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the office of one Magrethe Kriszcziokaitis, a handsome woman in her forties,
to argue out what they wanted.
Ms. Kriszcziokaitis smiled politely. "Sergeant Takananda, I understand your
situation and I would like to help, but I just don't know what I can tell you.
I know nothing about this Barbara Madell."
Harry sent back an equally professional smile. "But your firm has been
paying her rent for over a year and a half. I respect your desire to maintain
the confidentiality of your clients, but I remind you that the woman is a
suspect in a murder case."
Ms. Kriszcziokaitis tented her fingers. "The woman isn't our client,
strictly speaking. We only pay her bills."
"Then you must know where she is. How does she give you her instructions?"
"She gives us none, sergeant. The instructions come from another party."
Harry straighted. "Someone else's money is paying her bills? Whose?"
The accountant leaned back in her chair. "I'm sorry. I'm not free to
divulge that information, sergeant. Unless, of course, you come back with a
court order."
Harry's expression never changed but his body language told Garreth how
hopeless Harry considered that possibility. He stood. "Perhaps we will. Thank
you." Leaving the office he muttered to Garreth, "Do you think it's the guy?"
"She's a beautiful woman. What do you think?" But this time Garreth knew he
lied. There could be only one person paying, the person who had so much money
to spend. A woman with hypnotic powers can learn a great many investment tips
from the business giants she beds, Lane had told him. "Damn." He felt his
pockets. "I think I dropped my notebook in there. Go on and I'll catch up with
you at the elevator."
He stepped back into Kriszcziokaitis's office. As she looked up with a
frown, he pulled off his glasses and caught her gaze. "A moment more of your
time, please. Tell me, is a Madelaine Bieber paying Madell's bills?"
The accountant's pupils pulsated with an inner struggle. It lasted only a
moment, however, before she surrendered. "Yes. She's a very old and respected
client."
"How old?"
"She's been with us since 1941."
That sounded about right. "And in that time she's paid the bills for a
number of young women, hasn't she?"
"Yes."
All of them Lane herself with different aliases. What a convenient solution
to the problem of finances through numerous identity changes.
"Please write down the name of her bank for me." The money belonged to her
family; they should be able to find it.
The accountant scribbled on a memo pad and ripped off the sheet.
Folding the sheet and putting it away in the inside pocket of his sport
coat, Garreth smiled at her. "Now please forget that I came back and we had
this conversation."
He slipped out of the office.
Outside the reception area Harry held the elevator, calmly ignoring the
glares of the passengers. "Hard time finding the notebook? Strange. I don't
remember you having one in there at all."
The doors closed and the car started down.
Garreth grinned while conscience stabbed him over the lies and half lies to
come. I'm sorry, Taka-san; you deserve better. "What sharp eyes you have,
grandpa. No, it was just an excuse to spend more time in there and hint that
we know who Lane's patron is. She didn't turn a hair, though. She's one cool
lady."
Harry glanced sideways at him. "Why didn't you ask her before we left?"
Garreth gave him a thin smile. "You don't want to know I'm doing anything
except riding along." And I don't want you hearing Lane Barber and Mada
Bieber's names together. You'd go hunting the connection between them.
5
Watching Lane's apartment had to be the most uncomfortable stakeout of his
career, Garreth reflected. Between the boredom of inactivity and weariness
from the sleep he had missed since leaving Baumen, daylight dragged so heavily
he felt as though he moved through molasses. Despite his glasses and the shade
of Harry's car, his head also throbbed from the sunlight. Oh to have come in
summer, when heat in the central valley would be pulling sea air in through
the Golden Gate and blanketing the city in thick, beautiful fog. That might
make the day bearable, and the jumble of police calls coming over Harry's
scanner interesting instead of irritating.
What are you doing here anyway, Mikaelian? The object of agreeing to this
was to fail, so the police would not learn the name of Lane's friend. He would
do that best by being somewhere he could not possibly see the man arrive, such
as at Harry's house. With Lien gone, either working at her studio or teaching
her grade school art classes, whichever she did on Mondays, the house would be
empty. He could be sleeping. He ought to be. So why was he suffering this
daylight vigil in Harry's car up the hill from the blue house?
A rich laugh echoed in his head. Because l want you here, lover.
Staring down at the house, he knew it was true. Lane had meant him to find
it, and her trap still retained its power.
Garreth fought the house's pull by lying back in the seat, closing his
eyes, and forcing himself to listen to the scanner. For a while it worked. The
radio traffic brought a flood of memories, of patrolling in uniform, of
becoming an inspector and working for Robbery, then Homicide. The radio and
car sounded and felt so familiar he could almost believe he had never left.
An: "Inspectors 55," Harry's and his old number, even brought him [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
