“What about February seventh, you have an alibi for that night, too?”
“I don’t know that night. I have to-”
“You walked into the Sherman Market and you killed two people that night. You should know it.”
Bolotov suddenly stood up.
“Who are you? You’re not cop.”
McCaleb just looked up at him, keeping his seat, hoping not to show the surprise he was feeling.
“Cops are in twos. Who are you?”
“I’m the one who’s going to take you down. You did it, Bolotov, and I’m going to prove it.”
“Wha-”
There was an angry knock on the door and McCaleb instinctively turned to look. It was a small mistake but it was all Bolotov needed. McCaleb saw the black blur coming at him in his peripheral vision. Instinctively he began bringing his arms up to protect his chest. He wasn’t quick enough. Suddenly he was hit with the impact of the other man’s weight and his chair went over with him still in it.
Bolotov had him down on the floor while Toliver or whoever was out there continued to knock angrily on the door. The bigger, stronger man held McCaleb down while he went through his pockets. His hand hit the gun and he tore it off the belt and threw it across the room. Finally he found McCaleb’s wallet in the inside pocket of his sports coat. He pulled it out, ripping the pocket, and opened it.
“No badge. See, no cop.”
He read the name off the driver’s license, which was held behind a plastic window in the wallet.
“Terr-ell-Mack-Cow-leeb.”
Bolotov then read off the address. McCaleb felt relieved that it was actually the address of the harbormaster’s office, where he had a postal box.
“Maybe I pay you a visit one day, yes?”
McCaleb didn’t answer or move. He knew there was no chance of overpowering the man. As he was considering his predicament, Bolotov dropped the wallet on his chest and jumped up. He jerked the chair out from beneath McCaleb’s hips and raised it over his head. McCaleb raised his arms up to protect his face and head, realizing in the same instant that he was leaving his chest unprotected.
He heard the shatter of glass and looked between his arms to see the chair crashing through the office window. He then watched as Bolotov followed it, leaping with ease through the opening and down to the manufacturing floor. Then he was gone.
McCaleb rolled to his side, folding his arms across his chest and bringing his knees up. He spread a hand flat on his chest, trying to feel the beat. He took two deep breaths and slowly got to his knees and raised himself. The pounding on the door continued, now accompanied by Toliver’s panicked demands that McCaleb open up.
McCaleb reached over to unlock the door. He felt a wave of vertigo hit him then. It was like sliding down a twelve-foot trough into the valley of a wave. Toliver burst into the office and started screaming at him but McCaleb didn’t understand his words. He put his hands flat on the floor and closed his eyes, trying to steady himself.
“Shit,” was all he managed to whisper.
Buddy Lockridge jumped out of the Taurus when he saw McCaleb approaching. He ran around the front of the car and came to McCaleb’s side.
“Jesus, what happened?”
“Nothing. I made a mistake, that’s all.”
“You look like shit.”
“I’m okay now. Let’s go.”
Lockridge opened the door for him and then went around to the driver’s side and got in.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Come on, let’s go.”
“Where?”
“Find a phone.”
“There’s one right there.”
He pointed to the Jack in the Box restaurant next door. There was a pay phone on the wall near one of the doors. McCaleb got out and slowly walked to the phone. He was careful to keep his eyes on the pavement in front of him, not wanting to set off another slide into vertigo.
He called Jaye Winston’s direct line, expecting to leave a message, but she picked up immediately.
“It’s Terry. I thought you had court.”
“I do but it’s the lunch break. I have to be back at two. I was just about to call you.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re going to do it.”
“Do what?”
“Hypnotize Mr. Noone. The captain signed off on it and I called Mr. Noone. He said sure. He just wants us to do it tonight because he’s going out of town-back to Vegas, I guess. He’s going to be here at six. You can do it then, right?”
“I’ll be there.”
“Then we’re set. Why were you calling?”
McCaleb hesitated. What he had to tell her might change the evening’s plans but he knew he couldn’t delay.
“Can you get a photo of Bolotov by tonight?”
“I already have one. You want to show Noone?”
“Yeah. I just paid Bolotov a little visit and he didn’t react too well to it.”
“What happened?”
“Before I could ask him three questions, he jumped me and ran.”
“Are you shitting me?”
“I wish.”
“What about his alibi?”
“It’s about as solid as a loaf of bread.”
McCaleb briefly recounted his interview with Toliver and then Bolotov. He told Winston she should put out a wanted notice for Bolotov.
“For what, did you or Toliver make a police report?”
“I didn’t but Toliver said he was going to make a report on the window.”
“All right, I’ll put out a pickup. Are you all right? You sound punchy.”
“I’m okay. Is this going to change things? Or are we still on for tonight?”
“Far as I’m concerned, we’re still on.”
“Okay. See you then.”
“Look, Terry, don’t put too much stock in Bolotov, okay?”
“I think he looks good for this.”
“I don’t know. Lancaster ’s a long way from where Bolotov lives. You’ve got to remember, the guy’s a convict. He could have and would have done what he did with you whether he’s involved with this or not. Because if he didn’t do this, then he did something else.”
“Maybe. But I still like the guy.”
“Well, maybe Noone will make our day and point him out in a six-pack.”
“Now you’re talking.”
After hanging up, McCaleb made it back to the Taurus without a problem. Once inside he dug the travel kit he always carried with him out of the leather satchel on the floor. It contained a day’s worth of medication and a dozen or so throw-away thermometers called Temp-Strips. He peeled the paper off one and put it in his mouth. While he waited, he signaled Lockridge to start the car. Once the engine had fired, McCaleb reached over to the air-conditioner controls and turned it on.
“You want air?” Lockridge asked.
McCaleb nodded and Lockridge turned the fan up higher.
After three minutes McCaleb took the strip out and checked it. He felt a deep shard of fear cut into him as he looked at the thin red vein stretched past the one-hundred-degree mark.
“Let’s go home.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. The marina.”
As Lockridge pointed the car south toward the 101 freeway, McCaleb turned the air vents on his side so that the cool air was flowing right into his face. He opened up another Temp-Strip and put it under his tongue. He tried to calm himself by turning on KFWB on the radio and looking out at the passing street scene. Two minutes later the second temperature reading was better than the first, but he was still running a low-grade fever. His fear eased back some and his throat relaxed. He banged his palms against the dashboard and shook his head, convincing himself in the process that the fever was an aberration. He had been perfect so far. There was no reason for this other than that he had gotten overheated while tangling with Bolotov.
He decided to go back to the boat and take an aspirin and a long nap before preparing for the evening’s session with James Noone. The alternative was to call Bonnie Fox. And he knew that such a call would result in his finding himself in a hospital bed for several days of testing and observation. Fox was as thorough at what she did as McCaleb liked to think he was at what he did. She wouldn’t hesitate to bring him in. He would lose at least a week lying in bed in Cedars. He would certainly miss his chance at Noone and he would lose the momentum that was the only other thing he had going for him in this investigation.