Fidelity (33 page)

“You didn’t see anything in his hand?”

“No.”

“He had his arm around her. Could you see both his hands?”

“Well, no.”

“And the sunglasses. Did you see her take them out of her purse?”

She thought for a moment. “It’s funny, but I don’t remember her purse. I think she must have had one.” She seemed puzzled, almost unsure of herself. “I’m sorry.”

“No. You’re doing great. You’re resisting having your mind add things that should have been there, but weren’t. Now, the one thing that would really help a lot is anything you can remember about his car.”

“It wasn’t a car, it was an SUV.”

“What color?”

“It’s indescribable, really. One of those new colors that sometimes looks kind of beige, and sometimes kind of gray.”

“So you’d call it sort of a beige-gray. Could you tell what make or model it was?”

“Just an SUV. They all look pretty much the same to me. I’m sorry. I never did follow that kind of thing. It was too far away to read the words on it, and I had no reason to try.”

“Was there anything else you saw around that time?”

“Well, yes. Your next-door neighbor, the man with the bald head. He came home just about that time. He drove up and stopped next to that SUV, I think because it was parked right in front of his house. He seemed to be taking a good long look at it, as though he wondered if it belonged to a burglar or something. Then he pulled into his driveway. He went inside for a while, came out, and drove away.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Kelly. You’ve been an enormous help. I’ve got to go follow up on this. Thanks again.” He turned and ran toward his house.

The man who lived in the house beside his was Ron Salvatore. He worked as a shop teacher in the high school. A couple of years ago, he and Ray had exchanged house keys and cell-phone numbers in case there was an emergency. Ray dashed into his house, flung open the door, then searched through the drawers of the sideboard by the dining-room wall until he found the number. He dialed, and in a moment he heard Ron’s voice. “Hello?”

“Ron?”

“Yes.”

“This is Ray Hall. I’ve got an emergency. Early this afternoon, you drove home. You saw an SUV parked in front of your house. Sort of beige-gray. You stopped to look at it. Can you possibly tell me anything about it?”

“Did my house get broken into or something? Or yours?”

“No. Did this happen?”

“Well, yeah. You want to know about the car?”

“Yes.”

“It was a Lexus GX 470. It was brand new. I was looking at it because I’m in the market for an SUV, and I’ve just about decided on the model, but I was trying to decide about the color. That color is called `silver sand.’ I’ve got a brochure from the dealer.”

“Great! Ron, do you mind if the police call you on this line? Can I give them your cell number?”

“I guess so.”

“Thanks. I’ll explain later.”

Minutes later, Ray Hall was with Ed Gruenthal, the detective who had been in charge of Phil Kramer’s murder case, and Emily’s breakin. “I’ve got something. The car he used this time was a new Lexus GX 470 SUV, and the color is called silver sand.”

“Who saw it?”

“The woman’s name is Ruth Kelly. She lives one street over, but she sits in an upper rear window in the afternoons. The light is good at that time of day, and the window overlooks her garden. It also gives a great view of my street and the front of my house.” He handed Gruenthal a sheet from his pocket notebook. “Here’s her name and address. She couldn’t tell what it was, but she noticed that my next-door neighbor stopped by right around then, and he saw it up close. I called him, and he knew all about it. That other name on the paper, Ron Salvatore, is my neighbor, and that number is his cell phone. He knows you’ll want to talk to him.”

Gruenthal glanced at the paper with little apparent interest. “I’ll get somebody to see if this leads anywhere.”

Ray Hall held his anger in and took a moment to disguise it. He reminded himself that this kind of anger was really something else. In this case, it was worry and fear for Emily. “I think the SUV may be a rental. He seems to be driving something different every time he turns up. If he was just going to drive by and shoot her, it might be stolen, but he’d never drive her around in a stolen car.”

“You might be right.”

Ray said carefully, “Mrs. Kelly didn’t just see the car. She saw the guy putting Emily into it and driving it away. Ron Salvatore looked at the car practically with a microscope because he’s shopping for one like it. It’s not like there are eighty-five ways to go on this. Emily has been kidnapped, and there is exactly one lead to follow. One. Please. I’ll do as much as I can to help, but I don’t have any authority.”

