Jacob took that as a yes and stepped into the apartment.
It wasn't bad, the apartment. It was on Barrington Avenue, just a few miles from Westwood Vil age and the UCLA campus. It was at the top of the 146 building, with a large terrace overlooking the pool and a garden.
There was a fashionable kitchen/bar and an open gas fire.
"What the hel 's the matter this time? What do you people want now?"
Bil y sank into a white corner sofa facing the artificial fire. The towel slid open, revealing wel -muscled, suntanned thighs.
"Honey, who is it?" a woman's voice cal ed from one of the bedrooms.
"Mind your own business," he muttered under his breath.
"I'm here about Sylvia and Malcolm Rudolph," Jacob said, sitting down on the sofa without being asked. Bil y let out a low groan.
"What the fuck? I've already answered a load of dumb questions! When am I supposed to have found the time to slum around Europe? I stil don't have a passport. I've got a job here."
"Doing what?" Jacob asked, fighting an instinctive dislike of the guy on the sofa.
Bil y straightened his shoulders. "Actor," he said.
"Wow," Jacob said. "What have you been in?"
Bil y's shoulders sank a bit. He wiped his nose. "I'm a musician, too. And I'm working on a script for television."
Jacob tried to look impressed. He wasn't, not in the least. He thought that a baboon could probably write a script for television.
"You met Sylvia when you were studying performance drama at UCLA…"
Hamilton spread his arms.
"Okay, this is how it is: I tried to save Sylvia from her crazy brother.
Their relationship got seriously fucked up when Sandy disappeared. Malcolm was total y obsessed with her. You fol owing me, taking notes?"
Jacob interrupted him.
"Disappeared? Who disappeared? Sandra Schulman?"
Irritated, Bil y Hamilton got up and walked up and down in front of the fire.
"They were going up to the Mansion to get the last of their stuff, but I had an audition and couldn't go. They waited for her, but Sandy never showed up for the car trip. No one knows what happened to her. Mac took it real bad. We al did."
Jacob sat there without moving, trying to fit the information together in his head.
"Malcolm Rudolph and Sandra Schulman were a couple?"
"Wel, yeah. Ever since high school. She came from Montecito. They were neighbors."
"Darling, who are you talking to?" cal ed the woman in the bedroom. "I'm lying here waiting for you."
"Shut the fuck up!" Bil y shouted. "I'm busy!"
He sniffed and wiped his nose again. "I don't know what else to tel you, 147 dude."
Jacob took that as a signal to move on and started toward the door.
"Where was Sandra Schulman living when she disappeared?" he asked.
"Same place as Sylvia and Mac. Apartment on Wilshire and Veteran. Ask me, they might have been a threesome. Except that Sylvia was jealous of Sandy. Very… Hey, are you going? Already? What a shame."
"What was the number? The apartment on Wilshire?"
Hamilton looked scornful y at him.
"What do I look like, fucking Google?"
Chapter 111
Jacob went back to his car and made a phone cal.
Carlos Rodriguez answered with the same crackling si as he had at the gate of the Rudolphs' mansion in Montecito.
"Jacob Kanon here," Jacob said. "NYPD? We spoke yesterday."
"Si, senor.?Que pasa? How can I help you, Detective?"
"Just one more question. It's about Sandra Schulman. You said she was with them at the Mansion that last weekend before the auction? Is that correct?"
"Si. Why?"
"You're quite sure?"
"Sandra used to play here since she was a little chiquitita. Of course I recognized her. She and Malcolm were boyfriend and girlfriend."
"How did Sylvia feel about her?"
"Oh, I don't know. She liked having Malcolm to herself. They were very close, brother and sister."
"Did you speak to Sandra that evening at the house?"
"Si, claro! She kissed me on the cheek."
Jacob pushed the hair from his forehead.
"You said the twins left in the middle of the night. Did you see them drive away?"
"Pero claro que si. They woke me up. The gate can only be opened manual y, from inside the lodge."
"Did you notice if Sandra Schulman was in the car?"
There was silence at the other end.
"It was late at night," he said. "You couldn't see anything inside the car."
"But you spoke to the Rudolphs?"
"With the senorita. She was driving."
"But you didn't actual y see Sandra Schulman leave the property?"
There was a moment's silence.
"She must have gone with them, because they didn't leave her behind."
Jacob covered his eyes with his hand.
"Thanks," he said. "That's al I needed to know."
He ended the cal and quickly made another.
Chapter 112
Lyndon Crebbs answered after the first ring.
"How's it going, you amateur? Are you getting anywhere?" Lyndon asked.
"Can you check on a Sandra Schulman? Last known address Wilshire Avenue, corner of Veteran Avenue."
"Anything special about her?"
"She may have disappeared, permanently. Take this as a tip from an anonymous source: she could be buried in the hil s above Montecito. Sylvia was jealous of her. Enough said."
Jacob could hear the FBI agent's pen scratch.
"What about Wil iam Hamilton?" Lyndon Crebbs asked as he wrote. "Is he stil alive, I hope?"
"If the LAPD takes a look there, they'l find a heap of snow in the bedroom. He's alive. But he's an obnoxious little prick."
Lyndon chuckled.
"By the way," he said, "I was reading the report on the search of the Rudolphs' hotel room in Stockholm. What did that key belong to?"
"What key?" Jacob said.
"The little key that's mentioned at the bottom of page three."
"How the hel could you read that, Lyndon? It's in Swedish."
"Haven't you ever used the site www.tyda.se?" Lyndon Crebbs said. "Just an old man wondering."
The police in Stockholm must have checked it out, Jacob thought. "Christ, this is mad," he said. "Do you know why the twins were thrown out of UCLA?
They had sex with each other in public."
"Ah, today's youth," the FBI agent said. "Something else occurred to me: what if there are other kil ers? What if the Rudolphs have inspired copycats?"
"The thought has occurred to me, too," Jacob said. "But it doesn't fit. The content of the postcards has never been made public, for instance. If there are more kil ers, they have to be working together."
"Sicker things have been known to happen," Lyndon Crebbs said. "When do you think you'l be back at Citrus Avenue?"
Jacob grew serious. "I won't be back this visit," he said. "I'm heading off now."
Lyndon Crebbs was silent, a silence that only grew. Jacob was treading water. He couldn't bring himself to ask the only relevant question: exactly how bad was the prostate cancer?
Jacob spoke again. "Just one more thing. Could you pul a few strings and see if you can find out anything about Lucy? My ex? I should tel her about Kimmy."
The old man let out a sigh.
"I thought you'd never ask."
"Thanks for everything," Jacob said.
"Wel, adios, amigo, then," Lyndon Crebbs replied.
"Hasta la vista," Jacob said. "Til next time."
But the line was already dead, and Jacob wondered if he'd ever hear his friend's voice again.
Chapter 113
Tuesday, June 22
Oslo, Norway
The motor home was in a campsite just outside the city. The police cordon had been lifted from the entrance to the site but was stil in place around the vehicle.
Dessie pul ed the zipper on her Windbreaker up snug and tight under her chin.
The campsite was almost empty, and not just because of the weather. The Italians' motor home was al alone in its section of the site, like a leprous metal box whose neighbors had fled in panic.