He turned right on Van Nuys Boulevard to avoid waiting at a red light, then left onto Riverside. At this time of night, he could go fortyfive along unobstructed streets and not look as though he was running from something. In ten minutes he reached Lankershim, and that took him to the entrance of the complex at Universal City. In three more minutes, he was driving up to his hotel on the hill overlooking Universal Studios and the eastern end of the San Fernando Valley.
He gave his car to the parking attendant and watched him drive it away to store it with the hundreds of others in the parking structure. As Hobart walked toward the hotel lobby, he stopped and looked to the northwest, toward Emily Kramer’s house. Far off, he could see a couple of helicopters in the air, weaving back and forth over the flat grid of unidentifiable streets. Now and then one of them would circle, and the strong beam of a floodlight would emanate from its belly and illuminate something below for a few seconds, and then move on.
21
F or an instant, Emily was in her own bed in her house, with Phil beside her. The warm, comfortable sensation collapsed, and she remembered: Phil was dead. He had been doing something that had brought her into the world of that horrible man in the ski mask. Her eyes opened and she saw that there was a man standing above her in the dark. She jumped and pulled back, pressing herself into the wall.
“Emily,” said the man. She knew it was familiar, then remembered what she was doing here. “It’s me-Ray.”
“Oh,” she said. “You startled me. I must have been sound asleep.” Her voice was hoarse. She cleared her throat. “What’s wrong?” She sat up, holding the blanket to her chest.
“The guy came back to your house a little while ago. Apparently, he got away. I just got the call.”
“Is everybody okay?”
“Yeah. There was some shooting, but he didn’t hit anybody. The cops are looking for him, but I don’t think they’re having much luck.” He paused. “I’m sorry to wake you up, but I think we ought to go over there and have a look.”
“Of course.” Emily couldn’t see his face, just the shape of his body. She could tell he was standing awkwardly, his muscles tense. He still had the phone receiver in his hand. “Just give me a minute to get dressed.”
“Sure.” He turned and moved down the hall toward his room.
Emily sat on the edge of the bed and looked around to get her bearings before she stood up. She stepped carefully to the doorway, closed her eyes, and switched on the light. She squinted so she could move around in the glare. She found the pair of jeans she had worn that day and pulled a shirt from the top layer in the suitcase. She took her sneakers to the bed to put them on.
At first it didn’t seem like Ray Hall to wake her up and make her go. Then she realized he must not feel comfortable leaving her alone.
She stood and snatched the hairbrush off Ray Hall’s dresser and brushed her hair with rapid, hard, painful strokes. She picked up her jacket and purse and hurried out of the room.
Ray was already standing at the foot of the stairs, tapping his keys against his thigh and looking up at her expectantly. As she descended the stairs, she caught herself thinking how good he looked for someone who had just dragged himself out of bed, and how horrible she must look with no makeup and her hair just raked straight.
She ducked past him out the door and hurried to his car. The air was cool now, and she was fully awake. As he started the car and pulled out of the driveway, she said, “You did say everybody was okay?”
“That’s what Dewey said on the phone.” He drove up the street and turned toward Vanowen Street, driving faster now that he was on bigger, wider streets. “Apparently, Billy got carried away and tried to cut the guy off in his car, and the guy opened up on him. Not too surprisingly, he hit the car, but missed Billy. He’s a much smaller target.” “Jesus,” she muttered. “He could be dead. And for what?”
“I don’t know what he’s after,” Hall said. “If we could just figure out what Phil had that this guy thinks is so important, we could-“
“I didn’t mean him, I meant us. I don’t think we’re going to accomplish anything that’s worth getting anybody killed. And Billy’s only twentytwo years old, barely old enough to drink.”
As they moved up the streets toward Emily’s house, there was the deep, gut-shaking throb of helicopters. Emily could see lights turned on in most of the houses in her neighborhood. She craned her neck to look at the clock on Ray Hall’s dashboard. It was two A.M.
Hall pulled up in front of her house, and they both walked up to the front door. When Hall turned the knob and pushed the door open, Emily could see Dewey Burns in the living room move his right hand toward his back, where she knew his gun was. Ray Hall said loudly, “Hi, guys.” He stepped inside and held the door so Dewey and Bill could see Emily step in. “I brought Emily with me.”
As she moved past Ray, she could see the big window at the back of the room had been blown out. “What a mess.” She turned to look directly at Dewey and then at Bill. “But you’re both okay?”
“Yeah,” Dewey said. “When he came in, we tried to get him to put up his hands. He turned and ran for that window. I lost him a block from here and called the cops. Meanwhile, Billy hopped in his car and tried to head him off that way. He fired a few rounds into the car. Billy’s lucky to still be with us.”
Emily stepped to Bill and hugged him. “I’m so glad you’re not hurt, Billy.” Then she hugged Dewey and released him. “You both could have died, and I feel terrible about this.”
“I’m sorry we didn’t get him, Emily,” Bill said.
Dewey frowned. “You knew he had a gun, and you had nothing. Going after him alone was stupid.”
“I didn’t expect to get shot. I was only trying to get a look at his license plate or his face, but he was moving too fast, and then he was shooting.” Bill looked at the empty frame of the living-room window and the spray of broken glass that extended out onto the patio. “He really is one crazy son of a bitch, though. Look at that.”
Emily didn’t know what to say. “The police have seen that?”
“Yes,” Dewey said. “A couple of them stopped by to radio the details to the others that were out looking for him.”
“I suppose I should get that boarded up, or I’m going to have rats in here.”
Ray said, “I can call in a couple of hours and have the glass replaced. There are services that replace glass for businesses. They can probably have it looking normal by noon.”
“I suppose.” Emily looked around the room, and felt the contrast between the way it used to be and the way it was now. This was her house-hers and Phil’s. They had moved in as a young couple, when Phil had just gotten out of the marines, the possibilities were still unlimited, and this typical L.A. bungalow had seemed like a palace to her. They had raised their son here, and after they had lost him, the house had become a retreat.
Now the house seemed to have been revealed as a fraud. The big window that had blown out let the breeze blow through, and reminded her that the house wasn’t even closed to the elements anymore, let alone safe. During any instant in all of the years while she had lived here, anything could have happened-how could glass keep it out?-but she had felt safe. She had been stupid. Now the house had made her a target and an easy victim.
“Are the police finished in here?” she asked.
Dewey said, “Yeah, they’re done. They dusted a couple of test spots by the door, but he was wearing gloves. They were hoping maybe he had cut himself going out through that window, but they couldn’t find any blood.”