“Look, Ray. You got me cornered less than a minute ago. I haven’t had a chance to get anybody to do anything, but I plan to. So don’t climb on me just yet. Give me a chance to mess things up first.”

“Sorry. I’ll start trying to find rental agencies with Lexus SUVs.”

“Good.” Gruenthal handed Hall his card. “Use the cell-phone number if you get anything. If you get a hint of anything.”

“I will.”

Hall stepped toward his house to start looking through telephone books. The two cops who had been going from house to house approached. He said, “Did you find something?”

“Not yet,” said the older one. “Do you have any pictures of her we might be able to use?”

Hall thought for a moment. “Yeah. I got one somebody took about two years ago, but she hasn’t changed.” He hurried inside, went to the big sideboard, and pulled open a drawer. He was a bit surprised to see it lying on top of the keys and coins and pens that he kept there. Sometimes things migrated to the surface, but more often they seemed to sink in the general disorder.

The picture was a shot that Billy Przwalski’s girlfriend had taken at the party when Sam had retired. Emily was wearing the red dress, and looking at Ray Hall. She had halfturned when she had sensed the girl nearby, seen the camera, and almost smiled. He handed it to the police officer. “I’d like-” he stopped himself. He didn’t need to have the picture back. “It’s exactly the way she looks now. There may be other pictures, but they won’t be any better.”

The cop looked, and Hall could see he was thinking about how pretty Emily was. He said, “Is it possible this is an admirer or somebody she knows?”

“It can only be the guy who broke into her house before, the one who shot at a couple of men from our agency. She doesn’t know him.”

“Right. I’ll try to get this back to you when they’ve copied it and got it into the system.”

“Okay,” said Hall. Before the two were out of his house he was dialing the first of the car-rental agencies. “Hello,” he said. “I’m calling because I’d like to know which make and model SUVs you offer for rent.”

He went down the page, writing the models on a list. Whenever there was a delay while a clerk went to his computer to see the selection of cars or had to handle a customer, Ray thought about Emily. She must be wondering right now whether anyone even knew she was missing, or if anyone had turned up a lead to follow. She would be afraid. Maybe she was in pain. Maybe she was already dead.

Hall kept talking and dialing, moving down the column in the telephone book. He kept the desperation out of his voice because he knew it had a bad effect on the person at the other end of a telephone call. Most of the time a desperate person was crazy or in some position of neediness. People felt uncomfortable and wanted to cut off contact as quickly as possible. He needed to have them spend extra time getting him the information he needed, so he was affable, friendly, calm. He made them like him. Behind the untroubled manner, his mind was in turmoil, trying to think of another path to Emily.

And then he dialed the right number. The voice on the other end was a young woman. “Everyday Car Rentals.”

Hall asked her if Everyday rented any Lexus GX 470 SUVs.

“Yes,” she said. “We have some Lexus SUVs. They’re only about twelve dollars a day over the price of a full-size sedan.”

“Can you tell me the colors available, please?”

“Colors?”

“Yes, if you don’t mind.”

“Well, okay. They come in black, brown, green, white. Another white. And beige.”

“You have beige. Is it that kind of silvery-beige color? I think they call it `silver sand’?”

“Well, yes. That’s the color. I don’t say it because nobody knows what I mean.”

“But you have one?”

“Yes. We have one on the lot, but it’s taken at the moment. I can’t be sure when it will be back in, but if you wanted to rent another car, I could call you when it comes in, and you could trade.”

“Could you tell me who rented that one?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but we can’t give out information on customers. But would you like one of the other colors?” Her voice was cooler: He had gone too far.

“You know, I’m only interested in that color. Are there any other agencies that have the same model and color?”

“I can’t be positive about the color. I did hear that Everyday is the only company that rents the same model. I would guess that Everyday probably got a deal by buying a fleet of them. Sometimes what happens is some company makes a special order and then cancels it, or the model doesn’t sell, or something. These cars are perfectly good, though. I’ve driven one. There’s another Everyday agency near the Marina, and one in Fountain Valley. You could ask them if they have the right color.”

