“But who were those two men they killed?”
“I think they were there to kill Wendy Harper, too. I think somebody has decided to hedge his bets by hiring another team.”
“Without even telling us?”
She could see that Paul was concentrating hard, and that he was trying to keep his voice sounding calm. “I guess we never should have called Densmore and tried to back out.”
“Are you saying this is my fault?”
“I’m not saying it’s anybody’s fault. I’m trying to tell you why we’ve got to get out of here. If the cops picked out those two, they must have been smart enough to check out the windows that overlook the entrance. Let’s go.”
“How?”
“We use the original plan.”
He changed into the police uniform as quickly as he could, so she imitated him. As soon as she had her uniform on and the utility belt buckled, she stuffed their clothes into the black canvas bag, then the Peter and Sarah Harkin clothes and wigs. When she had finished, she pulled the covers tight on the bed again, and took a last look around the room to be sure they’d left nothing behind. They hurried out into the hallway, pulling their wheeled suitcases, and managed to get to the stairwell without seeing anyone. They took everything down two flights and left the empty suitcases on the landing. Now Sylvie had the black carryall bag slung over her shoulder, and she and Paul each carried a sniper rifle. Paul led the way down the stairs, prepared to fend off questions or open fire if they met police on their way up.
They made it to the ground floor of the building in a short time. They were near the back of the building, so Paul led them along a corridor of meeting rooms to a fire exit. He pushed open the door and stepped onto the blacktop just as a pair of police cruisers came up the side street and pulled to a stop. The whole area was full of uniformed police now, setting up to block off streets on all sides of the crime scene. The neighborhood seemed to be empty of people, except for police.
As the two police cars maneuvered nose-to-nose to block the street, Paul and Sylvie stepped past them, carrying the sniper rifles. A cop who was driving one of the cars looked at them curiously for a second, but Sylvie pointed at the parking structure where she had once parked when she was called for jury duty. She called, “We’re setting up on the parking structure. Good view of Temple.”
The cop nodded, and they trotted to the parking structure. When they had gotten into the car they had left the day before and Paul was driving down the ramp to the street, Sylvie said, “You know whose fault this is, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I think I do.”
31
YOUR IDEA brought us some surprises, Jack,” Poliakoff said. “In fact, the plan worked too well. It went down around four this morning.”
Jack Till held the cell phone to his mouth and spoke quietly because he didn’t want Wendy in the next room to overhear. “What happened?”
“During the night, we deployed SWAT officers in buildings along the south side of Temple Street near the DA’s office, just as you suggested. We had two black SUVs like the ones they use to deliver prisoners to court. When the two SUVs pulled up at the curb and opened their doors, two men came out of parked cars on both sides, apparently trying to get a shot at a female officer in the second vehicle. The SWAT guys had spotted them, so they each got about as far as pulling out a weapon.”
“Is everybody all right?”
“Everybody but the two men. We would have liked to ask them some questions, but they were both DOA.”
“Have you got IDs on them yet?”
“Not yet. When a guy has three driver’s licenses on him, he may as well have none. The bodies have been fingerprinted, so we’ll probably have names before long.”
Till said, “I don’t know what to say, except to thank you for doing this. If I had just pulled up in front of the DA’s office and tried to take her in, we’d be dead.”
“This is a win. Now that we’ve got those two out of the way, are you going to bring your client in to see the DA today?”
“I’ll let you know when I’ve decided.” He looked up and saw Wendy Harper standing in the open doorway between their rooms.
“Do that.”
“Thanks again. I owe you.” Till ended the call and put his cell phone into his pocket.
“What was that?” she asked.
“Good news. I asked a friend of mine who’s still in the department to see what would happen if you and I were to drive up to the DA’s office and try to walk in.”
“What did happen?”
“Two guys with guns came out of parked cars. Both of them were killed.”
“Oh, my God! Was anybody else hurt?”
“No. The cops are all fine.”
She stepped closer until she stood over him, looking down into his eyes. “You didn’t tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“That you were planning something like that.”
“It wasn’t my operation. It was Max Poliakoff’s. He didn’t tell me until just now, and it’s been over for hours.”
She looked at him closely. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Same reason he didn’t tell me. Until those two guys showed up, there was nothing to tell.”
“Do you think they were the same two who killed Louanda?”
“The odds are they were, but we can’t know that for sure. There may be prints or blood or something in her house in Nevada that ties them to the scene. We may have seen them at some point. They could have been in a crowd, or stopped at an intersection or something, and we’ll remember the faces. But I never got a look at them when they were chasing us. Did you?”
“No. I saw their car, and I saw that there were two heads in it.” She sat down beside him on the bed. “This is my fault. I should never have decided to leave Los Angeles. I was scared. I hated being scared, and I saw a way to fix it. I had started out okay, trying to find Kit Stoddard. But as soon as I got beat up, everything changed. I changed. I decided that I had already given enough to the memory of Kit. That was what I told myself she was by then—just a memory. And I had this belief that if I could just get away and stay away for a time, then her boyfriend would stop looking. I had the idea that my having done nothing to harm him would persuade him that I could never do anything, and he would realize that he should leave me alone. So I left.”
“Look, Ann. I—”
“Wendy.”
“What?”
“Wendy. I told you already, I can’t be Ann Donnelly anymore. Yesterday, when I left, I gave that up. Using that name now doesn’t help me. All it does is point out to everyone who doesn’t already know it that there are people with that name who are connected with me. Being connected with me is dangerous.”
“Less dangerous than it was yesterday.”
“Does that mean it’s over? We’re going to Los Angeles now?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not? If the police shot the men who were following us, then what is it that you’re worried about?”
“I’m not exactly worried, but I’m taking precautions. I’m resisting the flow of events. When you’re trying to outsmart somebody, you shouldn’t let a rhythm build up. We left San Francisco; they attacked us on the road. We lost them; they went to L.A. to wait for us. We set up our own ambush for them, and got two men. Now what? The logical, almost inevitable next move is to drive to L.A. now, today.”
“So you’re avoiding predictability.”
“I’m not making the move that’s called for at the moment when the rhythm demands it. What is the man who killed Kit Stoddard doing right now?”