His words were lost to me as I rushed from the bar.
Damn Linnea! Just when I thought she was reliable...
I ran across two lanes of traffic to the island in the middle of Guerrero and waited for more cars to clear. As I tore across the other two lanes and down the sidewalk, my feet beat out a refrain:
Not my friend. He can’t kill my friend.
The sidewalks of Twenty-fourth Street were empty; the fog and dampness following the rain had driven people inside. I saw them, in the windows of the bars and cafes, warm and safe and unafraid.
As I ran, fragments of long-forgotten prayers echoed in my mind: Let her be all right. Please let her be all right. If she is, I’ll be so good.
The iron gate to the church grounds stood open. I stopped.
Quietly, Sharon. As quietly as you can.
I went up the walk. All I heard were traffic sounds from the street. Hopefully, they would cover my approach. I moved to the side door of the church.
At the bottom of the basement stairs, broken glass crunched under my feet. The sweet odor of reisling drifted up.
I’d come to the right place.
Taking out my gun, I slipped down the hall. An eerie light burned in Neverman’s room, a sheet of white that spread across the ceiling. It came from his torch, which, along with the books and ashtray, had been knocked from the crate.
Had Linnea turned on the torch, struggled with him, and escaped? I crept down the hall toward the steps to the vestibule, where another light shone, and listened. Silence hung heavy upstairs.
They might be up there, each hiding from the other in the dark. Or Linnea could have fled...
A thump. Another thump. A dragging sound.
More silence.
Any sound from me would tip him off to my presence. I slipped down the hall and back outside. The situation called for reinforcements.
Stuffing my gun in my bag, I hurried down the walk to the street and ran across to one of the cafes where all the safe, happy people were. I forced my way through the crowd to the bar and demanded to use the phone.
“There’s a pay phone by the johns, lady.”
“I don’t have change. I don’t have time.”
“Look, lady...”
“The phone!” I flashed the photostat of my license at the bartender. It wasn’t a police shield, but it was damned official looking. His eyes widened, and he handed the phone across the bar.
I dialed the main police number, asked for Communications, listened to a lot of clicks and static on the line. The bartender leaned across at me, his eyes greedy with curiosity. I motioned him away, but he stayed.
The last thing I wanted was a whole barful of people surging across the street to watch the fun. I searched my memory for the police code numbers Greg had taught me one idle Sunday when we’d had nothing better to do.
“Communications, Lucke.”
I identified myself and gave the location of the Blind Center, turning my back on the inquisitive bartender.
“I’ve got a ten-thirty-one and need assistance. Quiet assistance. If the guy hears, it will set him off.”
“I’ll get it on the air.”
Code 10–31 was Homicide in Progress.
I hadn’t been sure the cop would cooperate with a civilian, but he must have figured I knew what I was talking about.
I slammed the receiver down and pushed back outside. Depending on its location, a radio car could be here in three or four minutes. Meanwhile, I’d do what I could to impede the progress of the homicide.
24
I entered the church the way I had before and crept down the hall toward the vestibule. Silence pounded down on me as I mounted the steps. Then I heard scuffling in the main part of the church.
“Please turn on the lights!” Linnea’s voice was raw with terror. “Please! I can’t see!”
At least she was still alive!
The killer chuckled roughly.
The church was dark except for the bulb in the vestibule. Without light my gun was useless. I crossed to the archway and looked down the aisle, but all I saw was the faint glow of the stained-glass window. Linnea sobbed brokenly.
I slid my hand along the wall to the dimmer switch Neverman had played with two nights ago. It was a risk, but one I’d have to take. Rotating it a fraction of an inch, I watched the lights come up, bathing the altar with their pale-yellow glow.
Linnea cried out.
She and Sebastian were on their knees on the raised platform. He crouched behind her, his left arm hooked around her neck. His right clutched the gun he’d taken from Anya’s apartment.
Sebastian’s loss of sight was total, as the personnel man at Standard Oil had told me. He couldn’t even distinguish be tween light and shadow. I rotated the switch some more.
Linnea gasped and struggled.
“Don’t be afraid,” Sebastian said, still oblivious to the change.
I would have shot him then, but I was out of range. Slowly, I started down the aisle.
Linnea saw me. She jerked violently.
“No, no,” crooned Sebastian.
I made a levelling motion with my hands, to signal that Linnea should keep calm.
She stared at me with fear-blanked eyes. Given her instability, could I count on her to help?
After about fifteen seconds, she dipped her chin slightly.
Yes, I understand.
I went down the aisle.
“You killed them both, didn’t you?” Linnea’s voice was less hysterical and very loud.
Good girl. If she kept talking, it would cover my approach.
“I had to.”
“Why? Why did you have to?”
“I had to keep them from going to the police. All I wanted was my money back. But Molly, she sent Gus to the Laundromat and told me she had found out we were selling stolen goods. She said she wanted to get my side of the story before she told the cops.”
“So you killed her?”
“They’d promised to give me my money back after they moved the gin. If she told the cops, it would have blown the whole deal. That money was my only way out of here. I snuck back there that night to try to reason with her. She wouldn’t listen. I had a cord in my pocket.” As he spoke, his voice picked up speed and the words began to slur together.
“And next you killed Madame Anya.” Linnea’s eyes were intent on mine as I slipped into the second row of pews.
This story could make little sense to her, but she kept him talking anyway.
“Neverman wouldn’t go back to her. I knew she’d turn us in, just for spite. I sat downstairs in Gus’s apartment thinking how mad she’d be when she figured out he wasn’t coming. I went up there, and she answered the door. She sounded crazy. I couldn’t handle her.”
“You certainly did handle her, you monster! You strangled her!”
It was the wrong thing to say. Sebastian jerked Linnea around, pressing her body close to his. I couldn’t see the gun.
“I’m no monster! All I wanted was my money!”
Linnea spoke, but her voice was muffled against Sebastian’s chest.
“Don’t you see?” he asked. “It’s nothing against you. But if they find you in Neverman’s room shot with his own wife’s gun, they’ll be sure he did all three murders. You shouldn’t have grabbed that flashlight and fought with me down there and run away. It’d be all over by now if you hadn’t.”
Linnea’s petite body shuddered. I could see the tremors from where I knelt behind the pew.
“You’ll never get away with this!” Hysteria broke through into Linnea’s voice. “Someone’ll hear the shot!”
“Noise doesn’t carry from here to the dormitory.”
“Herb...”
“Clemente’s still in Los Angeles.”
“You lied to me!” Linnea struggled against him. “You planned this all along!”