‘And that’s what you want us to do? Communicate with Danny, disturb him even when he’s dead, so that you can feel better about killing him?’
Frank swung into the driveway and stopped the car an inch short of the garage doors. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘That’s exactly what I want us to do.’
Frank spent the evening in his study, trying to finish the next episode of Pigs. Fourteen-year-old Dusty and twelve-year-old Henry were lying in bunk beds in their grandpa’s house, where their parents had been forced to move after their own house had been blown away by a tornado.
HENRY: You know what Randy Bennett said today about Ellie-Jane Kuhne?
DUSTY: What, that she’ll let you take a look at her hooters?
HENRY (sniffing loudly): That’s right. (beat) How much does she charge?
DUSTY: Fifty cents, that’s what I heard.
HENRY (sorting through a handful of sticky pennies): I have twenty-six cents. Do you think she’ll let me take a look at just one?
DUSTY: What’s the point of looking at a single hooter?
HENRY (after a moment’s thought): I don’t know. It’s better than no hooter at all.
DUSTY (kind of admits that Henry has a point): Well, I have eleven cents. Maybe if we club together she’ll let us take a look at a hooter and a half.
Frank sat back and stared at the screen. He couldn’t decide if any of this was remotely funny or not. He had intended to show it to Mo and Liz at Wednesday morning’s script meeting, but Wednesday morning seemed so long ago that maybe people’s sense of humor had changed. Maybe they would think this was tragedy now, instead of comedy. He was still staring at it when Margot came in.
‘Lynn called me.’
‘Oh, yes?’
‘I told her that we went to see Danny today at the funeral home, but of course Lynn can’t even do that. Kathy was standing right next to the van when it blew up and there was almost nothing left of her.
Frank waited for what she was going to say next.
‘The thing is . . . I mentioned this psychic detective of yours, and that you’d asked me if we could arrange a séance . . .’ Another pause. ‘Lynn said that if we did . . .’
‘Go on.’
‘If we did, she would very, very much like to come. She badly needs to talk to Kathy. She doesn’t even have a body to bury.’
Frank said nothing for a moment, but then he leaned forward and pressed the delete button on his keyboard. ‘OK. I’ll arrange it.’
Police Commissioner Marvin Campbell appeared on the news at six o’clock that evening.
‘About an hour ago we received a further coded telephone call from Dar Tariki Tariqat – the terrorist group who claim to be responsible for Wednesday’s bombing at The Cedars elementary school in Hollywood.
‘They warned us that they are planning further explosions aimed at the motion picture and television industries. Specifically, they state that “the corruption of religious and political thought throughout the world by the godless moguls of American entertainment amounts to cultural imperialism of the most oppressive nature. We are committed to smashing them and all their Satanic works.”’
Commissioner Campbell was asked what he took this threat to mean.
‘I think the meaning is pretty clear. These fanatics believe that American movies and television are an evil influence in countries where women have to cover their faces and risk being stoned to death for adultery. They think that Sex and the City is an insult to Allah and that freedom of expression is a blasphemy.’
How serious did he estimate the threat to be?
‘One hundred and ten percent serious. Anybody who has no qualms about murdering innocent children will certainly be capable of committing atrocities that are similar or even worse.’
So what was he going to do to protect the entertainment industry?
‘We’re going to be vigilant. We’re not closing anything down. No studios, no theme parks, no guided tours. Entertainment is this city’s lifeblood and we’re not going to allow a bunch of psychopaths to cut off our blood supply. Security at all major studios will be intensified, both by police presence and by private security officers. There will be some delays and some inconveniences, especially at public attractions such as Disneyland, Knott’s Berry Farm and all the various studio tours. But we are absolutely determined that a whole city’s way of life will not be undermined by a rabid minority.’
Were they any closer to finding out who Dar Tariki Tariqat actually were, and making any arrests?
‘We have a number of promising leads that we’re working on right now, so I can’t say too much about this. But I’ll have to admit that we’re still no nearer to discovering exactly who these people are, or if they’re affiliated to any known terror organization such as Al Qaeda.’
You’ve already brought in Nevile Strange, the well-known psychic detective. Is this an early admission that you don’t think you’re going to be able to solve this case by conventional police procedure?
‘Not at all. The Los Angeles Police Department has the most experienced detectives and forensic specialists working round the clock and I have every confidence that they are going to hunt these terrorists down and bring them to justice. Mr Strange is a respected investigator with unusual but internationally acknowledged abilities, and I simply think I would have been failing in my duty if I hadn’t availed myself of every possible assistance, no matter how unconventional it might be.’
Frank stayed up until well past two A.M., listening to all of their favorite songs on his headphones so that he wouldn’t keep Margot awake. ‘We Have All the Time in the World’ by Louis Armstrong; ‘Easy’ by The Commodores; ‘Days Like These’ by Van Morrison. He had poured himself a large Stolichnaya but he didn’t even sip it. He didn’t feel like drinking anymore.
Eventually he took off the headphones, unbuttoned his shirt, and went through to his study so that he could sleep on the couch. Margot hadn’t told him that he wasn’t welcome back in the bedroom, but he couldn’t face the thought of lying next to her all night when she felt so bitter toward him.
He was pulling off his socks when the phone rang.
‘Frank?’
‘Who is this?’
‘Who do you think it is?’
‘Astrid? Do you have any idea what time it is?’
‘Of course I do. I just wanted to tell you that I’ve been thinking about you.’
‘I’ve been thinking about you, too.’
There was a long pause. It was so quiet in the house that he could hear Astrid breathing on the other end of the phone.
Eventually, she said, ‘I wanted to know when I could see you again.’
‘Tomorrow, if you like. I mean today. Maybe sometime in the afternoon. How does three o’clock sound?’
‘Three o’clock sounds perfect. You can come round to my apartment if you like.’
‘OK.’ He didn’t know what else to say.
Astrid hesitated, and then she said, ‘You’re worried, aren’t you, because you can’t work out who I am. Well, you needn’t worry, because it doesn’t matter.’
‘How can you say that? Of course it matters. Finding out who you are – that’s part of the whole process of getting to know you, sharing things. All I know about you so far is that your father was a television producer and your mother was a dancer and that you wanted to be a doctor in Africa.’
‘You don’t even know that. I lied.’
‘You lied? What did you do that for?’
‘Because you wanted to know all about me and I didn’t want to disappoint you. But I want you to like what you see, not what you know. You do like what you see, don’t you, Frank?’