'That's more than an hour and a quarter. Are you sure I can't get hold of him sooner?'
'See for yourself,' she said, handing him the schedule.
She was right. If he tried driving around the city after Boothe, he'd just keep missing him; the publisher was a busy man. But according to the schedule, at 4:00 he expected to be home.
'Where does he live?'
Mrs. Hudspeth told Dan the address, and he wrote it down. It was in Bel Air.
When he finished writing, closed his small notebook, and looked up, she was watching him intently. There was an avaricious curiosity in her eyes. Clearly, she was aware that something extraordinary was happening, but Boothe had for once not taken her into his confidence, and she required all of her refinement and self-control to keep from pumping Dan for information. She was obviously eaten alive by worry too, an emotion which she had thus far been able to conceal from him, but which now surfaced like a drowned and bloated corpse soaring up through dark waters. She would be this worried only if she knew that Boothe himself was worried, and he would have permitted her to see his own concern only if it was too overwhelming to conceal. For a hard-nosed and crafty businessman like him, it would have been impossible to conceal only if it was the next thing to panic.
The young executive — or the human equivalent of an attack dog, whichever he was — returned and escorted Dan back to the reception area. The armed guard was still standing alertly by the elevators.
The beautiful but cool receptionist typed at high speed on her computer keyboard. In the muffling acoustics of the room, the nearly silent keys made soft clicking sounds that reminded Dan of ice cubes rattling against one another.
* * *
The movie had started ten minutes ago, much to Laura's relief, and they were now as anonymous as all the other shadowy theatergoers slumped in the highbacked seats.
Melanie stared toward the front of the theater with the same expression that had been on her face when the screen had been blank. The backsplash of light illuminated her face. Distorted reflections of the images in the film moved across her features, bringing moments of artificial color to her, but for the most part the strange light made her look even paler than she was.
At least she's awake, Laura thought.
And then she wondered what Dan Haldane knew. More than he had told her. That was for sure.
On the other side of Melanie, Earl Benton reached a hand inside his suit jacket, quietly reassuring himself that his revolver was in his shoulder holster and that he could draw it unobstructed. Laura had seen him check the weapon twice even before the film had started; she was sure he would check it again in a few minutes. It was a nervous habit, and for a man who was not the type for nervous habits, it was a disconcerting indication of how profoundly worried he was.
Of course, if It came to them here in the theater, and if It was finally ready to take Melanie, the revolver would provide no defense, regardless of how quickly Earl could draw and fire it.
* * *
With an hour and a quarter to kill before he could meet Palmer Boothe in Bel Air, Dan Haldane decided to drop around to the precinct house in Westwood where, the previous night, charges had been filed against Wexlersh and Manuello. The two detectives were being held solely on Earl Benton's sworn statement, and Dan wanted to add his testimony as another weight against their cell door. He had left Ross Mondale under the impression that he would not accuse Wexlersh and Manuello of assault with intent to kill, and he had told Mondale that Earl would withdraw his accusations in a couple of days, when the McCaffreys were safe, but he had been lying. If he achieved nothing else in this case, if he failed to save Melanie and Laura, he would at least see Wexlersh and Manuello behind bars and Ross Mondale ruined.
At the precinct house, the officer in charge of the case, one Herman Dorft, was glad to see Dan. The only thing that Dorft wanted more than Dan's statement was one from Laura McCaffrey. He was not happy to learn that Dr. McCaffrey was unavailable for the foreseeable future. He took Dan to a small interrogation room with a battered desk, VDT, table, and five chairs, and he offered to provide either a stenographer or a tape recorder.
'I'm so familiar with this routine,' Dan said, 'I'd rather just compose the statement myself. I can use the computer if that's all right with you.'
Herman Dorft obligingly left Dan alone with the computer, with the harsh fluorescent light and the sound of rain on the roof, and with the stale, bitter smell of cigarette smoke that had precipitated a thin yellowish film on the walls since the last time the room had been painted.
Twenty minutes later, he had just finished typing the statement and was about to go looking for a police notary, in whose presence he would sign what he had written, when the door opened and Michael Seames, the FBI agent, took one step inside. He said, 'Hello there.' He still seemed, to Dan, to be suffering chronological confusion: His face was that of a thirty-year-old, but his slumped shoulders and stiff movements made him seem like a seasoned Social Security recipient. 'I've been looking for you, Haldane.'
'Good day for ducks, huh?' Dan said, getting to his feet.
'Where are Mrs. McCaffrey and Melanie?' Seames asked.
'Hard to believe that everyone was worried about the drought just a few years ago. Now the winters get rainier every year.'
'Two detectives charged with attempted murder, police violations of civil rights, several potential breaches of national security — the Bureau now has plenty of reasons to step into this case, Haldane.'
'Myself, I'm building an ark,' Dan said, picking up his typed statement and moving toward the door.
Seames didn't get out of his way. 'And we have moved in. We're no longer just observers here. We've exercised the right of federal jurisdiction in these homicides.'
'Good for you,' Dan said.
'You are, of course, obliged to cooperate with us.'
'Sounds like fun,' Dan said, wishing Seames would get the hell out of his way.
'Where are Mrs. McCaffrey and Melanie?'
'Probably at the movies,' Dan said.
'Damn it, Haldane—'
'On a dreary day like this, they aren't going to be at the beach or at Disneyland or having a picnic in Griffith Park, so why not the movies?'
'I'm beginning to think you're an asshole, Haldane.'
'Well, at least it's comforting to hear that you're beginning to think.'
'Captain Mondale warned me about you.'
'Oh, don't take that seriously, Agent Seames. Ross is such a kidder.'
'You're obstructing—'
'No, it's you who's obstructing,' Dan said. 'You're in my way.' And as he spoke, he shouldered past Seames, through the door.
The FBI agent followed him down the hall to the busy uniformed-operations room, where Dan located a notary. 'Haldane, you can't protect them all by yourself. If you insist on handling it this way, they're going to get snatched or killed, and you're going to be to blame.'
Signing his statement in front of the notary, Dan said, 'Maybe. Maybe they'll get killed. But if I turn them over to you, they'll positively be killed.'
Seames gaped at him. 'Are you implying that I… that the FBI… that the government would murder that little girl? Because maybe she's a Russian or Chinese research project? Or maybe because she's one of our projects and she knows too much and now we want to shut her up before this mess becomes too public? Is that what you think?'