A dark eyebrow shot up. He said slowly, “It’s not Christie, Ruth. She’s long dead. You know it, Dix knows it. But he has to go check this out, you know that too. Now, tell me what her godfather said.”
“The godfather’s name is Jules Advere. He was positive it was Christie he saw even though he admitted she showed no signs of recognizing him.”
And then Ruth repeated the story she heard from Dix, about what happened at the fancy fundraiser at the high-roller’s penthouse on Russian Hill in San Francisco.
She felt drained when she finished. Savich studied her face, saw the anxiety in her dark eyes. “San Francisco,” he said slowly. “Do you mind if I give my father-in-law a call? Ask him if he knows these people—Charlotte and Thomas Pallack?”
“No, I don’t mind. I’m sure Dix wouldn’t either.”
“Sherlock’s dad, Corman Sherlock, is a judge and a native San Franciscan, a rare breed I’m told, and he’s into everything local. Also, he’s got money, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he knows these people socially. Maybe he can solve this problem right away, without any fuss.”
She said, “I was picturing Dix walking up to this dripping-gold penthouse, ringing the doorbell, this snooty butler telling him that the lady of the house wasn’t available. He didn’t exactly have a plan except maybe climbing up the side of the house to her bedroom to get a look at her.”
Savich leaned back in his chair and crossed his hands over his belly, never taking his eyes off her face. He said slowly, “I agree with Dix. His wife was murdered. What was it, three years ago?”
“More than three years ago now. About this trip to the coast— Dix lied to the boys, asked me to keep a close eye on them this weekend. I gather Chappy will be around as well.” Ruth laughed then, ugly and raw, and then she gulped. “Dillon, what if it is
Christie?”
Savich rose and came around the desk. She stood up as well. He took her in his arms, hugged her, said against her hair, “It’s not. Now, try not to make yourself nuts with this. You can eavesdrop on all my conversations that sound interesting.”
“Dillon, call your father-in-law now. Please. If it could be clean and fast—that’d be great, it would be best for Dix, for all of us.”
“I hesitate to do this without Dix’s permission, Ruth.”
“You know he’d want you to, Dillon. Please, for all of us. This is so important, and not only to me.”
Savich gave her a long look, checked his Mickey Mouse watch. “It’s about seven o’clock on the West Coast.” He nodded her to a chair, pulled out his cell, and dialed.
“Sherlock residence.”
“Good morning, Isabel. This is Dillon Savich. How are you?”
“Agent Savich! What a pleasure to hear your voice, sir. I’m surely fine, thank you. How’s my baby?”
“She’s fine, Isabel, keeps me in line.”
“How’s my baby’s baby boy?”
“Sean’s the only one who runs right over her.”
Isabel laughed. “Good, good. I’ll bet he’s a perfect little boy. Let me get judge Sherlock.”
Sherlock’s father was on the line in an instant. “This is a nice surprise, Savich. Nothing’s wrong, I hope.”
After reassuring his father-in-law and asking after his mother-in-law, Evelyn, Savich gave him a concise rundown of the players and the very unusual problem. “I know you haven’t met Dixon Noble, but he’s a good man, Corman, had it really hard since his wife disappeared more than three years ago. He’s doing a fine job of raising his two sons. He’s a no-nonsense sheriff, sharp, dedicated, tough as a bulldog. You’d like him. So you know this Thomas Pallack and his wife Charlotte?”
“Sure. Thomas has been active in local and national politics for a good ten years now. I think he originally hails from Southern California, one of those fancy beach places, Malibu, if I remember correctly. He was in with the Hollywood set, which, I’d say, has been the ruin of many a good brain. I know he was active in L.A. politics before he got involved on the national level. As I said, he moved up here maybe ten years ago. Maybe there was a falling out, I don’t know, or maybe it was simply that he wanted to reheadquarter up here. He made all his money in refineries and oil exploration, but he’s diversified now, got his fingers in lots of things, including several software companies in Silicon Valley. He didn’t marry until about three years ago—yep, lots of rumors about that, but no, I never thought he was gay.
“I only see him socially, usually at one of his endless stream of fundraisers. Everything’s political with Thomas, and I don’t want to punch him in the nose in front of his new wife, plus he’s up there, nearly seventy, I think. Since he knows I’m not about to back any of the candidates he’s pushing, we’ve had this longstanding agreement—no political harangues and no requests for money from me, except for charities we both support.
“I haven’t met his wife, Charlotte. I did hear she was from money, back East, Boston, maybe, but don’t quote me. Just an impression. Would you like me to invite them to dinner, Savich? Maybe get to know Charlotte Pallack a bit?”
“Another question first, sir. Does Evelyn know them?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll ask her in about five minutes—at the breakfast table.”
“Thank you, and please give her my best. I’ll have MAX check Charlotte Pallack myself, see if MAX can’t find out exactly who she is and what she was doing before she married Thomas Pallack. Oh yes, please keep this confidential. Hey, maybe Dix Noble could dine with you and the Pallacks? Is that possible?”
“Excellent idea. That would put all his questions to rest immediately. I’ll call Thomas right now, see if he and Charlotte are free tonight or Saturday night. How’s that?”
“I think we’ll all owe you. Just a moment—” He asked Ruth, “When is Dix supposed to hit SFO?”
She said, “Around three o’clock this afternoon, their time.”
Savich said to Judge Sherlock, “I’ll call Dix when he arrives in San Francisco, tell him the plan.”
“Why don’t you tell him to come on over to the house? He can stay with us. That’ll make his presence at the dinner all the more natural. What do you think?”
“Thank you, Corman, great idea, and since Dix is a good friend of ours, it would be very nice for you to put him up.”
“Savich, did you hear about this attempted murder of Julia Ransom? Front page, mentions an FBI agent saving her bacon?”
“Well, yeah, some.”
“Yeah, you’re a damned clam. You running the whole show?”
Savich laughed. “Let me get Sherlock on the line. You two can chat for a minute and she can tell you about Sean’s latest computer games—Pajama Sam and Dragon Tales!’ He knew Sherlock would tell her father more about Sheriff Dixon Noble of Maestro, Virginia—she’d be excited they would meet. He cupped his hand over his cell and said to Ruth, “I’ll be right back.”
After he gave Sherlock his cell, he watched her face for a moment as she spoke to her father and heard the familiar warmth in her laugh. When he got back to his office, he said, “Ruth, you know as well as I do that when you’ve been married to someone, you’d know that person in an instant, no matter how much time has passed, no matter how much the person has changed her appearance. Dix will know tonight. This fast.” Savich snapped his fingers. “Right now, Ruth, there’s absolutely nothing more to be done. I want you to think about cheering Rob on to pitch a no-hitter against the Panthers, okay?”
She gave a shaky laugh. “Yeah, okay, you’re right, but it’s hard, Dillon, really hard.”
“I can imagine.”
“If Rob pitches a no-hitter his brother might run away from home, he’ll be so disgusted at all the swaggering.” Her shoulders were straighter, Savich saw, as she left his office. She was striding again, long, no-nonsense steps—the Ruth walk—head up, and ready to kick butt.