“If that one comes in, can you call me right away and hold it for me?”

“Sure. Let me have your name and number.”

“I promise there will be a huge tip in it for you.” He gave her the information, and then asked for her name.

“Carrie.” The tone of her voice reminded him of a person who had taken a bet that she didn’t expect to win.

Ray Hall dialed the cell-phone number on Detective Gruenthal’s card. He said, “I think I’ve found where this guy rented his car. It’s the Everyday Car Rental on Hollywood Way in Burbank. They claim they’re the only company that has a Lexus GX 470 for rent, and their other shops are in Fountain Valley and Marina del Rey.”

“Great, Ray!” Gruenthal said. “That’s great news.”

“They have only one that’s silver-sand color, and it’s rented out right now.”

“Even better. I’ll need a warrant to find out who the renter is, but I’ll get it as fast as I can. Sit tight, and I’ll call you as soon as I have it.”

“It will be a stolen credit card or a fake name. Concentrate on getting permission to have the auto-theft guys trip the Lojack to find where the car is now. Please, this guy could be killing her.”

Hobart had finished digging the grave. It was well over six feet deep, so the barrow of dirt on each side above his head was at least a yard high when he had hit rock. He liked working in the dark. He liked the feel of the night outside the city, the sounds and the smells. Hobart had done this kind of digging a few times before, and he had strong opinions about it. A deep grave was still the best way to hide a body because the police were never so overfunded or underworked that they could afford to dig to bedrock over a large area.

He would normally have used the shovel to dig a narrow incline to walk his way up out of the grave, but this time he didn’t want to do that. It would ruin the squared-off, gravelike appearance. He stuck the shovel in the mound to his left, then placed both hands on the flat ground just beyond the edge, jumped, and pulled himself up at the head of the grave.

Hobart had spent a lot of time on Emily Kramer. He had stalked her, considered her in moments of absolute terror that would have reduced some women to hysteria or unconsciousness, but she seemed to maintain a shaky alertness. He respected people who clung to life that way, but he needed to finish this whole Emily Kramer business tonight. He was probably going to have to kill her and drive up to meet Theodore Forrest and collect his two hundred thousand.

Hobart left the shovel and walked through the field toward the house, feeling a kind of pride in his own workmanship. There was not a sliver of light coming from any window, although he had left the bathroom light on. There was a skill to being an outlaw. The only people who knew and respected it were the people who had it and the people who made a living chasing them down, but a man who did things right lasted a little longer.

He walked along, and suddenly felt the vibration of his cell phone against his thigh. He reached into his pocket, pulled it out and opened it. “Yes?”

The voice he heard was one he had not expected exactly, but dreaded. “Hi. Can you talk for a second?” Theodore Forrest.

Hobart said quietly, “I can, but I’d rather not.”

“I mean are you alone?”

“For now.”

“I’ve been afraid you had gotten into a mess of some kind. I had expected to hear from you.”

“I told you about a day ago that I would call you after it’s taken care of. I think I told you that I didn’t want you calling me.”

“I know, I know. But there were special circumstances. It was before I burned down the house and the office. And now I think I’m going to need you for something else.”

Hobart’s mind seemed to darken, and then flash wildly from one step to the next, changing each of the topics that had occupied him for the past few days. “You set those fires?”

“Yes, I did. Kramer had some things that I couldn’t leave lying around much longer. They had to be in his house or the office.”

“I told you I would handle everything here.”

“It was a totally separate issue. You’re handling Emily Kramer for me. I had to prepare for what happens next. After she’s dead, the police would have searched her house and her husband’s office completely. I couldn’t have my name connected with the Kramers or the agency. So I took care of it.”

Hobart could hear the pride in Forrest’s voice. Forrest was enjoying telling him in this casual tone that he had taken care of his problem himself. Hobart stopped walking and stood in the dark field a hundred yards from the house. He turned to look at the road in the distance. He could see it, but only because a car came along, the bright cone in front of its headlights illuminating a stretch at a time. He said, “I’m surprised you would do something like that yourself. I hope you managed to accomplish it without getting noticed.”