“That’s right. Tell me, how did this sheriff know about Charlotte?”
“Do you remember a fundraiser you gave two, three weeks ago, Mr. Pallack?” Savich said. “One of your guests met your wife, and collapsed.”
“Why yes, Jules Advere. I felt very badly for him. But we dealt with it. I haven’t spoken to him but I understand he’s fine now. So what?”
“Yes, he’s feeling better. Do you remember leaning over him. Mr. Pallack, speaking to him?” Sherlock paused a moment, then said quickly, deliberately, “You said to him, your exact words, I believe—’My wife’s name is Charlotte. Do you understand? Don’t forget it.’ Now wasn’t that a strange thing to say, Mr. Pallack? It sounds remarkably like a threat to me. Could you please tell us why that made you so angry? Why you reacted that way to a guest who’d collapsed at your feet?”
Pallack erupted, roared to his feet, and slammed his fist on his desktop. “Dammit, you’re way out of line here. I have no recollection of anything like that occurring, none at all. Who the hell do you think you are to—” He stared hard at Sherlock. “I see now, it’s your father talking here. He told you about this and put his own unique spin on it, but—”
Sherlock said, “Our connection is to Chappy Holcombe. Jules Advere and Chappy go back a long way, as you must know. He called Chappy from the hospital, and since Sheriff Noble is Christie Holcombe’s husband, he flew to San Francisco to check it out. It so happens that Sheriff Noble is a friend of ours, and we hooked him up with my parents. None of this comes from my father.”
Savich said, “What Sheriff Noble found very odd was that when he told you he was from Maestro, you didn’t mention that your brother-in-law attended Stanislaus. Your wife didn’t say a word about it either. Help us make sense of this, Mr. Pallack.”
Thomas Pallack was flushed now, his eyes hot and dangerous. A man this angry, Sherlock thought, could shove a stiletto into your heart. He said, “I wondered how Corman and Evelyn could possibly know a hick sheriff from some bumfuck place in the South—so the dinner invitation was for the benefit of the sheriff, was it?”
“I couldn’t say,” Sherlock said. “But why didn’t you or Charlotte say anything, Mr. Pallack? It seems to me it would have been perfectly natural for your wife to jump right in when Sheriff Noble said he was from Maestro—goodness, her brother attended Stanislaus, seems she’d have remarked on what a small world it is, what a coincidence, and immediately engaged him in lively discussion.”
“Evidently my wife didn’t care to, if indeed he did say where he was from. Listen, the fact is, this Sheriff Noble was no one important, and he meant nothing to me or to my wife. He was simply a body at the dinner table to whom one was civil, nothing more.”
Pallack didn’t know his wife had met with Dix twice now since the dinner? Of course he might simply be pretending not to know. She said, “Mr. Pallack, after Jules Advere collapsed at your house, you had to know he would call Chappy. He was Christie’s godfather, after all. You had to know there would be follow-up.”
“I tell you I didn’t even know who this Christie was!”
Sherlock sat forward, pinned him, her voice very quiet. “Were you frightened, Mr. Pallack? Were you cursing the vagaries of fate? You knew something would happen, realized someone would come. Did you watch your phone, waiting for it to ring?”
“I am frightened of nothing, Agent Sherlock, I have no reason to be. Now, I’ve been patient. I’ve cooperated, answered all your questions. I have nothing more to say. If you wish to continue with this insane inquiry, you will speak to my lawyer. I want all of you out of here now.”
“Good day, Mr. Pallack,” Cheney said as he ushered Julia out of the office after the others. He said to Mrs. Potts, who hovered protectively outside the big man’s corner office, “We never got to see the fog burn off.”
Her hands were on her hips and there was fire in her eyes. “No, you didn’t,” she said, “and I doubt you’ll ever be here again to witness it.”
CHAPTER 41
Savich was about to turn the ignition in his father-in-law’s big black BMW when Sherlock’s cell phone burst into “The Sound of Music.”
“Sherlock here. What? You’ve got to be kidding me!” Savich turned to face her. Both Cheney and Julia sat forward in the backseat, all eyes on Sherlock.
When she punched off her cell a few minutes later, she said, “Well, that was Ruth. She said the local news just reported the car chase and shooting through the park and on the beach, and that a psychic had warned Cheney and Julia that she’d seen it all in a vision, and this same psychic was helping the police now.”
“But she didn’t, she’s not,” Cheney said. “I mean it wasn’t exactly like that.”
“Get a grip, Cheney,” Julia said, “we’re talking the media here.” Cheney said, “Please don’t tell me the media identified the psychic.”
Sherlock said, “Unfortunately they did. They showed Kathryn Golden’s picture.”
“But how did they know? We didn’t tell a soul!”
Cheney said, “You didn’t, Julia, but I told Frank Paulette all about her, about how her call early this morning had gotten us moving out of my condo. There were lots of cops around in that parking lot at the beach who, I suppose, could have overheard. Or it was a reporter who pried it out of one of the cops who thought it was all a big joke, who knows?”
Sherlock said, “Ruth said the reporter mentioned a source at the SFPD.”
Julia pounded Cheney’s arm. “Oh no, Cheney, he’ll go after Kathryn, you know he will.”
Cheney quickly dialed Kathryn Golden’s phone. One, two rings, then, “Hello?”
“Ms. Golden? This is Agent Stone. Listen to me now. The media gave out your name on the news. I want you to leave your house right now, do you understand? Pick up your car keys and go get in your car. Drive to the police station, all right? Do you understand me?”
“Yes, yes, I understand.”
“Go, now! Leave your phone on. I want to be able to hear you.”
He heard her breathing, heard her footsteps as she ran through her house, heard her say, “Where are those damned car keys?”
He heard her breathing hitch, then the blessed rattle of a key ring, her feet pounding loud. She said, “I’m nearly out, leaving now. Oh God!”
He heard the front door bang open, heard her scream. There was the sound of scuffling, and a thud, then there was nothing at all, only the silence of the open line.
“Oh God, he’s got her. But how could Makepeace have gotten to Livermore so fast?”
Savich said, “He was hiding nearby, that’s how. But why would he choose Livermore as his base?”
“I don’t know why, but he got her, just that fast,” said Cheney, snapping his fingers.
Sherlock said. “Julia, call the Livermore Police Department, tell them to get over to Kathryn’s house. I’m calling Dix and Ruth, she said they both wanted in on this.”
While Savich gunned Judge Sherlock’s BMW, he imagined Dix driving his father-in-law’s old black Chevy Blazer like a madman, Ruth giving him directions as best she could. Cheney called Captain Paulette.
“First David Caldicott disappeared, and now Kathryn’s taken,” Sherlock said. “I surely do hate this.”
Cheney said into his cell, “It isn’t good, Frank. I called her, told her to get out, told her to leave the phone line open. I heard him take her.”
“Yeah, Cheney, the wife told me how the damned media bleated it all out. I’ve got some calls to make, then I’m on my way out there. Damnation, I’m going to kick some major butt about the leak. Let’s hope you’re wrong, but of course you’re not.”
Since Savich didn’t have a siren and he didn’t want to get stopped by the Oakland cops, he kept the Beemer right at the speed limit.