“No, he’s a Malibu real estate agent now — when he’s not acting, which seems to be most of the time.”
“Nice place?” Durant asked.
“Right on the beach.”
“How many bedrooms?”
“Six bedrooms, seven baths.”
“How much?”
“Quill was asking fifteen but came down to thirteen-five.”
“Whose house is it?” Wu said.
To make sure he didn’t miss Wu’s reaction, Stallings turned to look at him. He noticed Georgia Blue had also turned around in the front seat. “The house is in a kind of legal limbo right now,” Stallings said. “But it belonged to William A. C. Rice the Fourth.”
Artie Wu expressed surprise in his usual manner with a series of small judicious nods and a slight wise smile.
“Well?” Stallings said, ready for either praise or condemnation.
“I think Rice’s house could prove useful,” Wu said. “I also think you and Georgia have done remarkably well.”
“I can’t think of any use we can make of it — except to draw attention,” Durant said.
“Exactly,” said Wu.
From the driver’s seat, Otherguy Overby said, “Christ, I can think of half a dozen ways we can use it.”
Wu settled back into the seat, clasped his hands across his belly, closed his eyes and said, “Let’s hear two of them, Otherguy.”
By 3:15 P.M. The travelers had unpacked, toured Billy Rice’s $15-million beach shack, taken a short stroll along the beach itself and were now gathered in the enormous living room, where Artie Wu had been drawn, as if by a chain, to the dead man’s favorite chair — an elaborate leather recliner the color of port wine.
There were no unsightly levers to even hint it was a recliner. It looked instead like an ordinary brass-studded wing-back chair — providing three or four thousand dollars was what one ordinarily paid for a chair. A cleverly concealed button made it recline and adjust to any number of positions. Another button switched on the electric vibrating mechanism. Still another one controlled the room’s sound system.
Next to the chair was the six-line telephone console Ione Gamble had used to dial 911. There was also a swing-away reading table. On the chair’s lower left side was a deep leather pocket still stuffed with screenplays. Light came from a floor lamp whose chrome stand and flat-black metal shade were still positioned just so.
Booth Stallings and Georgia Blue shared one of the room’s three couches, as if to imply, if not announce, some kind of loose alliance. Overby had chosen an Eames chair, the genuine article, and had his feet up on its stool. Durant stood at the wide expanse of glass, his back to the room, inspecting the ocean.
After asking if anyone would care for a drink and getting no takers, Artie Wu said, “Booth has given each of us a thousand in cash for walking-around money. He’s to be our exchequer, logistician and householder. Should anyone ask, you’re colleagues of Dr. Stallings and his charming research associate, Ms. Blue. Any comment?”
Stallings had one. “I think during the next day or so I’ll work the neighborhood, Artie. Introduce myself as old Doc Stallings, the motormouth academic, who’ll talk your arm off if you give him half a chance. I’ve found that people will tell you all sorts of interesting stuff just to make you shut up and go away.”
“Try to find out what Billy Rice did for fun and who he did it with,” Wu said.
“Plan to.”
Wu looked around the room. “Any other questions?”
Durant had one. Without turning, he said, “What’ll you tell the neighbors you’re working on, Booth?”
“Nothing. By that I mean I’ll tell them I’m resting from my labors in Amman while my associates at Wudu, Limited, negotiate a confidential research project in L.A.”
“Good,” Durant said and continued his inspection of the ocean.
“As I mentioned earlier,” Wu said, “Quincy and I are meeting with Ione Gamble at five. Howard Mott’ll also be present. I should add he’s associated himself with one of the old downtown law firms, which enables him to represent Gamble in California. Her personal attorney, Jack Broach — who’s also her business manager and agent — may be at the five o’clock meeting. I’ll spell Broach for you.”
After spelling it, Wu looked at Georgia Blue and said, “Check him out, Georgia.”
“Something specific or all the way?”
“All the way.”
Wu next turned to Overby. “Otherguy, I want you to begin the hunt for the missing hypnotists. Quincy managed to locate one of the Goodisons’ promotional leaflets that has photos of them. He also talked to an ex-Paddington Police Station detective, a woman, who gave him a rundown on their habits and peculiarities. It’s all in a memo he wrote.”
“He already gave me a copy,” Overby said.
“Good. After Georgia does Jack Broach, she’ll join you in the hunt for the Goodisons.”
“How much time’ve we got?” Overby said.
“Not much. Mott says the trial date is set for March twenty-third in Santa Monica Superior Court. He hopes he can get a continuance, but he’s worried that if it does come to trial, she’ll lose.”
“Does anybody know of any connection between this dead guy Rice and the Goodisons?” Overby said.
“None that I know of,” Wu said. “But it won’t hurt to look for one.”
“What if we find the Goodisons dead?” Georgia Blue asked.
Wu thought for a moment. “Then our job’s done — unless Enno Glimm says otherwise.”
“And what if,” Durant said, still staring at the ocean, “we stumble across something that indicates Ione Gamble killed Rice and had something to do with the Goodisons’ disappearance?”
Before Wu could reply, Overby said, “We could sell it and retire — all of us.”
Wu sighed. “That’s a bit raw — even for you, Otherguy.”
“Don’t tell me it didn’t cross your mind, Artie.”
Wu sighed again and said, “I think we should proceed from two assumptions, the first being that the Goodisons are alive, but in hiding, maybe of their own volition, maybe not. Our second assumption is that Ione Gamble didn’t kill William Rice. Since the cops have gone at her from the opposite direction, there’s a slight possibility that our approach will turn up something new and even exculpatory — although I really don’t have much hope.”
There was a brief silence as he looked at each of them, taking his time, especially when his gaze reached Durant’s back. Wu was still staring at it when he said, “Anything else?”
“We need more cars,” said Overby.
“There’s a Budget place just down the highway,” Stallings said. “We can rent what we need there.”
“Anything else?” Wu said.
After a somewhat longer silence, Georgia Blue said, “One thing bothers me. It’s about the two hypnotists — the Goodisons. Under California law, the testimony of any witness who’s been hypnotized is considered tainted. So why did Mott send all the way to London for a pair of hypnotists if he knew that Ione Gamble, once hypnotized, couldn’t testify in her own defense?”
Durant, still staring at the ocean, said, “That’s the second question I’ll ask Mott.”
“What’s the first?” she said.
“Why he imported two bent hypnotists.”
“Maybe he didn’t know they were bent.”
“That’s my third question,” Durant said. “Why didn’t he?”
Fourteen
Artie Wu brought the Lincoln Town Car to an abrupt nose-bobbing stop in front of Ione Gamble’s house on Adelaide Drive at 4:56 P.M. Durant made no move to get out and instead stared at the house as if it sheltered six of his worst enemies.
“Don’t much care for Spanish Colonial?” Wu said.
“It’s your rotten driving I don’t care for. Question: why is a ride with you like an IRS audit? Answer: because I know it’ll end in disaster.”