“So you reckon Gerri Raybourn’s holding Keith somewhere, hoping she can still get the pair of them.”
I nodded. “That’s how it seems to me. One’s not worth much without the other.”
He let his breath out tiredly, almost a sigh. “Makes it kinda all the more important she’s stopped, Charlie,” he said.
“I know,” I said. And inside my head another voice added, Oh I’ll stop her all right, Walt. Don’t you worry about that . . .
***
Less than an hour after we’d left Daytona Beach and headed down the coast, Walt slowed the Lincoln to a halt on the dusty shoulder of the highway and nodded towards the other side of the road. The other traffic continued past us at speed, close enough to rock our car each time they did so.
“That’s the place,” he said.
All I saw was a neatly rendered low white wall bordering suspiciously man-made looking grounds of part grass and part tropical forest. It looked sculpted for effect rather than natural. The grass was artificially green and bright, and the wall itself seemed to go on for miles in both directions. I tried to remember when it had first started but I hadn’t been paying enough attention.
A little way from where we’d stopped was an impressive wrought-iron gateway, next to which was a lavish sign. It showed an artist’s impression of a range of Mediterranean-style villas, all white stucco and terracotta tiles, surrounding a lake in the centre. Around the edges of the sign were depictions of Prozac-happy couples playing golf, or water skiing, or sharing an intimate after-dinner drink at sunset.
The sign announced a new and exclusive opportunity in vacation resort ownership. It sounded like the copywriters were trying desperately to squirm out of using the word time-share, with all the sharp-practice baggage that entailed.
“So what are you suggesting – that I go over the wall?”
“You can do if you really want to,” Walt said, cocking me a wry glance, “but this place is only two-thirds built and half sold. It’d sure be easier for you to just walk up to the front gate and tell ‘em you’re interested in buying.”
I spread my hands to indicate my current garb. “And you really think, me dressed like this, they’re going to fall for that?” I demanded.
“Well, OK,” he allowed. “Maybe you should tell ‘em as how your folks are interested and you’re meeting them here. You seem a resourceful kinda girl, Charlie.”
I considered. “OK,” I said.
But as I reached for the door handle, Walt stopped me.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?”
When I didn’t respond he leaned across and opened the glove compartment. Inside was a small memo recorder, the kind that takes micro cassettes for business meetings. He lifted it out, checked the tape inside was at its beginning, and handed it over, showing me the voice activation button.
“Just press that and leave it,” he said. “It’ll start up automatically when someone starts speaking. That way you don’t have to worry none about running out of tape.”
“OK,” I said again. “Just one thing, though, Walt. How much of a confession do you need me to get out of Gerri when I get in there?”
“I reckon you’ll know that when you hear it. Just get us something we can use as a lever and we’ll do the rest.”
We, I noted. Us. I wondered if Walt would ever consider himself completely retired from the job.
“I see,” I said. I unzipped the bag and crammed the recorder inside. It was a tight fit with the SIG as well but I just managed to get both articles in there and close the bag up again. When I was done I found Walt watching me gravely.
“Don’t do anything in haste you might regret at leisure, Charlie,” he said softly, but he didn’t mention the gun.
I reached for the door handle to get out, then paused. “She’s behind the men who murdered Sean.”
Walt glanced at me, then let out a long sigh. “Aw hell, Charlie, I know that,” he said. “I guess I’m just hoping MacMillan was kinda right about you.”
“Right about what?” I said. I remembered our earlier conversation. “About my instinct?”
“No,” Walt said now. “He told me you’d killed, but that he didn’t believe you were a killer.” He turned his head and gave me a long level stare. “I don’t believe that either and I’m kinda praying to the good Lord we’re both right, or I just made myself an accessory to the crime.”
I got out of the car without answering that one, just shut the door behind me.
“Don’t wait for me,” I said through the open window. “I’ll make my own way back.”
I walked quickly to the gateway without looking back, not giving Walt the chance to realise that both he and MacMillan were about to be proved wrong.
Dead wrong.
The iron gates were intended more for decoration than security and looked as though they’d never been shut. I was still aware of a shiver of apprehension as I passed between them. A short distance beyond, there was a guardhouse in the middle of the drive. Next to that was a barrier to block off the road but it was in the up position and it stayed there as I walked towards it.
It was close to midday and the sun was at the highest point of its arc so that I cast a very short shadow on the block paving under my feet. My shirt had stuck to my back and I could feel the back of my neck burning. The little flowered bag containing the tape recorder and the SIG with its almost-empty magazine bumped against my hip as I walked.
As I approached I saw a head appear in the window of the guardhouse, then the figure moved to the doorway and came out to watch me. For a moment I tensed but as I drew nearer I saw the uniformed guard could only have been a year or two younger than Walt.
“Afternoon, young lady,” he said cheerfully. “What can I do for you today?”
I manufactured a gormless teenage expression. “I’m s’posed to be, like meeting my mom. She’s got a place here, y’know?” I said, looking about me vaguely, as though expecting her to materialise out of the shrubbery.
The old guard didn’t look either fazed or suspicious of my story.
“No problem,” he said, picking up his clipboard. “What’s her name?”
“Gerri Raybourn,” I said, trying not to hold my breath after I’d said it. “She and my dad are, like, divorced and I’m s’posed to be staying with her ‘til I go back to college next week. It’s a real drag.”
Too much information, my mind yelled in my inner ear. Shut up!
“No problem,” the guard said again. He found the name and made a note against it. “You know where to find her villa?”
I shook my head, hoping the clueless guise would be a good enough excuse.
“Tell you what, then, you step inside out of the heat and I’ll have someone come down and give you a ride. Save you the walk. Then if your mom’s stepped out you can have a tour or sit by the pool at the clubhouse and have a soda while you wait for her to come get you, OK?”
My God, I thought. How young exactly do I look? “Cool,” I said out loud, and did as I was invited.
Inside the guardhouse wasn’t air conditioned but the old guy had an oscillating fan set up on the desk right in front of his chair, and it was going full belt. A rake of high-quality security monitors were laid out across the back wall, showing constantly updating views right across the property.
The coverage was impressive and it looked like Walt had been right. If I’d tried to creep in I would have been caught before I’d got halfway across the grounds. This way I didn’t even need to worry about directions.