not bailing out,” he said.
“Okay. Okay.” Lars straightened in the seat. “Find us a phone. I better call Tobias. The three of us need to drop way out of sight until this is over.”
Devlin deliberately set aside his doubts; there wasn’t any choice, really. “Whatever you say,” he muttered. “You’re the boss.”
It was very late that night before anything at all came back from Washington. Blue, who was hanging around the communications room, ripped off the teletype sheet and took it back to the squad room.
He woke Spaceman with a kick. “Bingo,” he said, dropping the sheet on the desk in front of him.
Spaceman scooted upright, belched, rubbed his face with one hand. “Christ, man, have a little pity. My eyes aren’t working any more. What the fuck does it say?”
“Well, would you like a name, just for starters?”
“Wolf?”
“Wolf, yes. He is actually one Lars Morgan, former lieutenant in the Special Forces. He was in Nam at the same time Devlin Conway worked for the UPI there.”
“Nice.”
Blue was looking inordinately pleased with himself. “It gets nicer. I threw another name in, just for the hell of it. And I’ll be damned if it didn’t turn up. You want to know who else was there, same time, same place?”
“General Westmoreland?” Spaceman hazarded with a somewhat glazed expression.
“Nope. Toby Reardon,” Blue said smugly.
Spaceman looked up, startled. “No shit.”
“No shit. The memo promises more to follow.”
“Well, I’ll be damned. Things are getting very interesting. Too bad we still don’t know what the hell is going on.”
That took a little of the wind out of Maguire’s sails. “Yeah, well,” he said.
Spaceman stood and stretched. “Tomorrow promises to be a busy day,” he said pointedly.
Blue opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again. “How about some dinner?” he said instead. “I could do a couple steaks.”
“No business talk?”
He nodded.
Spaceman looked skeptical, but hungry, so he nodded.
39
They had been in the motel room for two days now.
Devlin spent most of his time fiddling with a camera, taking pictures of the room, the other two men, or sometimes it seemed, of nothing at all. Maybe he just liked the way life looked through the lens.
Lars watched television. At least, he kept the set on and he stared at the images. His mind seemed to be elsewhere most of the time.
As for Toby, he was just quietly going crazy. He either paced the room or took an occasional walk across the parking lot and back. A couple times a day they crossed the street to the coffee shop.
Toby thought hell must be something like this.
“Shit,” he said finally. “This is really stupid, you know?”
“Hmm?” Lars said, not looking at him.
“I said that hanging around this place is stupid. Dumb. Boring.”
“Loosen up, buddy, it’s almost over.”
“No, it isn’t,” Toby said glumly. “It will never be over. We’re condemned for eternity to this room.”
Devlin lifted the camera and pointed it at Toby, snapping still another shot. “If we ever do get out of here,” he said, “I’ll have enough material for a whole new show. What should I call it?”
“How about ‘Three Lunatics in a Cheap Motel’?” Toby muttered.
Lars just laughed softly. “Boy, you would never make it in my line of work anymore. Not with nerves like yours.”
Toby turned from the window, where he’d been watching a family of six cram unhappily back into their car. Vacation with the kids and the mother-in-law. Maybe being stuck in here with these two wasn’t the worse thing that could happen. “That’s an interesting point, Lars. Just what is your so-called line of work anyway?”
Lars glanced at him. “Me? You know damned well what I do. I’m a soldier.”
“Right. We’ve heard all about your years spent tramping through the deadly jungles of the world.”
“So?” Lars shifted a little in the chair.
Devlin, seeming to ignore the conversation, dropped onto one knee for a different angle of Lars.
“So I just get the feeling that maybe some of your so-called soldiering might have been done a little closer to home.”
“Such as?” Lars seemed almost amused by the talk; maybe he was just glad to have the boredom broken.
“Meaning that you seem to know your way around this world we’re in pretty good.”
Lars leaned forward and punched the television off. He got up and walked over to where Toby was standing. “Hey, lover boy, you know everybody makes his way the best he knows how to. Dev has his camera. You make your living with your cock and I use a goddamned gun
. Maybe my way is not as good as Dev’s. Or even yours. But what the hell difference does it make at this particular point in time?”
Toby shrugged. “None, I guess.”
Lars grinned and gave him a one-armed hug. “Right, Tobias.”
Devlin got the shot.
“We could get into trouble for this,” Blue whispered for the fifth time in the last twenty minutes.
“Yes, Mother, I know that,” Spaceman muttered through gritted teeth. “But do you have any better ideas?”
“No.”
“So stand the fuck still will you, please?”
Spaceman was crouched down, shielded by Blue’s body as he worked on the lock. Finally something snapped and the door opened. They stepped into the cabin of Toby Reardon’s boat.
There wasn’t much to see, beyond the artifacts of a middle-class consumer’s life. Bed, table, a couple of chairs. Television, stereo, video recorder. A shelf that held books, records, tapes. A closet crammed with clothes.
Blue looked around and sighed. “Big deal. It was sure worth all the effort getting in here, right?”
Spaceman just grunted. He sat by the phone and hit the button of the answering machine. First they heard Reardon’s voice. “Sorry, but I’m out of town until further notice. All appointments have been canceled.” Spaceman snorted. “Think about all those disappointed broads.” He hit another button to see if there were any incoming messages. A couple of women had called, but nobody left a name. Then he straightened as Conway’s voice emerged. “Toby, if Lars is still with you—tell him not to come back here. Meet me at Luigi’s for lunch.” That was all.
Blue was leaning against the counter. “So they met and then they vanished, all three of them.”
“Yeah.” Spaceman glanced at him. “So much for your artist friend.”
“I guess.” Blue shook his head. “Are we done here?”
“Apparently.” Spaceman rifled through some papers on the table next to the phone, but found nothing that seemed to bear on the case. “You know,” he said almost absently, “if something doesn’t happen pretty soon on this thing, McGannon is going to shove it away.”
Blue, halfway out the door, stopped. “You mean that?”